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ICONOCLASM
I N E U RO P E A N
CINEMA
THE ETHICS AND AESTHETICS
O F I M AG E D E S T R U C T I O N
C H I A R A Q U A R A N TA
Iconoclasm in European Cinema
Iconoclasm in European Cinema
The Ethics and Aesthetics of Image
Destruction

Chiara Quaranta
 Edinburgh University Press is one of the leading university presses in the UK. We publish
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© Chiara Quaranta, 2023, under a Creative Commons

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Cover image: © AB Svensk Filmindustri (1973) Photo: Sven Nykvist

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The right of Chiara Quaranta to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in
­accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and the Copyright and Related
Rights Regulations 2003 (SI No. 2498).
Contents

List of Figures vii

Acknowledgementsviii

Introduction1
Prologue: The Eikōn-Eidōlon Dichotomy from Plato to Film 23

Part I: Cinematic Iconoclasm as Critique: The Image as Eidōlon

1. Aural Cinema: Isidore Isou’s Traité de bave et d’éternité37

2. An Aesthetics of Displeasure: Guy Debord’s Destructive Oeuvre 55

3. Towards a Radical Voice: Carmelo Bene’s Our Lady of the Turks73

4. In Search of a True Image: Jean-Luc Godard’s Histoire(s) du cinéma94

Part II: Cinematic Iconoclasm as an Ethics of (In)visibility:

The Eikōn as Iconoclastic

5. Impossible Encounters: Marguerite Duras’s Le Navire Night115

6. Blind Vision, Aural Resonances: Derek Jarman’s Blue136

7. Crumbling Faces: Ingmar Bergman’s Cries and Whispers154

8. Blocks of Suffering: Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colours: Blue172

Conclusion: A Communal Vision through Broken Images 189

vi | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Notes195
Glossary201
Bibliography205
Filmography223
Index226
Figures

1.1 Chiseled image of Isidore Isou 48

1.2 Chiseled image of military personnel 49
1.3 Chiseled filmstrip 50
2.1 Static shot of a photograph of a cinema audience 64
2.2 Static shot of a photograph of Alice Becker-Ho and text ‘and the
living re-encounters the living’ 70
3.1 Burnt medium close-up of Carmelo Bene 87
3.2 Extreme close-up of Lydia Mancinelli and red filters 88
3.3 Partially out-of-focus close-up of Carmelo Bene 90
3.4 A breast disguised amidst the vegetation 92
4.1 Text superimposed on a detail from Fra Angelico’s The Mocking of
Christ superimposed on Godard in his study room 106
4.2 Detail from Fra Angelico’s The Mocking of Christ107
4.3 Still frame of Brunella Bovo superimposing on the shot of Fra
Angelico’s The Mocking of Christ108
4.4 Ingrid Bergman in absorbed prayer superimposed on a blue-tinted
still frame of Birger Malmsten and Doris Svedlund 110
4.5 Layered superimposition of green-tinted still frame of Birger
Malmsten and Doris Svedlund, Godard in his study room, and text 111
5.1 Actors in Le Navire Night (Marguerite Duras, 1979) 131
7.1 Close-up of Agnes in pain 165
7.2 Extreme close-up of Maria and David in front of the mirror 166
7.3–7.5 From Karin’s facial close-up to the fade to the red screen 170
8.1–8.4 The third black-out at the swimming pool 186
Acknowledgements

This book has developed from my PhD thesis on the topic of cinema and icono-
clasm, which would not have been possible without the constant guidance of my
doctoral supervisor, David Sorfa, whom I would like to thank in particular also
for strongly encouraging me to turn the thesis into a book and for his help and
support throughout. My sincere thanks also go to my second supervisor, Daniel
Yacavone, for his insightful comments and his hard questions which encour-
aged me to broaden the research; my PhD examiners, Libby Saxton and Marion
Schmid, who provided helpful insights into various ways in which I could
develop my thesis into a book; and my master’s supervisor, Ivelise Perniola, who
was my first interlocutor on the topic of iconoclasm and cinema.
Once I set my mind to undertake the task of writing this book, I struggled
with envisioning my thesis as a publishable work, and I am extremely grateful to
Gillian Leslie at Edinburgh University Press for believing in my idea, even when
it was not ready yet, for meeting with me and for explaining the ways in which
I could have developed it for publication. Sincere thanks also go to Sam Johnson
and the editorial team at EUP.
I would like to express my gratitude to Krister Collin at Svenska Filminstitutet
for his help with the cover image and to Carl-Gustaf Nykvist for giving permis-
sion. Thanks to you, the cover image I had in my head is now on the cover of
this book. I would also like to thank wholeheartedly Dan Harrison, Jack Walker
and Nicholas Canny for their prompt help, and Davide Messina for his valuable
advice on various aspects of the book.
This book has significantly benefitted from suggestions and conversations
with friends and colleagues over the past few years; these include Silvia Angeli,
William Brown, David Fleming, François Giraud, Pasquale Iannone and
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS | ix

Tyler Parks. Thank you for pushing me to question my ideas by providing feed-
back at conferences, or by sharing your thoughts in front of a friendly pint. I
would like to thank especially Francesco Sticchi for reading drafts of some chap-
ters and discussing ideas with me. I am also grateful to the anonymous reader
whose thorough feedback has helped me deepen the argument.
Finally, I wish to express my sincere gratitude to all those persons whose
support, encouragement and love have left a mark on this work. I could not have
endured the stress and self-doubts of writing this book without the comfort of
my dear friends, who listened to my worries and brought a smile to my face. A
special thought goes to my friend Francesco Roscino, for this work is at times
haunted by his memory. I am profoundly grateful to my parents, Maria Adele
and Nicola, and my sister, Lavinia, without whose support and love I would not
have completed this book. Last but not least, warmest thanks to my wee neph-
ews Giulio and Davide, who have unknowingly restored my faith in this world.

Part of Chapter 1 previously appeared in a different form, as Chiara Quaranta,

‘A Cinema of Boredom: Heidegger, Cinematic Time and Spectatorship’ (2020),
Film-Philosophy, 24(1): 1–21.
But certainly for the present age, which prefers the sign to the thing signified,
the copy to the original, fancy to reality, the appearance to the essence, [. . .]
illusion only is sacred, truth profane. Nay, sacredness is held to be enhanced in
proportion as truth decreases and illusion increases, so that the highest degree
of illusion comes to be the highest degree of sacredness.
– Ludwig Feuerbach, Preface to the Second Edition
of The Essence of Christianity

It was no ‘empty square’ which I had exhibited but rather the experience of
non-objectivity.
– Kazimir Malevich, The Manifesto of Suprematism

I am Echo, dwelling in the recesses of your ears; and if thou wouldst paint my
likeness, paint sound.
– Ausonius, In Echo Pictam
Introduction

WE LIVE IN an age and society profoundly affected by visual images. From the
screens of our phones to work computers, from advertising images scattered
across towns to films and television programmes, the emphasis on sight and
recorded images (both still and moving) is stronger than ever in our quotid-
ian life. And yet, this abundance of images has not brought about a greater
awareness regarding their nature. The contemporary ‘iconocracy’, as Marie-José
Mondzain (2019, 17)1 aptly defines it, allows anyone to become a producer of
images but, at the same time, it has not made it any easier for individuals to
understand the power and risk of our uses of images. What is more, and seem-
ingly paradoxically, this extremely visible society is characterised by an unprec-
edented and unnoticed destruction of images on a daily basis. Hardly anybody
is immune to this dichotomic situation – for instance, we easily take pictures
and make videos with digital technologies, but just as easily we delete them for a
variety of reasons, such as the lack of hard drive space or because a beloved face
has become intolerable. Hence, the destruction of images – that is, iconoclasm
(etymologically ‘the breaking of images’)2 – constitutes a pervasive element of
contemporary Western society and can, thus, be used as a way to investigate
how we interact with and understand still and moving images.
Western Europe represents an exemplary context for exploring iconoclastic
attitudes since, historically and philosophically, it has been the ground for com-
peting interpretations regarding visual representations: bequeathed by Imperial
Roman and Catholic iconophilia, it is simultaneously heir to Platonic, Biblical
and Christian iconoclasm. Contradictory influences have contributed to the
shaping of current European imaginary, within which a continuous production
of images is accompanied by a sharp criticism and a mistrust thereof. There is
2 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

indeed an omnipresence of, if not obsession with, visual images in contemporary

Western societies, which has been variously addressed as ‘modern ocularcentric
culture’ (Jay 1993, 44), ‘culture of images’ (Mitchell 1994, 5), ‘bulimia of images’
(Wunenburger 1999, 363), ‘flood of modern visibility’ (Mondzain 2005, 222) and
‘civilization of images’ (Bettetini 2006, viii; Nancy 2005, 32). And yet, imagina-
tion is often relegated to the Platonic level of inferior knowledge. As a place of
daily image production, Western Europe also stands out as a site for the critique
of visual representations. In such a context, the idea of the image as a faithful
reproduction of a portion of reality coexists with the conception of the image as
a deceitful and false copy, originating seemingly incompatible attitudes.
Catholic iconophilia, Christian and Biblical iconoclasm and the Platonic tradi-
tion are recognised as fundamental influences on contemporary stances towards
images. Plato’s philosophical objection to artistic mimesis and the Byzantine
iconoclastic controversy, on the one hand, and the Catholic legitimation of
sacred icons, on the other hand, have significantly shaped Western intellectual
history about images. As consequence, contemporary society is characterised
by the paradox of a constant production of images which are looked at with a
suspicious eye. Jean-Luc Nancy (2005) observes,

for the duration of the West’s history, this motif [of the deceitful image] will
have resulted from the alliance (and it is doubtless this that has so decisively
marked the West as such) forged between the principle of monotheism and the
Greek problematic of the copy or the simulation, of artifice and the absence of
the original. Of course, this alliance is also the source of the mistrust toward
images that continues unabated into our own time (and this in a culture that
produces images in abundance), a mistrust that has, in its turn, produced a
deep suspicion regarding ‘appearances’ or ‘the spectacle’, as well as a certain
self-satisfied critique of the ‘civilization of images’. (31–32)

The history of Western thought about images is thus the contradictory result of
two extremes: always on the verge of refusing sensible representations, echoing
Platonic philosophy and Christian iconoclasm, it has nonetheless welcomed
the image following the Christian legitimation of sacred icons. In a culture
which constantly communicates through images and in which the individual
is surrounded by elements addressing sight, iconoclasm and its opposite –
iconophilia – find a place in the spectrum of possible attitudes towards images.
The study of iconoclastic approaches to images can therefore contribute to
our understanding of current visual culture, further exploring the ambiguous
nature of representations. Destructive gestures in the visual arts constitute both
 INTRODUCTION | 3

a way to criticise the image’s illusory nature and a means for acknowledging
the image’s ability to provide an alternative engagement with the world when it
ceases to be a mere mimetic appearance.
This book develops from the potential value of iconoclasm in the ambit of
cinema. While the topic of iconoclasm has been at the centre of many scholarly
works in philosophy, theology and history, it has been quite overlooked by the
arts and film studies. The core of the book coils around cinematic iconoclasm
and what can be termed broken images – both recalling the etymological mean-
ing of iconoclasm and because their relationship with the referent is broken.
The audio-visual images analysed throughout are literally or metaphorically
broken: no longer functioning as self-evident, mimetic images of reality, these
images are either broken in their physicality (the film strip is literally dam-
aged), or broken in their ability to figuratively represent something (hence,
monochromatic screens, fades to colour, disruptive sounds and altered motion).
Accordingly, I have selected films characterised by an anti-mimetic aesthetics
which responds to an iconoclastic understanding of the image-referent relation-
ship; namely, Isidore Isou’s Traité de bave et d’éternité (Treatise on Venom and
Eternity, 1951), Guy Debord’s Hurlements en faveur de Sade (Howls for Sade,
1952), The Society of the Spectacle (La Société du spectacle, 1973) and In girum
imus nocte et consumimur igni (We Wander in the Night and Are Consumed by
Fire, 1978), Carmelo Bene’s Our Lady of the Turks (Nostra signora dei turchi,
1968), Jean-Luc Godard’s Histoire(s) du cinéma (1988–98), Marguerite Duras’s
Le Navire Night (1979), Derek Jarman’s Blue (1993), Ingmar Bergman’s Cries
and Whispers (Viskningar och rop, 1972) and Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three
Colours: Blue (Trois Couleurs: Bleu, 1993).
The selected films effectively exemplify cinematic iconoclasm, which refers
to the deliberate, literal or metaphorical, destruction of film images and which
hinges on an interpretation of the relationship between the image and its ref-
erent in terms of alterity. That is, the image as copy is understood as inade-
quate for the representation of a specific model. My main contention is that the
destruction of images in the cinema can be a breeding ground for an aesthetic
and ethical investigation of the ways in which we understand and use moving
images. Contrary to historical iconoclasm, which consists of a negation of the
other’s point of view through the destruction of the other’s artefacts (an atti-
tude evident in iconoclastic gestures such as the smashing of sacred icons in
Byzantium in the eighth and ninth centuries and the destruction of Catholic
abbeys in Scotland during the Reformation; or, more recently, in the blowing
up of the Buddhas of Bamiyan and the ancient city of Palmira [Besançon 2000;
Bettetini 2006, 92–104, 142; Latour and Weibel 2002; Mondzain 2019, 314]),
4 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

iconoclasm in the arts has the potential to be an aesthetic as well as an ethical

approach. That is, destruction as an artistic gesture within an artwork can be a
way to challenge traditional canons, as well as a means to respect reality, its com-
plexity and non-reducibility to a self-explanatory, mimetic reproduction. For
example, when Kazimir Malevich creates monochromatic paintings or Robert
Rauschenberg erases a de Kooning drawing, they are renewing the criteria for
painting and, at the same time, reflecting on sight and mimesis. Similarly, when
John Cage makes music with silence and noise or Pierre Schaeffer inaugurates
concrete music, they are redefining the concept of music itself (see Belting 2002;
Gamboni 1997; Weibel 2002, 570–684). In the cinema, iconoclastic approaches
concretise in literal destructions of the film strip or in metaphorical negations
of mimetic film images, which resonate with similar destructive gestures in
the other arts. The films examined in the book display various iconoclastic
gestures against the film image’s ability to mimetically represent the referent,
thereby echoing philosophical and historical arguments on the deceptive nature
of visual images.
I develop my argument on cinematic iconoclasm from the dichotomy
between two types of images, the Greek eikōn/εἰκών3 and eidōlon/εἴδωλον.
While both terms can translate as image, they nonetheless refer to two quite
different conceptions of the image, and as such they are found in philosophical
and theological discussions regarding the nature of visual representations. The
eikōn, which became the icon during the Christian controversy over the rep-
resentation of God in a material frame, stands for an image that references its
model, whereas the eidōlon, which came to signify the heretic idol, consists of a
deceitful image with no truthful relationship with the prototype. I have chosen
to keep the Ancient Greek words rather than using the English equivalent for
two main reasons. First of all, while the English ‘icon’ and ‘idol’ are strongly
related to their usage in theology, where they refer to material representations
of God, the Greek eikōn and eidōlon preserve their philosophical, and pagan,
meaning. Secondly, the Greek terms maintain a richness of meanings which the
English ‘image’ fails to convey. Indeed, the single term ‘image’ condenses a wide
range of meanings, from those related to the sensible sphere to ones connected
to the intelligible world. Hence, the word ‘image’ refers to something that can
go from the extremely poor quality of appearance to the invisibility of ideas and
thoughts. Any English translation of eikōn and eidōlon thus loses the etymolog-
ical and philosophical meaning that the two terms contain.
Throughout the book, I rework the dichotomy between the eikōn and the
eidōlon in the cinema, tracing a thread from Plato’s philosophy to contempo-
rary films. To better unfold my argument, I consider two main ways in which
 INTRODUCTION | 5

the opposition between the eikōn and the eidōlon can be thought of in cinema,
depending on whether the attention is primarily on the eidōlon or on the eikōn.
Accordingly, cinematic iconoclasm can concentrate on critiquing the image
as illusory and deceptive copy (eidōlon), thereby bearing many similarities to
the arguments made by the iconoclasts in the eighth and ninth centuries. Both
theoretically and practically, cinematic iconoclasm as critique frequently occurs
within the context of a Marxist criticism of commodities, mass media and cap-
italism’s fundamental values. In the films selected for Part I, a certain type of
image, that of Hollywood-like cinema, is decried insofar as it produces an illu-
sory ‘impression of reality’ (Rodowick 1994, xvi), thereby concealing capitalist
ideology under non-contradictory images. Particularly the exponents of leftist
film theory in their arguments echoed the iconoclastic criticism of the image as
a deceitful copy, which is matched practically in the audio-visually destructive
works by the likes of Isidore Isou, Guy Debord, Carmelo Bene and Jean-Luc
Godard.
Another way of approaching cinematic iconoclasm and its ethical poten-
tial is through what I address as iconoclastic eikōn. By this term I define an
image which retains the character of the eikōn of referencing the prototype,
while being reflective of an iconoclastic understanding of the image-prototype
relationship. That is to say, an iconoclastic eikōn maintains at once the quality
of being a mediator between two elements otherwise separated and an icon-
oclastic aspect given by the negation of mimesis; hence, the visual image is
in some way insufficient to figuratively represent its model. The theme of the
image’s insufficiency to represent recalls the ongoing issue of mimesis, which
has troubled aesthetics since its inception. How can an image, conceived as
copy, represent a referent? And what if the referent lacks a phenomenal equiv-
alent (such that it can only be thought or experienced emotionally)? Assuming
that the act of looking is never neutral and that there exists specific subject
matter which more forcefully entails a taking of responsibility from producers
and viewers of images, iconoclastic approaches to cinema often involve the
ethical significance of moving beyond mimesis. The film image as iconoclastic
eikōn constitutes a way of showing something without making it completely
visible and aurally accessible, thereby encouraging an ethics based on the fragile
equilibrium between visibility and invisibility. Poignant examples are found in
the work of, among others, Marguerite Duras, Derek Jarman, Ingmar Bergman
and Krzysztof Kieślowski, where a need to represent audio-visually is met with a
striving for an ethical film form at the limits of intelligibility.
The questions tying the book together therefore concern the ways in which
iconoclastic film images establish a web of relationships with their models and
6 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

the spectator. Can everything have a copy of itself? That is, can we make images
of everything? This question, which is more of a quandary, also leads to interro-
gating the limits of our right to see and show something on a screen. Ultimately,
when this right is challenged by iconoclastic gestures, we are left wondering
what it is that we see when we see images of imagelessness.

Key Iconoclastic Sources and Methodology

Because of the very nature of iconoclasm and the way in which I explore it
in relation to philosophy and cinema, this book is characterised by a lively
interdisciplinarity, bringing together works in continental philosophy, medieval
theology, history, history of art and film studies. Iconoclasm, in fact, encom-
passes different ambits and cannot be ascribed to one field without referring
to other disciplines. It is impossible, for instance, to discuss the iconoclastic
value of a monochromatic image in a film without referencing the philosophical
and historical interpretations of the copy-prototype relationship. Moreover, the
multidisciplinary approach is also a consequence of the scarcity of scholarly
work on iconoclasm and cinema.
In a film context, only two main sources are available, and neither of them is
in English. Marion Poirson-Dechonne’s Entre spiritualité et laïcité, la tentation
iconoclaste du cinéma [Between Spirituality and Secularism, the Iconoclastic
Temptation of Cinema] (2016) represents the only monograph on the topic to
date. The book establishes conceptual links between certain aspects of Christian
Catholic theology and the film medium, identifying some secularised iconoclastic
tendencies in the cinema, and constitutes an important source for approaching
the issue of iconoclasm in film. The author discusses iconoclasm in the cinema
in a broad sense, taking into account a variety of films, many of which are not
iconoclastic stricto sensu. While also touching on two potentially iconoclastic
devices (the black screen and cacophony), Poirson-Dechonne focuses more on
the films’ content, investigating cinematic representations of Christian themes,
such as the father-son resemblance and the incarnation, in both religious and
secularised terms. Her book does however contain an overview of films which
directly put into crisis the relation between images and their referents, differen-
tiating among aesthetic, political and ethical iconoclasm. It is in particular her
addressing questions on our right to show and see everything on a screen that
is significant to my discussion of cinematic iconoclasm. Nevertheless, my treat-
ment of the topic considerably differs from Poirson-Dechonne’s since I develop
my argument from a more philosophically focused notion of iconoclasm, con-
centrating on the film form by means of the two opposing notions of eidōlon and
 INTRODUCTION | 7

eikōn. The other fundamental text on iconoclasm in cinema, to which I often

turn throughout the book, is the special issue ‘Cinema e iconoclastia’ [Cinema
and Iconoclasm] (Perniola 2013), which collects essays ranging from iconoclas-
tic and iconophilic interpretations of the cinematic close-up to the anti-mimetic
significance of monochromatic screens. It is an extremely useful introduction to
the issue of iconoclasm in the cinema and one of my main sources for discussing
an iconoclastic film style.
Dario Gamboni’s The Destruction of Art: Iconoclasm and Vandalism since
the French Revolution (1997) and Bruno Latour and Peter Weibel’s Iconoclash:
Beyond the Image Wars in Science, Religion and Art (2002) constitute essential
sources on iconoclastic approaches in modern and contemporary arts. While the
former is a fascinating study of destructive gestures in the visual arts as opposed
to vandalistic acts at historical turning points, the latter edits together essays on
anti-mimetic artworks in painting, video art, music and happenings, as well as
on contemporary iconoclastic attitudes in religion and science. I draw on these
contributions to highlight an iconoclastic thinking running through Western
arts, thus establishing a dialogue between cinema and the other arts based on
their shared tendency towards image destruction. What is more, Gamboni’s
and Latour and Weibel’s works are useful for further differentiating iconoclas-
tic gestures within artworks from iconoclastic acts directed against cultural
artefacts. Both gestures, however, attest to the political, ethical and emotional
charge of images: from the literal or metaphorical dismantling of figuration in
the arts to the physical destruction of sacred icons in the eighth and ninth cen-
turies up to recent decolonisation and the BLM movements’ efforts to remove
statues of supporters of slavery, images rarely leave us indifferent and can often
prompt visceral responses. Stacy Boldrick’s recently published Iconoclasm and
the Museum (2020) builds on this idea, expanding on Gamboni’s argument and
reinforcing the importance of iconoclasm – as artistic practice, institutional
attitude and ethico-political approach – at the present moment, focusing on
notions of loss broadly understood.
Quite contrarily, there is a wealth of sources on iconoclasm available in
philosophy, theology and history. A crucial text discussing the eikōn-eidōlon
dichotomy in ancient philosophy is Suzanne Saïd’s ‘Deux noms de l’image en
grec ancien: idole et icône’ [Two Names of the Image in Ancient Greek: Idol
and Icon] (1987), which also hints at the consequences of this opposition on
contemporary interpretations of the image. Gerhart B. Ladner’s ‘The Concept
of the Image in the Greek Fathers and the Byzantine Iconoclastic Controversy’
(1953) offers a detailed analysis of the eikōn-eidōlon dichotomy in medieval
theology, presenting the conflicting arguments of Christian iconophiles and
8 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

iconoclasts. Among the essential works on philosophical and historical icono-

clasm is Marie-José Mondzain’s Image, Icon, Economy: The Byzantine Origins of
the Contemporary Imaginary (2005), which effectively explains the iconoclastic
and iconophilic perspectives in the eighth and ninth centuries by tracing the
influence of Byzantine thought on current interpretations of images. In this
work, as well as in Le Commerce des regards [The Commerce of the Gazes] (2019)
and Homo spectator (2013), Mondzain elaborates on the constitutive relational
character of the image as eikōn, building on its etymological meaning as well as
ancient and medieval philosophy’s interpretations. While my understanding
of iconoclasm in an artistic context diverges from Mondzain’s (because she
rejects an iconoclastic interpretation of anti-mimesis), I nevertheless share her
definition of the eikōn as relational. Other invaluable sources on which I base
my understanding of iconoclasm are Alain Besançon’s The Forbidden Image:
An Intellectual History of Iconoclasm (2000), a detailed study encompassing
iconoclasm from the seventh century BCE to early-twentieth-century Russian
abstract art, and Maria Tilde Bettetini’s Le radici dell’iconoclastia [The Roots
of Iconoclasm] (2006), which thoroughly discusses iconoclasm in history and
philosophy, emphasising its enduring effects on contemporary society and the
entertainment industry.
As it is clear from these few titles, my approach to iconoclasm is philo-
sophically inflected – not only because iconoclasm originated as a philosoph-
ical stance concerning the relationship between images and their models, but
also because it has been overlooked by other disciplines, including film studies.
Therefore, in developing and defending my argument, I have tried to maintain
philosophical iconoclasm in close dialogue with the metaphorical, and at times
literal, destruction of images in the cinema. The intertwining of philosophy and
cinema on the issue of iconoclasm has also led me to circumscribe the scope of
this book to Western European films made after World War II. The choice of
Western Europe is a direct consequence of the fact that the currently available
works on iconoclasm primarily investigate the topic in the philosophical and
historical context of Western Europe, which is also significantly characterised
by an increased emphasis on and a contradictory attitude towards the visual
sphere. As such, the Western European context is particularly suitable for dis-
cussing both the pervasiveness of reproduced moving images and the potential
of iconoclasm. The decision to take World War II as a temporal watershed for
the book comes from its being one of the defining historical events of modern
and contemporary Europe and its cinematic production, as many scholars have
pointed out (among others, Aumont 2003, 145–46; Bellour 2012, 133; Daney
2004a; Deleuze 1997a, xi; Grespi 2013, 41; Sinnerbrink 2016, 56; Witt 2013, 130).
 INTRODUCTION | 9

This does not mean that films made before World War II cannot be iconoclastic
(for instance, there is an argument to be made about the iconoclasm of the
historical avant-gardes of the 1910s and 1920s). However, I believe that the war,
the Shoah and the Liberation have brought some of the already present issues of
images to the limit and have accentuated the feeling of disorientation regarding
reality, which find a new expression in the cinema. Moreover, the Shoah has
marked an unprecedented crisis in Western representation, famously expressed
in Theodor W. Adorno’s (1967, 34) then retracted claim on the barbarism of
writing poetry after Auschwitz. Rather than placing the Shoah under such an
extreme and dangerous ban, it should be considered as one of those historical
‘objects’ that lack a direct image and yet demand to be made visible (see, Nancy
2005, 27–50; Saxton 2007; 2008; Wajcman 1998).
Following this thread of thought, it would seem that films on the Shoah
constitute the most appropriate works for discussing iconoclasm in the cinema,
and in a way they are. Nonetheless, I have chosen not to consider such films
for several reasons. Firstly, the Shoah is a broad and extremely complex theme
which would have taken most of the book if it were to be appropriately con-
sidered. My aim, however, is to delineate a wider notion of cinematic icon-
oclasm and its possible applications. Secondly, the issue of representing the
Shoah in films, the absence of images of the event per se and its status beyond
mimetic reproduction have already been thoroughly discussed by film scholars
such as Joshua Hirsch (2004), Oleksandr Kobrynskyy and Gerd Bayer (2015)
and Libby Saxton (2007; 2008). Lastly, the issue of iconoclasm in relation to
the cinematic representation of the Shoah has been considered, albeit not
systematically, in Ivelise Perniola’s L’immagine spezzata: Il cinema di Claude
Lanzmann [The Broken Image: Claude Lanzmann’s Cinema] (2007) and Gérard
Wajcman’s L’Objet du siècle [The Object of the Century] (1998). Therefore,
while my framework can be used to further discuss the problem of representa-
tion in relation to the Shoah, I have selected films which deal with a variety of
topics, from self-­reflexivity to others’ suffering. Moreover, the initial selective
criteria regarded the film form. Rather than being concerned with depictions of
iconoclasm at the level of content, my exploration of the topic focuses on icon-
oclastic aesthetic forms in the cinema. Accordingly, the film images analysed
throughout are characterised by the breaking of a mimetic audio-visual form:
I look at monochromatic screens, freeze-framed shots, slow-motion sequences
and scenes where sound is disruptive or disjointed from the visual element.
Such stylistic devices result from an iconoclastic understanding of the copy-­
prototype relationship, opening up sudden audio-visual hiatuses that require
spectators to fill them with meaning.
10 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Since the book consists of an introduction to the issue of iconoclasm in the

cinema, I have selected films that best epitomise deliberate destructive gestures
against mimesis to bear witness to the distance existing between reality and
its possible audio-visual representation. Accordingly, cinematic iconoclasm as
critique of the eidōlon is discussed via directors who share an undermining
of the film image as referential copy, short-circuiting the harmonic relation
between aural and visual elements. Isidore Isou, Guy Debord, Carmelo Bene and
Jean-Luc Godard have all been vocal about the film image’s deceptive power,
explicitly advocating for the destruction of cinema in one way or another. Their
critique of artistic mimesis resonates with ancient and medieval arguments
against the lure of images, establishing a connection between philosophical and
historical roots of iconoclasm with modern understandings of the film medium.
Isou’s Lettrist film Traité de bave et d’éternité, Debord’s oeuvre and Bene’s Our
Lady of the Turks are born out of an urgency to literally and metaphorically
destroy cinema as a reproductive medium, as attested by their physically manip-
ulating of the film strip and their metaphorically dismantling of audio-visual
images as mimetic copies of reality. Godard’s entire work oscillates between a
critique of the capitalist image (the eidōlon) of Lettrist and Situationist tradition,
and a liminal ethics when it comes to representing the ineffable and the invisi-
ble. Therefore, his magnum opus Histoire(s) du cinéma constitutes a fascinating
link between the cinematic eidōlon and the iconoclastic eikōn. In considering
in greater detail the ethics of cinematic iconoclasm, I have chosen films where
the rejection of mimesis is inextricably bounded to ethical concerns regarding
visibility. Marguerite Duras’s Le Navire Night, Derek Jarman’s Blue, Ingmar
Bergman’s Cries and Whispers and Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colours: Blue
are exemplary of an iconoclastic approach to ethically charged topics (such as
sexual desire, homosexuality, pain and death), metaphorically destroying an
easy audio-visual access to the either invisible or ineffable events of the film.
Although I discuss only one woman film-maker, I believe that the selected
works and directors engage with a variety of aesthetic and ethical issues that
involve diversity in terms of gender, culture and language; therefore, they are
conducive to an exploration of cinematic iconoclasm which transcends a patri-
archal perspective. Isou, by means of iconoclastic style (montage discrépant, as
he himself will term it), develops a critique of French foreign policy, especially
of the First Indochina War (1946–54); Debord condemns the alienating society
of the spectacle through a dismantling of intelligible relationships between the
image track and the sound track; Bene engages with the hollowness of Catholic
religion and the motherly essence that it attributes to women by way of unin-
telligible voices; Godard investigates a number of issues concerning cinema and
 INTRODUCTION | 11

history through multiple images; Duras explores sexual desire via the severing
of any tie between aural and visual elements; Jarman operates a subversion of
the negative representation of the person with AIDS by employing a monochro-
matic screen as the constitutive image track of the film, thus denouncing the
status of homosexuality in 1980s UK; finally, Bergman and Kieślowski destroy
female faces through fades out, recalling a long iconographic tradition con-
cerning the face of Holy Mary and women’s suffering. The films thus share not
only an iconoclastic understanding of cinema and an anti-mimetic approach to
film style, but also a lively interest in social, cultural and political issues, which
actively contributes to making these works excellent examples of the ethical
relevance of iconoclastic gestures.

Iconoclasm in Film Studies

Notwithstanding the scarcity of material on cinema and iconoclasm, there are

nonetheless some works in film studies that touch on the issue. Much film
scholarship on iconoclasm focuses on three core ideas: (1) the iconoclastic qual-
ity of political modernism; (2) iconoclastic and iconophilic interpretations of
the face in the close-up; and (3) anti-mimesis as an iconoclastic gesture carrying
ethical concerns. I build on such contributions to develop the eikōn-eidōlon
dichotomy in cinema and explore how film can represent ethically charged
topics and stimulate the viewer’s imaginative capacity via a disruptive aesthetics.

The Iconoclastic Aspect of Political Modernism

Albeit never explicitly referencing iconoclasm, political modernism’s critique

of classical cinema resonates with Platonic and Christian arguments on the
condemnation of sensible images. The exponents of political modernism, in fact,
rejected cinema as a window onto the world in an attempt to ‘erode identifica-
tion with the image as real’ (Rodowick 1994, xiii), placing classical cinema and
its reproduction of the dominant (namely, capitalist) version of ideology at the
core of their critique. Reiterating arguments from philosophical and religious
iconoclasm, political modernism and Marxist-influenced film theory contend
that the more mimetic the image is the more it lies, misleading the spectator to
believe in the objective reality of what is represented on screen. Accordingly,
they advocate for the destruction of the cinematic image as deceptive copy (the
eidōlon) through images that lay bare their artificial nature.
Ann Kibbey, in Theory of the Image: Capitalism, Contemporary Film, and
Women (2005), identifies an iconoclastic understanding of cinema in leftist film
12 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

theorists’ opposition between the deceptive images of classical narrative cinema

and the true images of counter-cinema. She delineates similarities between the
iconoclasm of Calvin’s Protestantism and that of Marxism and theories akin to
it. It is in particular Calvin’s rejection of sacred images as false representations
and his welcoming of the sacramental objects as true images which allow for a
parallel with leftist film theory’s opposition between false and true images in the
cinema. Kibbey (2005) maintains that the theories of the image developed in the
period from 1960 to 1980 are inherently iconoclastic: ‘This era of film theory
was fueled by an iconoclastic assault on the false images of Hollywood film, from
the theorists of the cinematic apparatus to Laura Mulvey’s famous essay’ (2).
Kibbey likens Guy Debord’s spectacle, Jacques Lacan’s mirror stage, Jean-Louis
Baudry’s cinematic apparatus and Laura Mulvey’s gendered approach to the
iconoclastic distrust in images. In her view, these theorists committed the sin of
reiterating the Calvinist precepts of false images in their speculations, without
however providing an alternative to the iconoclastic paradigm.
Drawing on Kibbey’s argument, Richard Rushton’s The Reality of Film:
Theories of Filmic Reality (2011) expands on the reality-illusion dichotomy
in cinema. Exponents of political modernism are understood as ‘modern-day
iconoclasts’ (39), because of their differentiating between the deceptive (false)
images of Hollywood-like cinema and the self-reflexive (true) images of
­counter-cinema. For Rushton, the issue lies in the oppositional logic between
reality and illusion, which is grounded in a representational understanding of
cinema; that is, phenomenal reality pre-exists the reality of cinema, establishing
at least a chronological hierarchy between the two realities of the referent and
the image. While decrying this binary logic as limited and limiting, Rushton
explains the iconoclastic character of political modernism, for there is a divide
between the cinematic image as a visual replica of a portion of reality which
alleges to be transparent for its high mimetic potential (i.e., eidōlon), and the
image of counter-­cinema which ‘denounce[s] the representation of reality and
all cinematic attempts at verisimilitude’ (28).
Such a perspective is reminiscent of Plato’s ontological hierarchy between the
world of ideas and the world of things, wherein images of art’s deceptive poten-
tial hinges on their inadequacy to represent intelligible models. Rosalind Galt
likens the Platonic ‘denigration of the image’ (2011, 180) to Marxist film theory’s
rejection of Hollywood cinema and defines both perspectives as iconoclastic. In
discussing the Platonic eidōlon, she identifies the same conception of the image
in the cinema, specifically in the work of post-World War II leftist theorists. As
Plato distinguished between perfect, true beings and false, illusory copies, so do
leftist film theorists differentiate between the illusionism of classical cinema and
 INTRODUCTION | 13

the reality of counter-cinema. Galt (2011) effectively claims that ‘in this model
of the image [i.e., the eidōlon], Plato lays the foundations for an iconoclasm that
grounds much modern image theory’ (181).
In their critical analysis of the iconoclasm of Marxist-influenced film theory,
Kibbey, Rushton and Galt reject an iconoclastic perspective for its supposed
reduction of cinema to an opposition between illusionistic images and self-­
critical images, exhibiting analogies between the Platonic and Christian suspi-
cion of visual images and some of the arguments of leftist film theory. While I
agree with their reading of leftist film theory as iconoclastic, I endorse an icon-
oclastic perspective in the arts, grounding my argument on a representational
understanding of the cinema within which images do not stand on their own but
relate to a world they re-present and re-produce. In this scenario, the eidōlon
escapes a reduction to a simple false image. In his poetical delineating of the
ancient meaning of eidōlon, Régis Debray (1992, 28–30) emphasises its phan-
tasmatic status as a shadow and therefore as a double, connecting the birth of
the image to death (via mortuary rites as well as the image’s potential to mortify
reality). Indeed, the main issue with the image as eidōlon is its being a double, a
copy that replicates the visible features of its model, to the point of being always
on the verge of replacing it, and that retains a power of influencing thought
and making someone believe in a falsity. As in Plato and Christian iconoclasm,
where the eidōlon distracts from the contemplation of intelligible ideas and God,
respectively, relating itself only to the sensible realm, so in the cinema the eidōlon
is an image which overshadows the original and aims at substituting it. In the
work of Isou, Debord, Bene and Godard, the eidōlon is the kind of film image that
hides its character of artificial copy through the naturalism of mise-en-scène and
continuity editing, and this carries ethico-political consequences. The limit of
this critique, however, is its trouble in overcoming the logic of self-reflexivity and
bringing the discourse beyond the criticism of the image as illusory copy. As both
Kibbey and Rushton observe, caught in the urge of dismantling the impression
of reality of Hollywood-like cinema, some of the exponents of iconoclasm as
critique risk remaining trapped in their own criticism.

Iconophilic and Iconoclastic Interpretations of the Cinematic Close-up

The cinematic close-up has been succinctly discussed as a way of exploring

the distinction between iconoclasm and iconophilia, opposing the film image
as revelation of a human essence and as the place of inhumanity par excel-
lence. While various scholars have considered conflicting interpretations of the
close-up (among others, Aumont 2003; Doane 2003; Turvey 1998), Angela Dalle
14 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Vacche (2003) and Barbara Grespi (2013) explicitly address the issue of the
face in the close-up as a field of debate between iconoclastic and iconophilic
interpretations in the cinema. They dwell particularly on the iconophilic stance,
identifying a sacred conception of the cinematic medium as a tool for revealing a
human essence that finds its most suitable expression in the magnification of the
close-up – a position exemplified by early film theorists Louis Delluc’s ([1920]
1985, 34–36, 50–61) and Jean Epstein’s ([1921] 1977; [1926] 2012) notion of
photogénie, and Béla Balázs’s ([1945] 1970, 52–88; [1924] 2010, 27–51) concept
of physiognomy. Accordingly, Dalle Vacche’s and Grespi’s notion of iconoclasm
suggests a disbelief in the revelatory capacity of the cinematic medium and in
the close-up’s viability as a mediator between a visible, exterior surface and
a purported invisible, inner depth. It is ‘the face in close-up and the close-up
as the face of objects’ (Dalle Vacche 2003, 15) that elicits a division between
iconophilic and iconoclastic stances in the cinema. The opposition originates
from the interpretation of the face, whether as a door to the soul or as a surface
of inhumanity.
Grespi is the only scholar theorising a proper opposition between iconoclasts
and iconophiles in cinema with specific reference to the face in the close-up,
in her article ‘L’immagine sfregiata: Il cinema e i volti del sacro’ [The Scarred
Image: Cinema and Sacred Faces] (2013). On the one hand, she discusses the
trust in film images in the work of Epstein and Balázs, and their understanding
of the facial close-up as a site for the surfacing of the soul and a manifestation of
inner life; on the other hand, she considers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s
concept of cinematic close-up as a dehumanising device, consequently under-
standing the defacement of such a close-up as an iconoclastic gesture – a con-
troversial and imprecise perspective that does not take into account Deleuze’s
rejection of Platonism and duality.
In Grespi’s view, the notions of photogénie and physiognomy bespeak an
iconophilic attitude, since they hinge on the strong bond between the cinematic
close-up and its phenomenal referent. Magnified by the close-up, the face inten-
sifies its expressive power by filling up the whole screen and by connecting inte-
riority and exteriority. In Epstein and Balázs, mystics ‘of the 1920s close-up, the
filmic face simply constitutes the place of interception of the sacred concealed in
man’4 (Grespi 2013, 42). The face in the close-up is therefore eikōn insofar as it is
capable of establishing a truthful link with the phenomenal referent in a mimetic
manner. This stance is corroborated by other accounts of the privileged role
accorded to the face in cinema. For instance, Mary Ann Doane (2003) addresses
photogénie as a form of cinephilia, and Jacques Aumont defines Epstein’s and
Balázs’s perspectives as idealistic since they presuppose the very possibility of a
 INTRODUCTION | 15

nexus between reality and its filmic representation. Aumont (2003) remarks that
photogénie and physiognomy ‘outline an aesthetic of the face in film. Idealistic
aesthetic that is, it is based on the hope of a revelation that it believes is possible
because it believes fundamentally in the face as organic unit, infrangible, total.
The form of this revelation is [. . .] the close-up’ (139).
Grespi sets Epstein’s and Balázs’s iconophilic position against Deleuze and
Guattari’s account of the facial close-up, erroneously defining the French philos-
ophers as iconoclasts. While sharing some of Epstein’s and Balázs’s arguments,
Deleuze and Guattari conceive of the face as a surface, hence pure exteriority.
That is, the connection between the face and interiority is severed, and the
face becomes the result of a process of abstraction called ‘faciality’ [visagéité]
(Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 168). This process of ‘making a face’ alludes to the
frontal part of the head where the eyes and mouth are, but more importantly
comes to signify a reference to any surface that functions as the cultural and
political construct of face. The process of facialisation designates the imposi-
tion of a face onto a subject and is codified by the binary system white wall/
black holes which produces the face as a politics. The facialised face is a politics
because it consists in the acquisition of a standardised face, that of the ‘white
man’ (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 176). Deleuze and Guattari claim that ‘the
face is [. . .] White Man himself, with his broad white cheeks and the black
holes of his eyes. The face is Christ. The face is the typical European’ (176). As a
socio-political construct, the face is closely linked to Christianity; however, the
Christological reference acquires a political connotation rather than a religious
one, in the sense of Christianity as the socio-political machine of meaning in
Western Europe. Accordingly, the face in itself contains the seeds for racism
since it suppresses the other’s differences and aims at conforming all faces to its
own. As Deleuze and Guattari explain, the face of the other than the white man
‘must be Christianized, in other words, facialized’ (178). Instead of establishing
a relation with the other, the face produces a distance with the specific purpose
of ascribing every face to the dominant face, the standardised ‘white man’; the
facial close-up accordingly becomes the vehicle for the revelation of inhumanity:

The face, what a horror. It is naturally a lunar landscape, with its pores, planes,
matts, bright colors, whiteness, and holes: there is no need for a close-up to
make it inhuman; it is naturally a close-up, and naturally inhuman. (Deleuze
and Guattari 1987, 190)

In the face’s status as entity disconnected from reality in its hic et nunc lies
the core of Deleuze and Guattari’s interpretation of the cinematic close-up.
16 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Complete in itself, the face does not contain the traces of its relationship with
the world. Thus, the face in the close-up, far from being the site of human revela-
tion, like in Balázs and Epstein, turns into a means for revealing ‘the inhuman in
human beings’ (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 171). The facial close-up is stripped
of any connecting capacity and presents, instead, the very void at the core of
humanity, the fact that there is nothing to be shown and revealed.
As a result, Deleuze and Guattari advocate for the dismantling of the
face, making it a pockmarked face that ceases to respond to the facialisation
machine – the white wall/black holes system. Indeed, if the facial close-up
responds to a logic of eliminating differences in the uniqueness of the Christ-
face, the defacement of this close-up would allow for a deviation from the stand-
ard and, consequently, for the expression of a face other than that of the ‘white
man’. However, defacing the close-up does not correspond to a return to the
human head, but constitutes a politics itself. In both cases – the Christ-face and
the dismantled face – Deleuze and Guattari’s facial close-up ceases to configure
itself as the Epsteinian and Balázsian mediator between the individual and the
social life in the rising metropolis of the early twentieth century. In the view of
Deleuze and Guattari, who write in the context of a globalised, post-war world,
the face comes to signify the very impossibility of the encounter with the other.
It is possible to trace here a specific change in the vision of the world, taking
World War II as the separating event. Both the iconophilic interpretation and
that of Deleuze and Guattari assign to the facial close-up a revelatory power.
However, in the iconophilic perspective there is always something interior (a
soul) to reveal, an invisible life of humans and things that the film medium is
able to record and reproduce on the screen. Quite differently, in Deleuze and
Guattari’s interpretation, the cinema lays bare the absence of revelation in real-
ity, the fact that there is nothing to be unconcealed.
Grespi (2013, 45–49) proposes an iconoclastic interpretation of the inhu-
man and defacement in Deleuze and Guattari, understanding the facial close-up
as a de-humanising device and its defacement as an iconoclastic gesture. For
Grespi, erasing the facialised face becomes the iconoclastic re-appropriation of
the face, which would allow for the overcoming of the faciality process: from
a facial twitch to a deformed or scarred face, the attack towards the unity of
the facialised face would enable a breaking with the politics of the faciality
process. That is, by interpreting Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of inhumanity
as something that ought to be escaped, she identifies in the defacement of the
close-up an iconoclastic intent to break with a false image of a true model.
However, Deleuze and Guattari never mention the possibility of a humanity in
humans. Rather, it is inhumanity itself which is constituent of human beings.
 INTRODUCTION | 17

Therefore, inhumanity would be the true essence instead of a false appearance.

Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to discuss Deleuze using the binary opposi-
tion true-false, since he overcomes, or at least aims at overcoming, this Western
dichotomy in his philosophy.
In ‘Plato and the Simulacrum’ (1983), Deleuze elaborates on his critique of
Plato’s oppositional logic between model and copy, namely between what is
intelligible and what is sensible. He draws a distinction between two types of
images: the eikōn – which he calls copy or icon – and the eidōlon – which he
addresses as simulacrum. However, Deleuze’s simulacrum does not correspond
to the image as eidōlon in the way in which it is considered in this book. After
using the term simulacrum with the Platonic meaning of eidōlon – namely, a
false image, hence an image in a relationship of alterity with a model – he then
continues his criticism of the Platonic representational system by employing the
same word (simulacrum) with the meaning of an image without a model. Deleuze
leaves unexplained the transition from one meaning to the other, employing the
same term for two quite dissimilar conceptions of the image. More to the point,
what Deleuze reproves to Plato is his representational logic, the enclosing of the
image in a relationship with a model. Deleuze rejects this dualism in favour of
the simulacrum without model. His overturning of Platonism, therefore, con-
sists of the abolishment of the copy-prototype dichotomy to the exaltation of
the image without prototype. Consequently, Deleuze cannot be addressed as
iconoclast insofar as his philosophy positions itself beyond the representational
paradigm necessary for both the iconoclastic and the iconophilic perspectives:
the metaphysical requirement of a true(r) model and the binary vision of the
world collapse. In Deleuze, there is no place for images referencing their model,
but only for surfaces – phantasmata, or the exteriority of the facial close-up.
Without adopting a Deleuzian approach, I build on these contributions
about the facial close-up, emphasising the significance of the face for icono-
clastic gestures. Indeed, both the destruction of the cinematic eidōlon and the
creation of iconoclastic eikones often involve the human face: in an attempt
to break the mimetic relationship between phenomenal reality and its audio-
visual representation, faces are physically or metaphorically dismantled. As
during the Byzantine controversy, when icons representing the face of Christ
were physically smashed, so in the cinema the face in the close-up becomes
the privileged site for iconoclastic gestures – from Isou’s and Bene’s liter-
ally scraping of human faces to Bergman’s and Kieślowski’s poetic fade-outs
which plunge the characters’ faces into a blank screen. While I consider the
significance of the Western concept of the face and its destruction throughout
the book, the facial close-up is particularly relevant for the analysis of Cries
18 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

and Whispers and Three Colours: Blue, where iconoclastic gestures occur on
the magnified faces of the female characters. The figurative destruction of the
women’s faces in these films represents a clear passing from a mere rejection
of the cinematic eidōlon (namely, a mimetic image incapable of represent-
ing interiority) to the creation of iconoclastic eikones (that is, anti-­mimetic
images which maintain a relationship with the invisible model). The human
face, which is the most emotionally charged part of the body, becomes the locus
for an interrogation of visibility and its limits, also developing a criticism of the
mimetic representability of the female face and women’s ­suffering – from the
iconography of the Holy Mary, the quietly suffering mother, to the iconoclastic
rendering of Liv Ullmann’s, Ingrid Thulin’s and Juliette Binoche’s raw pain.
Paradoxically, the destruction of the women’s figurative faces becomes a way
to account for a much more realistic, disorderly pain that rejects a spectacular-
isation of suffering.

Iconoclasm of Anti-Mimesis

Iconoclasm has been bounded to anti-mimesis since its inception – the biblical
ban on any graven image and the Platonic condemnation of images of art, for
instance, were fuelled by a rejection of the eidōlon’s excessive visual similar-
ity with the referent. Artistic anti-mimesis does not always correspond to an
iconoclastic intent, whereas the opposite is true; namely, that iconoclastic ges-
tures within the arts are directed against mimesis. From Russian abstract art’s
attempts at representing the Absolute via monochromatic paintings to Lucio
Fontana’s cut canvases aimed at reaching the unrepresentable reality beyond
the painting’s surface, from avant-garde cinema’s and video art’s disrupting of
habitual engagements with images and sounds to contemporary audio-visual
media’s uses of blank screens and off-screen sounds, anti-mimetic aesthetics
hinge on the distance between copy and prototype, thereby implying that the
image cannot truthfully reproduce the model. While intelligible models may
appear to place mimetic representation more decidedly in a moral maze (how
to figuratively render the invisibility at their core?), also sensible phenomena
challenge a seemingly uncomplicated reproduction of reality, especially follow-
ing an understanding of the visual field as ethically laden. Libby Saxton (2010c)
convincingly ties the issue of mimesis to that of ethics, observing that it is from
cinema’s ‘privileged bond with reality’ (26) – namely, from its possibility to
mimetically reproduce people, animals, objects (their appearance, sounds and
movement) – that ethical questions arise. Similarly, Asbjørn Grønstad (2016)
stresses the ethical weight deriving from the close nexus between cinematic
 INTRODUCTION | 19

reproduction and phenomenal reality, commenting that ‘to capture images is

“an ethos, a disposition, and a conduct in regard to the world”’ (3). Nevertheless,
if the filming of reality is thus far from being a neutral, objective recording
of the world, then ethically charged models more forcefully question mimesis
because mimetic reproduction potentially risks concealing the unbridgeable gap
between the image and its model.
In this respect, the possibility of representing the Shoah is one of the most
controversial and debated issues, opposing those in favour of its mimetic re-­
enactment to the advocates of more subtle ways to represent it without dou-
bling it (Hirsch 2004; Kobrynskyy and Bayer 2015; Perniola 2007; Saxton 2008;
Wajcman 1998). Gérard Wajcman (1998) and Ivelise Perniola (2007) elaborate
on the issue with specific reference to Claude Lanzmann’s oeuvre, understand-
ing his refusal of archival material and re-enactment as responding to an icon-
oclastic ethics. The eidōlon’s doubling of the model is what Wajcman most
vehemently condemns in discussing the role of mimesis in art after World War
II. He decries and rejects figurative representations of the Shoah insofar as they
constitute an ‘affirmation of presence. [. . .] Thus, any image is a negation of
death and loss. A negation of absence’ (1998, 242). Wajcman is explicitly against
artistic mimesis since it presupposes the very possibility of duplicating an orig-
inal. While mimesis can be acceptable for some models, it becomes unethical
when confronted with what does not (or should not) have a double, such as God
for the Christian iconoclasts or death in the concentration camps for Wajcman.
The image as figuration, hence imitation as duplication – the peculiar feature
of the eidōlon as the double – constitutes an affirmation of presence because it
implies the reproduction of the model’s visual features and, consequently, the
loss of the prototype’s uniqueness. However, from an iconoclastic perspective,
some models should be affirmations of absence: absence of images of the invis-
ible God; absence of images of genocidal events themselves. Perniola (2007)
draws from Wajcman’s (1998) argument on ‘militant iconoclasm’ (228), ana-
lysing how Lanzmann’s documentaries preserve the invisibility at the core of
the Shoah by negating any access to the event per se. Through the breaking
with figuration and mimesis, there is a shift from the Shoah as a spectacle for
the eyes – the eidōlon consumed in the visible realm – to the Shoah as ethical
interrogation – the eikōn turned to the invisible sphere.
The link between an anti-mimetic aesthetics and iconoclasm is also present
in Marion Poirson-Dechonne’s (2016) book on iconoclastic tendencies in the
cinema, Daniele Dottorini’s (2013) article on the use of black screens in art
house films and Luca Venzi’s (2006; 2013) work on colour and the dissolution of
the film image. These scholars consider the use of black screens and c­ acophony
20 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

as potentially ethical responses to issues regarding visibility and as ways to

disrupt traditional engagements with a cinematic world. Accordingly, the black
screen translates a visual impossibility – namely, something that lacks or should
lack a visual equivalent, producing a halting of the spectator’s look – whereas
cacophony, conceived as the aural counterpart of the black screen, renders
what is ineffable; that is, something that cannot be said or can only be said by
means of unintelligible sounds. Via the black screen and cacophony, cinematic
iconoclasm sets limits for the eyes and the ears: not everything can be clearly
seen or heard.
These contributions on iconoclasm, anti-mimesis and ethics are essential
for my argument on cinematic iconoclasm as an ethics of (in)visibility. Similar
to some of the scholars who have delved into ethics and aesthetic forms
in cinema (such as Downing and Saxton 2010; Grønstad 2016; Sinnerbrink
2016), I conceive of cinema as a potentially highly ethical medium, for not
only does cinema present ethical quandaries in its content, but it can also
produce an ethical form in respect to its content and can elicit the spectator’s
ethical imagination. It is in this perspective that the iconoclastic eikōn can at
once embody an ethics of film-making and solicit an ethics of film-viewing by
circumventing mimetic forms of representation. I propose an ethics of (in)
visibility echoing Wajcman’s (1998) expression ‘ethics of visibility’ (292). In
his account, artistic iconoclasm constitutes such an ethics because it aims
at ‘“showing” (faire voir) and “making present”’ (219) unrepresentable and
ineffable subject matter by means other than mimetic reproduction so as to
preserve their uniqueness.
I have added the parenthetical (in) to underline the significance of invis-
ibility for the ethics encouraged by iconoclastic gestures in the cinema, an
ethics which is possible only insofar as what is visually accessible on the screen
stretches towards invisibility, incessantly evoking it through an anti-mimetic
aesthetics which overflows representation. The iconoclastic eikōn offers itself
to sight – it is an image – and perturbs the spectator’s look by presenting
an absence which has become the real subject of the representation; in this
way, an imaginative effort towards the unrepresentable model is aesthetically
encouraged. Whether the absence with which we are presented is an absence
of figurative images or the absence of our quotidian perception of movement,
sound and colour, the iconoclastic eikōn forecloses mimetic reproduction, thus
troubling our more habitual modes of consuming what is visible. Accordingly,
this type of image promotes a liminal ethics that sinks its roots in what is visible
while reaching out to the invisibility that inhabits, and haunts, every visible
image.
 INTRODUCTION | 21

Structure of the Book

The book is comprised of a prologue and two parts, which are further divided
into four chapters each. The prologue provides a brief philosophical and his-
torical background to the discussion on cinema and iconoclasm, delineating
the main turning points in the iconoclastic debate, from Plato’s and Plotinus’s
ambiguous understanding of artistic mimesis to early Christian theology of the
image and the Byzantine controversy. Engaging with the eikōn-eidōlon dichot-
omy, the prologue also outlines how cinema reworks such an opposition, argu-
ing for the aesthetic and ethical potential of artistic destruction.
Part I dwells on cinematic iconoclasm as critique of the eidōlon via the work
of directors Isidore Isou, Guy Debord, Carmelo Bene and Jean-Luc Godard.
The films analysed in this part metaphorically and literally proceed to destroy
mimetic audio-visual images to counter their illusory power, thereby reiterating
the criticism of the image found in philosophical iconoclasm. The first chapter
looks at Isou’s explicitly iconoclastic project and his avant-garde film Traité de
bave et d’éternité, which heralds the destruction of cinema and presents sev-
eral iconoclastic devices. The second chapter considers the iconoclastic use of
monochromatic screens, sound-image disjunctions and freeze-frames in some
of Guy Debord’s films. Specifically, I take into account Hurlements en faveur de
Sade, The Society of the Spectacle and In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni,
which exacerbate Isou’s iconoclastic perspective. The third chapter examines
Carmelo Bene’s project to destroy cinema as a medium able to communicate
meaning by way of linguistic and sonic disruptions. Through an analysis of his
film Our Lady of the Turks, I explore how the negation of intelligible images via
destructive editing chimes with the elimination of intelligible speech in favour
of the voice as logos-less sound. To conclude this part, the fourth chapter goes
over some of Jean-Luc Godard’s narrative films, specifically Une Femme mariée
(A Married Woman, 1964), Alphaville, une étrange aventure de Lemmy Caution
(Alphaville: A Strange Adventure of Lemmy Caution, 1965) and Slow Motion
(Sauve qui peut (la Vie), 1980), as well as the destructive works made with the
Dziga Vertov Group, before engaging with Histoire(s) du cinéma, which consti-
tutes the work ideally bridging Part I and Part II. In Godard’s magnum opus, in
fact, are found both the critique of the film image as eidōlon and the production
of iconoclastic eikones, those images capable of establishing a relationship with
the model by going beyond mimesis.
Part II focuses on iconoclastic eikones in the cinema, exploring their e­ thical
quality, and conceptualises cinematic iconoclasm as an ethics of (in)visibility.
Addressing questions concerning our right to show and see something on a
22 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

screen, Part II revolves around the problematics of representing others’ inner

world and suffering and considers ethically charged films which are also icono-
clastic in their aesthetic form. The fifth chapter centres on Marguerite Duras’s
subversion of the traditional hierarchy between sound track and image track in
narrative cinema. I look at the contraposition between aural and visual dimen-
sions in her film Le Navire Night, an imageless love story based on the impos-
sible encounter between two lovers, arguing that such an aesthetic choice is
conducive to a visually inaccessible, ethical representation of sexual desire and
alterity. The sixth chapter analyses Derek Jarman’s monochromatic film Blue,
focusing on its radically iconoclastic approach to colour and sound in recount-
ing stories of suffering, death and love, as well as its denouncing of 1980s British
gender politics. The seventh chapter examines the iconoclastic use of red fade-
outs and red monochromatic screens in Ingmar Bergman’s Cries and Whispers
which are iconoclastic devices to visually express what goes beyond mimetic
reproduction – grief and suffering. Chapter 8 concludes with a detailed analysis
of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colours: Blue, with particular attention to the
black screens that punctuate the narrative and the ethics of film-making and
film-viewing that they promote.
Throughout, I trace the thread of an iconoclastic thinking which goes from
Plato’s suspicion about images of art, through Plotinus’s theory of emanation
and the Byzantine iconoclastic controversy, up to film theorists’ and film-mak-
ers’ investigation of the limits and ethical implications of mimesis in the cinema.
Iconoclasm, as both theoretical approach and artistic practice, has proven to
be a useful tool for exploring the aesthetics and the ethics of the film image.
It embraces issues concerning the visible and the sayable, bringing attention
to potentialities and risks of the film image, and underlines the importance
of taking responsibility for the images which we decide to make, look at and
share. Ultimately, the study of iconoclasm in cinema, by focusing on difficult
images (namely, images which resist an easy and direct attribution of meaning),
becomes an exercise in thinking about the ways in which we interact with and
communicate through images. From Plato to cinema, our relationship with
images is ambiguous and often conflicting: visual images are always on the verge
of being considered deceitful appearances; and yet, we continue to interrogate,
produce and look at them.
Prologue: The Eikoˉn-Eidooˉlon Dichotomy
from Plato to Film

THE HISTORY OF the Western image, substantially marked by Platonic scepti-

cism, Plotinian ambivalence and Christian iconoclasm, is the story of the human
relating to the (sensible and supersensible) world and the human capacity to
establish links with absence (the physical absence of God, or of the dead, but
also the absence of figurative equivalents for thoughts and emotions). Up to
contemporaneity, the image has been oscillating between truth (of the eikōn)
and falsehood (of the eidōlon), between the ability to vivify (the dead flesh of
the God-made man, for instance) and the capacity to mortify through doubling.
Such an ambiguity of the status of the image, which hinges on our complexified
relationship with reality and its possible representation, persists in the cinema,
in which the seemingly closer relationship with reality (because of the indexical
bond of mechanical recording) makes it all the more compelling to understand
the relation between film image and referent.
Iconoclastic stances traverse ancient and medieval debates up to current
attitudes about visuality. This prologue briefly traces some of the essential
turning points in the debate on the Western image, with particular empha-
sis on the germinating of an iconoclastic perspective, which provides the
background for destructive gestures in the cinema. In the film medium, the
reality-illusion binary is significant for developing an iconoclastic rejection
of artistic mimesis in an attempt to avoid the perils of the eidōlon and its
consequent impoverishment of reality via its mimetic doubling. The political
and ethical potentialities of an iconoclastic approach to cinema reside in the
tension between a need to represent and a will to avoid duplication, between
the extreme visibility and richness of the mimetic image and the opaque vision
of the iconoclastic eikōn.
24 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Main Turning Points in the Debate on Images

Platonic philosophy constitutes an essential point of reference in the debate on

images and has influenced both iconoclastic and iconophilic thought (Besançon
2000, 25–37; Bettetini 2006; Halliwell 2007; Ladner 1953; Mondzain 2005; Saïd
1987). Although the more widespread interpretation is of a negative conception
of images (primarily based on The Republic), which makes Plato a sort of fore-
runner of iconoclasm, there are nonetheless conflicting views on mimesis in
his dialogues that challenge the over-simplified idea of Plato as utterly against
images. Plato distinguishes between two separate worlds, that of intelligible
ideas – the eternal and immutable beings, accessible through the intellect –
and that of sensible things. The phenomenal world is a copy (mimesis) of the
intelligible world, so that Plato’s cosmology can be read as a descent from the
perfection of ideas to the lowest copies of copies thereof. There are the ideas,
eternal models; then, there are sensible things, copies of the ideas; lastly, there
are images and works of art, reproductions of sensible things, images of images.
Thus, everything that exists, except for intelligible ideas, is in a mimetic relation
with something else.
In this context, mimesis in art tends to assume a negative connotation because
it implies an act of producing a tertiary mode of being. Since the sensible world
is already a reproduction of the world of ideas, or a secondary mode of being,
images and works of art as mimesis of reality are reproductions of a reproduc-
tion, three times removed from truth (ideas). Plato explains this logic via the
example of a bed: there are three types of bed; namely, the intelligible idea of
bed, the material bed made by the artisan and the bed depicted by the painter.
While the artisan directly copies the idea of bed, the painter copies the physical
bed, which is a copy itself (Republic, 596b–598d). Therefore, the issue with
images of art lies in their model: rather than imitating intelligible ideas, artworks
consist of imitations of sensible things. Accordingly, art can be apprehended
exclusively through the senses, and images of art are eidōla belonging to the
phenomenal world of appearances. Art deceives insofar as it can only reproduce
sensible things while claiming to imitate intelligible realities; hence, the more
the image visually resembles the sensible model, the more it potentially misleads
the viewer. As Suzanne Saïd (1987) remarks, ‘eidōlon appears every time that
Plato wants to underline the degradation that accompanies the passage from the
intelligible to the sensible or from a degree of the sensible to another thereof’
(318). Plato’s worries about images of art, which resonate with modern and con-
temporary concerns regarding visual representations, stem from their ‘psycho-
logical power’ (Halliwell 2002, 73); that is, images’ power of influencing thought
 PROLOGUE | 25

and making someone believe in a falsity. Such an attitude is a direct conse-

quence of ‘Plato’s approach to the psychology of mimesis [which] is grounded in
the assumption that there is continuity, even equivalence, between our relations
to people and things in the real world and the people and things presented in
mimetic art’ (Halliwell 2002, 76). Because of this continuity, Plato maintains
an ambiguous perspective on images, now repudiating them as deceptive, now
granting them some dignity.
Some Platonic dialogues (especially, the Timaeus, the Symposium and the
Laws), in fact, provide a more positive view on mimesis within which the image
as eikōn is slightly rehabilitated insofar as it establishes a connection with what
is intelligible. Although the Platonic eikōn does not acquire the value reserved
for intelligible ideas and remains apprehensible only via the senses, it nonethe-
less ceases to be a mere visual replica of a physical appearance by addressing the
super-sensible sphere. Stephen Halliwell (2002) unpacks some of the intricacies
in Plato’s thought regarding mimesis, contending that

such complexity is connected to a characteristic tension between discrepant

impulses in Plato’s thinking. The first, a kind of ‘negative theology’, which leads
sometimes in the direction of mysticism, is that reality cannot adequately be
spoken of, described, or modeled, only experienced in some pure, unmediated
manner (by logos, nous, dianoia, or whatever). The second is that all human
thought is an attempt to speak about, describe, or model reality – to produce
‘images’ (whether visual, mental, or verbal) of the real. On the first of these
views, mimesis, of whatever sort, is a lost cause, doomed to failure, at best a
faint shadow of the truth. On the second, mimesis – representation – is all
that we have, or all that we are capable of. In some of Plato’s later writing this
second perspective is expanded by a sense that the world itself is a mimetic
creation. (70–71)

In Plato’s philosophy, both the image as eidōlon and the image as eikōn coexist,
paving the way for the future opposition between the Christian idol and icon.
However, Plato alone is insufficient to account for the influence of Hellenic
thought on the Christian theology of the image. Another essential source
includes Plotinus’s philosophy, which constitutes a significant link between the
Platonic interpretation of the eikōn and the Christian understanding of the icon.
Plotinus’s more positive notion of image derives from his hierarchical cos-
mology, within which the image becomes an intermediary between the con-
creteness of sensible matter and the abstraction of the intelligible sphere. For
Plotinus, both the sensible and the intelligible worlds derive by emanation
26 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

from the first principle of all, the One, which in a downward movement creates
everything that exists (Ennead V.1[6]). There is therefore continuity between
the intelligible realm and the sensible sphere which breaks with the immeasur-
able Platonic distance between the two worlds. This conception, where every-
thing exists in a single world, shapes the overall Plotinian understanding of
the image. While what is intelligible continues to form the highest level of
being and sensible matter is the last thing created by the One, images none-
theless belong to, and thus are in a connection with, the same world of what is
super-sensible, only at a lower ontological degree (Ennead V.8[1]). On the one
hand, sensible matter – the lowest level of the hierarchy – corresponds to the
eidōlon insofar as it is a formless reflection of the One; on the other hand, the
image, when it is elevated to the role of intermediary between the sensible and
the intelligible spheres, becomes eikōn; namely, the first means for carrying
out the inner journey towards the One. Such partial rehabilitation of the image
hinges on the continuum between the sensible and the intelligible worlds: no
longer condemned to the sensible sphere only, the image as eikōn positions
itself between the two.
However, Plotinus, too, maintains an ambiguous attitude towards mimetic
art, now praising it as a means for passing from the sensible to the intelligi-
ble world, now diminishing it to a ‘plaything’ that ‘produce[s] a simulacrum
[eidōlon] of nature’ (Halliwell 2002, 318). Art and the image as eikōn acquire
value as the starting point for the soul’s journey towards the One, mediating
between sensible and intelligible realms; and yet, the representation of the point
of arrival – the One – is interdicted. Christian Catholic thought about images
will, however, ignore Plotinus’s iconoclastic aspect, instead conceiving of the
icon as a way to diminish the distance between humans and God.
The Christian theology of the image intertwines Platonic, Plotinian and
Neoplatonic perspectives with the Biblical prohibition of any graven image
and the Christian notion of the incarnation of God (Besançon 2000, 81–146;
Halliwell 2002, 314, 334; Ladner 1953; Mondzain 2005, 73; Wunenburger 1999,
154). While early Christian theologians (second to fifth century) did not neces-
sarily provide an aesthetics regarding sacred representations, they nonetheless
offered two opposite ways of interpreting the sensible world which were to
play a fundamental role in the development of iconophilic and iconoclastic
arguments. There were conflicting views on the legitimacy of sacred images
deriving from different interpretations of, especially, the incarnation, whether as
a positive event or, at the opposite end, as an act ontologically inferior to God.1
In favour of icons were those theologians who interpreted the incarnation
in a positive manner, for God himself had taken a visible, perishable form, and
 PROLOGUE | 27

who promoted a rehabilitation of sensible matter to which the body belongs.

Conversely, theologians against sacred representation had an overall distrust in
sensible matter and the human body, while they highly valued the intelligible
part of humans – the soul. They discredited the body in all its aspects and inter-
preted sensible matter as lacking being, conceiving of corporeal things as a result
of human sin. Moreover, in this iconoclastic perspective, Christ was recognised
as the only image of God, sharing the same divine nature, whereas man was ‘in
the image of the image’. Thus, following a Platonic approach, any representation
of Christ would be an image having a tertiary mode of being; namely, as Alain
Besançon (2000, 94) notes, sacred images would be images of an image (Christ)
of the image (God). The Christian issue of ‘in the image of’ was thus implicated
in a complex web of relations among God the father, Christ the son, humans
and sensible matter. Theologians who positively interpreted the sensible world
viewed sacred images as possible intermediaries between people on earth and
God in heaven (eikones); conversely, theologians holding a negative concep-
tion of the corporeal sphere could not possibly allow the reproduction of the
intelligible God in a material frame. Gradually, two main conflicting attitudes
became fundamental in the Christian debate on images, that of iconophilia and
iconoclasm, openly and physically clashing in the eighth century.
The iconoclastic crises taking place in Byzantium during the eighth and
ninth centuries started with the destruction of an icon of Christ at the com-
mand of Emperor Leo III and a ban on sacred images in 726 CE. Existing icons
were smashed, and the dispute between iconoclasts and iconophiles within
Christianity began. It was to last until 843. The causes were not exclusively
religious, but also political and economic (Besançon 2000, 114; Bettetini 2006,
92–93; Mondzain 2005, 76); however, it is the theological debate accompanying
the Byzantine crises which concerns the relationship between image and proto-
type. At the core of this debate was the figurative representation of Christ, and
the main points in dispute consisted of the circumscribability of the divine God
in the icon and the question of consubstantiality (identity of substance between
image and model).
Regarding the issue of circumscribability, the iconophiles denied that the
icon circumscribes the divine essence, affirming that only Christ’s human
nature is depicted in the image. This is directly linked to the incarnation, which
constitutes the event through which God has circumscribed himself, assuming a
body of flesh. Christ is both man and God, having human nature together with
divine essence; therefore, in manifesting God’s human essence, the incarnation
allows for the production of icons that are in relationship with the human Christ
but not with his divine nature, which remains invisible and unrepresentable.
28 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

More importantly, the icon is ‘not the object of a passive fascination’ (Mondzain
2005, 90) but aims at taking the viewer’s look beyond the visibility of the rep-
resentation; that is, at transcending the materiality of the icon to reach the
intellectual contemplation of God. In iconophilic thought, what differentiates
the icon from the idol resides in the relationship they have with the sensible and
the intelligible spheres: while the icon exists as an intermediary between the two
realms, the idol purely addresses the world of corporeal things.
Conversely, in iconoclastic thought, the icon is far from diminishing the
distance separating humans and God and assumes, instead, the connotations
of the idol, a false god that consequently has to be destroyed. The iconoclasts
rebutted the iconophilic theses, decrying them as heretic because (1) the icon
cannot be consubstantial to the model since what is sensible cannot share the
same nature as what is intelligible;2 (2) the icon circumscribes both human
and divine essence of Christ because the two are inseparable – God is the
invisible, unlimited and un-circumscribable par excellence. In the iconoclasts’
view, the gap between the divine model and its material image is therefore
unbridgeable.
The same image was thus at once icon and idol, depending on the interpre-
tation of the image-model relationship. Icon and idol, coming from eikōn and
eidōlon, respectively, reiterate the same opposition found in Plato and Plotinus.
Accordingly, the idol inherits the negative connotations of the Greek eidōlon as
something that reproduces exclusively a sensible appearance, thereby address-
ing only sight, and as an image that implies the possibility of producing a visually
identical double of the prototype. The image of God as idol/eidōlon is idolatrous
because it offers itself as the direct object of adoration, without being a means
for passing from the visible contemplation of the image to the intellectual con-
templation of God.
While both iconophilic and iconoclastic stances rejected the idol, their con-
ception of the icon differed. The iconophiles attributed to the icon the meaning
of the eikōn as that which mediates between the here below and the there above,
whereas for the iconoclasts the icon as conceived by the iconophiles was nothing
other than an idol. The same image, therefore, was caught between two diamet-
rically opposed interpretations.
The iconoclastic crisis of the eighth century eventually led to the second
Council of Nicaea in 787 and the victory of the iconophilic thesis. The icon
of Christ was legitimated and recognised as an image having a privileged link
with the divine model. The sacred icon thus became the intermediary between
humans and God, albeit not reproducing divine nature. To look on the visible
sacredness ideally leads to the imageless contemplation of God. This l­ egitimation
 PROLOGUE | 29

was to play a key role in the future of Western thought about images: once the
praise of images was detached from the religious context, any type of image
began to enjoy an ever-increasing power in the social imaginary that still per-
sists today. Therefore, it is possible to trace a pathway that goes from ancient
Greek philosophy to the Byzantine controversy up to contemporary Western
­imaginary and cinema. As Maria T. Bettetini (2006) insightfully observes,

there is no doubt that the second Council of Nicaea played a role in Western
medieval, modern and postmodern civilization. The legitimation of sacred
images drawn up in 787 by the council Fathers is universally recognised as the
theoretical and political origin of our civilization of images: from Byzantium
to Hollywood. (103)

The history of the Western European imaginary is marked by Platonic and

Plotinian philosophy, then re-elaborated from a Christian perspective, leading
to the paradoxical and ambiguous status of the image. As consequence, the
image has acquired a central role, attested by the daily production of images; and
yet, the status of the visual image is still often that of a secondary representation
incapable of truthfully expressing reality. Such antagonistic perspectives are also
present in the cinema, where both faith and distrust in the film image’s ability to
reproduce reality coexist.

Iconoclasm in the Cinema

My argument develops from the assumption that the binary between the eikōn
and the eidōlon can be found in the cinema as well, generating conflicting
stances. More specifically, different interpretations derive from a dichotomy
between reality and illusion, which opposes cinema’s claim to a mimetic restitu-
tion of reality and cinema’s deceptive nature. Such antagonism goes back to the
beginning of film theory and involves clashing views about the film image (Allen
1993; Andrew 1976; 1984, 37–56; Perniola 2013; Pezzella 2011; Rushton 2011;
Thomson-Jones 2008). There are various stances in the spectrum of the reality-­
illusion dichotomy in the cinema, which range from a quasi-religious faith in the
revelatory capacity of the film medium, such as in the writings of Louis Delluc
([1920] 1985), Jean Epstein ([1921] 1977; [1926] 2012), Béla Balázs ([1945] 1970;
[1924] 2010) and Siegfried Kracauer (1960), to a fierce disdain for the cinematic
image as a deceitful representation, as in the work of the exponents of political
modernism (Comolli and Narboni 1971; Fargier 1971; Heath 1974; MacCabe
1974; Rodowick 1994; Wollen 1976). This picture is further complicated by the
30 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

formalist position according to which the fundamental aesthetic value of cinema

resides in the film image’s deviation from reality (Arnheim 1958; Eisenstein
1949; 1957; Münsterberg 1916; Sesonske 1974).
As in religion and philosophy, in cinema too there is a division between a
true(r) reality (phenomenal reality or the intelligible sphere of thoughts and
emotions), which functions as the prototype, and a less true sensible sphere, that
of film images, which stands for the copy. Following a representational under-
standing of the cinema, it is possible to distinguish between the proponents of
cinema as a trustworthy, mimetic reproduction of phenomenal appearances and
the advocates of the film image as deceptive and illusory. The first perspective,
also referred to as photographic realism, finds its most influential represent-
atives in André Bazin (1967; 1972) and Kracauer (1960), who share a positive
account of the indexical relationship between film images and phenomenal
referents (reminiscent of the relationship of likeness distinctive of the eikōn).
Accordingly, the film image has a privileged bond with its model because, by
mechanically recording it, it attests that something has been there in front of
the camera. An extreme and quite negative case of photographic realism is
Roger Scruton’s (1981) argument on the transparency of photographic and
cinematic images, which are deemed surrogates of reality and excluded from
­representational arts – and therefore from aesthetics. On the other side of the
spectrum, the exponents of political modernism best exemplify the interpreta-
tion of a particular type of film image as an illusory copy of the real (eidōlon)
and thus as a means for providing a seemingly objective worldview rather than
granting spectators access to an augmented knowledge of reality.
Underlying these various stances there is an understanding of cinema as a
re-presentational medium. That is, cinema is a medium which records a reality
existing prior to and independently from it; therefore, the film image defines
itself according to the relationship it establishes with its phenomenal referent.
Among the possible interpretations of this relationship there are the film
image that reaches a quasi-complete likeness with its referent (for instance,
Scruton’s utterly negative transparency of the film image) and the image that
distances itself from its referent to the point of great difference. In both limit
cases, as in the many stretched between them, the relationship between image
and model remains fundamental, whether it is carried out in terms of similar-
ity or alterity.
The copy-prototype relationship, in fact, constitutes the basis for both icono-
clastic and iconophilic conceptions, in philosophy as in the cinema. Iconoclasm
and iconophilia share the same metaphysical requirement; namely, they posit
the existence of a true(r) prototype to which any copy has to be compared.
 PROLOGUE | 31

In the cinema, this metaphysical postulate can be found in the relationship

between phenomenal reality and the film image, where the former functions
as the prototype for the latter. What is more, the division between sensible and
intelligible spheres is also present in a film ambit, although with a slightly differ-
ent connotation. The sensible stands for what is visible and audible, namely what
can be physically seen and heard in phenomenal experience; the super-sensible
becomes that which can be shown only through metaphors because it lacks an
audio-visual form in phenomenal reality (for instance, emotions and thoughts),
or because it consists of something which resists mimetic doubling (for example,
the Shoah). The issue of iconoclasm in cinema, then, concerns the problematic
relationship between reality and its representation; it explores how emotional
and intelligible contents can be transferred into audio-visual images.
What underpins cinematic iconoclasm is an understanding of the relation-
ship between certain film images and their referents in terms of alterity, or at
least inadequacy – the image being somewhat insufficient for the representation
of the model. Resonating with philosophical interpretations of the eidōlon/idol,
the cinematic eidōlon carries connotations of illusion and deception: it belongs
to the sensible sphere only and reproduces the model following a mimetic par-
adigm. The image as eidōlon stands for a figurative image which replicates its
model in such a way as to produce an impression of reality. That is, by doubling
the appearance of the model, the eidōlon has the potential to present itself as
if it were the model – which is not tantamount to say that spectators could be
tricked into thinking that a moving image of a thing is the thing itself; rather,
it refers to the perilous psychological power that images of art can have (see
Plato’s critique). The image as figuration, hence imitation as duplication – the
peculiar feature of the eidōlon as the double – constitutes an affirmation of
presence because it implies the reproduction of the model’s visual features and,
consequently, the loss of the prototype’s uniqueness. However, from an icono-
clastic perspective, some models should be affirmations of absence: absence of
images of the invisible God; absence of images of genocidal events (hence, for
instance, Claude Lanzmann’s iconoclastic refusal of re-enacting the Shoah or
using photos and materials from archives for his Shoah [1985]).
Moreover, the eidōlon in the cinema can come to signify the image of classical
or mainstream entertainment cinema. Particularly in Marxist-inflected critique,
the eidōlon corresponds to a self-evident, seemingly coherent image whose con-
stitutive elements are reasoned (sound is in synch with the visual; the elements
of the mise-en-scène are logically linked; the editing is invisible; and so on). The
critique of the illusory nature of classical cinema echoes the Platonic condem-
nation of images of art and resonates with theological iconoclastic discourses.
32 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

The cinematic eidōlon is problematic, from an iconoclastic perspective, because

it retains a highly psychological power and is likely to produce an impression
of reality in the spectators. It does so by posing itself as objective representa-
tion of an uncomplicated reality depicted as if simply being there, beyond the
screen. Thus, the cinematic eidōlon consists of the seemingly transparent image
of the kind of cinema purported as a window into the world. Accordingly,
iconoclastic leftist film-makers attack these images to dismantle the worldview
they ­promote – for instance, in Isidore Isou’s cinema, eidōla often correspond
to images of oppressive power; in Guy Debord’s films and theoretical works,
eidōlon is any image produced by consumer society. What distinguishes the cin-
ematic eidōlon is, therefore, its capacity to mimetically double the model which
constitutes a threat to the uniqueness of certain prototypes and to challenging
representations of reality. Everything is perfectly visible on the screen – Christ
and its martyred body of flesh; the bodies and corpses in the concentration
camps; the other’s suffering. However, these images, the content of which is
visually consumable in the clarity of figuration, are defective in evoking a rela-
tionship with the invisibility and alterity proper to their models, more often pro-
ducing an unperceived distance between the viewer and the reality represented.
Quite the contrary, the iconoclastic eikōn, which incorporates aspects of the
eikōn without resorting to mimesis, consists of a refusal of certain audio-visual
images out of respect for reality, for its complexity and elusiveness. It thus
bespeaks a withdrawal of our representational capacities before specific models.
I draw the concept of iconoclastic eikōn from Alain Besançon’s (2000, 319–82),
Gérard Wajcman’s (1998) and Jean-Jacques Wunenburger’s (1999, 357–59) dis-
cussion of iconoclasm in non-figurative art. According to these scholars, non-­
figurative art reiterates the criticism of the image deriving from the arguments
of religious iconoclasm. In abstract painting, for example, the image ceases to
imitate nature because the representation of the Absolute, whether religious or
secularised, cannot pass through the reproduction of sensible forms of reality.
The status of the model as that which is beyond the sensible world determines
the rejection of images as mimesis of nature. In this respect, non-figurative art
recalls a conception of the image and of the copy-prototype relationship akin
to that of the iconoclasts during the Byzantine controversy: the inadequacy
of the material means for the reproduction of the model and the consequent
rejection of any mimetic principle for representing such prototype distinctly
bring to mind iconoclastic arguments against sacred images. Additionally,
Wunenburger (1999) discusses how, in non-figurative art, the knowledge of the
divine (whether intended in religious or agnostic-spiritual terms) is impossible
by sensible means. He concludes:
 PROLOGUE | 33

Iconoclasm, religious or secularised, thus defines not so much a practice of

deprivation or prohibition of images as the aspiration not to settle for an image
that would claim to exhaust the being, especially when the being posits itself
as absolute being. (359)

Abstract painting thus assimilates an iconoclastic component in its refusal to

circumscribe an intelligible prototype in a sensible frame, thereby breaking with
artistic mimesis. However, the outcome of this process (namely, the negation
of the eidōlon as a visual double of the model) does not remain grounded in
the sensible sphere only. Besançon (2000, 356) delineates the odd peculiarity
of certain non-figurative art as retaining some iconoclastic aspects together
with the iconophilic intent to represent the absolute being, which was strictly
opposed by the iconoclasts. Similarly, Wajcman (1998, 180, 195) addresses as
iconoclastic icon an image that deals with both visibility and invisibility with-
out mimetically reproducing the model. This type of image represents some-
thing that the eyes can see without however figuratively limiting the intelligible
model. While the iconophilic icon uses mimesis to represent the absolute being,
reproducing features retraceable in phenomenal reality and thereby enclosing
the intelligible prototype in a sensible frame, the iconoclastic eikōn respects the
unrepresentability of certain models. It is eikōn because it mediates between a
visual form and its intelligible model, and it is iconoclastic because it refuses
mimesis insofar as it would constitute an attempt to reduce what is invisible or
unrepresentable to a figurative form; the material means are inadequate for the
representation of the model, and yet the model somehow needs to be shown.
Hence, the iconoclastic eikōn comes to define an image capable of maintaining
the unrepresentability and ineffability at the core of those models which lack a
visible and audible equivalent in phenomenal reality.
The types of images involved – eidōlon, eikōn, iconoclastic eikōn – are
­therefore interpretations rather than fixed categories; that is, an image can be
eidōlon for some viewers and eikōn for others (as in the case of Christian icons
and idols). Cinematic iconoclasm does not consist in rejecting every image, but
only those images deemed deceitful and illusory. The interpretation of certain
images as false or inadequate depends on the prototype, on whether it can be
apprehended via the physical senses or, quite differently, can only be thought
through the intellect or experienced emotionally. Cinematic iconoclasm thus
challenges mimetic reproduction rather than censoring images. It questions the
Western obsession with mimesis and extreme visibility, contrasting them with
images and sounds that undermine our capacity to represent, see and hear; in so
doing, it can nurture our ethical imagination.
34 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

Concluding Remarks

There is a contradictory thinking that connects Platonic discourses about the

deceptive potential of artworks, Plotinus’s partial rehabilitation of images and
the Byzantine iconoclastic controversy over sacred icons with cinema’s dichot-
omy between illusion and reality. What ties together these seemingly distant
arguments is the issue of mimesis, which concerns the relationship between
an image as copy and its sensible or intelligible referent. Cinema addresses and
reworks the eikōn-eidōlon dichotomy which has haunted Western understand-
ings of the image since at least Plato: the eikōn is in a relationship with both
the sensible world (of the image and the viewer) and the intelligible realm (of
the model), whereas the eidōlon is exclusively grounded in the sensible sphere.
Drawing on philosophical and theological accounts of the nature of images, I
propose to investigate the issue of iconoclasm in the cinema using the eikōn-ei-
dōlon binary, differentiating between theories and films mainly concerned with
the destruction of the illusory image of mainstream entertainment cinema and
others more focused on overcoming the level of critique to produce iconoclastic
eikones. The criticism of the cinematic eidōlon grounds any iconoclastic gesture
in the cinema and is emphatically present in the destructive works of the direc-
tors discussed in Part I. There are also iconoclastic approaches which aim at a
further shift away from cinema as a spectacle for the eyes and ears – the eidōlon
consumed in the visible and audible realm – to cinema as a sensible stimulus
for actively reflecting on the object of our look – the iconoclastic eikōn turned
to the invisible sphere – which is at the core of the films analysed in Part II.
Never a rejection of images tout court, cinematic iconoclasm constitutes a way
to critique a certain morbid fascination with extreme visibility and to probe our
(ethical) r­ elationship with the visual field.
Part I: Cinematic Iconoclasm as
Critique: The Image as Eidōlon
1 Aural Cinema: Isidore Isou’s Traité de bave
et d’éternité

PART I EXPLORES the iconoclastic criticism of the cinematic eidōlon – namely,

a film image understood as deceptive and illusory – in Marxist-inflected works
within which mainstream narrative cinema would reiterate capitalist ideology’s
perspective via highly mimetic images. Leftist film theorists, theoretically, and
film-makers such as Isidore Isou, Guy Debord, Carmelo Bene and Jean-Luc
Godard, practically, develop a criticism of the cinematic eidōlon which bespeaks
a fundamentally iconoclastic understanding of the relationship between the film
image and phenomenal reality. Echoing Plato’s worries about the perceptual
power of artworks and the Byzantine iconoclasts’ refusal of potentially idolatrous
images of God, these iconoclastic directors fiercely reject cinema’s impression
of reality because of the film image’s inability to reproduce the model and its
connivance with capitalist ideology. When the model is deceptive in itself (as in
Isou’s, Debord’s and Bene’s films), or is far too complex (as in Godard’s oeuvre),
iconoclastic gestures become a way to challenge habitual forms of film-making
and film-viewing.
This chapter focuses on Isidore Isou, the founder of the French avant-garde
movement of Lettrism, who is a neglected yet essential figure for theorising
cinematic iconoclasm because of his explicit programme to destroy cinema,
both literally and metaphorically. In his cinematic project, Isou grants sound a
fundamental role while undermining the image as a mimetic copy. His critique
of mimesis stems from the consideration that the film image has exhausted its
imitative value, namely that there already exist films which have shown an effec-
tive use of mimetic images; it is now time for cinema to become something else.
Accordingly, Isou proposes a cinema where sound becomes the constructive
principle of the film and images acquire significance only from their opposition
38 | ICONOCLASM IN EUROPEAN CINEMA

to the sound track. The privileging of the sonorous grounds much of Lettrist
artistic practices, in which the political critique of words and images is part
of a more widespread scepticism about language and representation and their
ability to express reality. Thus, the criticism of artistic mimesis encompasses
the aural, visual and linguistic dimensions, in an overall rejection of the sounds
and images that had accompanied fascist propaganda before and during World
War II. Lettrist cinema becomes one of the diverse ways through which this
avant-garde expresses its attempts at overcoming the limitations imposed by
figurative representation and logocentric speech.
The chapter first locates Lettrism within the broader context of
­twentieth-century Europe, with particular attention to the crisis of language and
representation in philosophy, literature and the arts. It then delineates Isou’s
cinematic project, known as ‘discrepant cinema’ (cinéma discrépant), which
aims at dismantling cinema as spectacle by way of breaking with mimesis and
granting a privileged role to sound. Such an undermining of the visual image
is also discussed through a detailed analysis of Isou’s only film, Traité de bave
et d’éternité (Treatise on Venom and Eternity, 1951).1 The film’s iconoclastic
quality emerges from an account of the disruptive devices of discrepant edit-
ing (montage discrépant), which destroys synchronous sound, and the chiseled
image (image ciselante),2 which results from the literal scraping of and aggres-
sions against the filmstrip.

Lettrism, or the Struggle of Ordinary Language

Lettrism is the cultural avant-garde founded in 1946 by Isou, a Romanian commu-

nist Jew who had moved to Paris a year earlier. The context is post-World War II
France, a country exhausted by the Nazi invasion and the Vichy regime during
the war. A general sense of meaninglessness spreads from this post-war situation
through diverse areas of life and especially the arts. Isou founded Lettrism as a
reaction to the existential and identity crisis that the war had provoked. The feel-
ing of powerlessness and overall senselessness in the face of war and the Shoah
manifests itself in the Lettrists’ rejection of words in favour of the letter. In their
view, words are always already imbued with, and thus convey, a meaning. But
in a world that has lost any meaning and where language itself is found guilty of
having colluded with fascist propaganda, Isou and the Lettrists rejected words
and articulated speech to return to the pure aural dimension of the letter.
As the name suggests, Lettrism excludes words in favour of the letter (lettre)
as the basis for a type of poetry founded on sounds able to transcend the limits
of national boundaries (Feldman 2014, 78, 85). That is, while words are always
Random documents with unrelated
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 such services:

For each day employed in hunting or trailing, $2.50

For catching each slave, 10.00
For going over ten miles and catching slaves, 20.00
If sent for, the above prices will be exacted in cash. The subscriber resides one
mile and a half south of Dadeville, Ala.
B. Black.
Dadeville, Sept. 1, 1852. 1tf

The reader will see, by the printer’s sign at the bottom, that it is a
season advertisement, and, therefore, would meet the eye of the
child week after week. The paper from which we have cut this
contains among its extracts passages from Dickens’ Household
Words, from Professor Felton’s article in the Christian Examiner on
the relation of the sexes, and a most beautiful and chivalrous appeal
from the eloquent senator Soulé on the legal rights of women. Let
us now ask, since this paper is devoted to education, what sort of an
educational influence such advertisements have. And, of course,
such an establishment is not kept up without patronage. Where
there are negro-hunters advertising in a paper, there are also negro-
hunts, and there are dogs being trained to hunt; and all this process
goes on before the eyes of children; and what sort of education is it?
The writer has received an account of the way in which dogs are
trained for this business. The information has been communicated to
the gentleman who writes it by a negro man, who, having been
always accustomed to see it done, described it with as little sense of
there being anything out of the way in it as if the dogs had been
trained to catch raccoons. It came to the writer in a recent letter
from the South.
The way to train ‘em (says the man) is to take these yer pups,—any kind o’ pups
will do,—fox-hounds, bull-dogs, most any;—but take the pups, and keep ‘em shut
up and don’t let ‘em never see a nigger till they get big enough to be larned.
When the pups gits old enough to be set on to things, then make ‘em run after a
nigger; and when they cotches him, give ‘em meat. Tell the nigger to run as hard
as he can, and git up in a tree, so as to larn the dogs to tree ‘em; then take the
shoe of a nigger, and larn ‘em to find the nigger it belongs to; then a rag of his
clothes; and so on. Allers be carful to tree the nigger, and teach the dog to wait
and bark under the tree till you come up and give him his meat.
See also the following advertisement from the Ouachita Register, a
newspaper dated “Monroe, La., Tuesday evening, June 1, 1852.”

NEGRO DOGS.

The undersigned would respectfully inform the citizens of Ouachita and adjacent
parishes, that he has located about 2½ miles east of John White’s, on the road
leading from Monroe to Bastrop, and that he has a fine pack of Dogs for catching
negroes. Persons wishing negroes caught will do well to give him a call. He can
always be found at his stand when not engaged in hunting, and even then
information of his whereabouts can always be had of some one on the premises.
Terms.—Five dollars per day and found, when there is no track pointed out. When
the track is shown, twenty-five dollars will be charged for catching the negro.
M. C. Goff.

Monroe, Feb. 17, 1852. 15–3m

Now, do not all the scenes likely to be enacted under this head form
a fine education for the children of a Christian nation? and can we
wonder if children so formed see no cruelty in slavery? Can children
realize that creatures who are thus hunted are the children of one
heavenly Father with themselves?
But suppose the boy grows up to be a man, and attends the courts
of justice, and hears intelligent, learned men declaring from the
bench that “the mere beating of a slave, unaccompanied by any
circumstances of cruelty, or an attempt to kill, is no breach of the
peace of the state.” Suppose he hears it decided in the same place
that no insult or outrage upon any slave is considered worthy of
legal redress, unless it impairs his property value. Suppose he hears,
as he would in Virginia, that it is the policy of the law to protect the
master even in inflicting cruel, malicious and excessive punishment
upon the slave. Suppose a slave is murdered, and he hears the
lawyers arguing that it cannot be considered a murder, because the
slave, in law, is not considered a human being; and then suppose
the case is appealed to a superior court, and he hears the judge
expending his forces on a long and eloquent dissertation to prove
that the slave is a human being; at least, that he is as much so as a
lunatic, an idiot, or an unborn child, and that, therefore, he can be
murdered. (See Judge Clark’s speech, on p. 75.) Suppose he sees
that all the administration of law with regard to the slave proceeds
on the idea that he is absolutely nothing more than a bale of
merchandise. Suppose he hears such language as this, which occurs
in the reasonings of the Brazealle case, and which is a fair sample of
the manner in which such subjects are ordinarily discussed. “The
slave has no more political capacity, no more right to purchase, hold
or transfer property, than the mule in his plough; he is in himself but
a mere chattel,—the subject of absolute ownership.” Suppose he
sees on the statute-book such sentences as these, from the civil
code of Louisiana:
Art. 2500. The latent defects of slaves and animals are divided into two classes,—
vices of body and vices of character.
Art. 2501. The vices of body are distinguished into absolute and relative.
Art. 2502. The absolute vices of slaves are leprosy, madness and epilepsy.
Art. 2503. The absolute vices of horses and mules are short wind, glanders, and
founder.
The influence of this language is made all the stronger on the young
mind from the fact that it is not the language of contempt, or of
passion, but of calm, matter-of-fact, legal statement.
What effect must be produced on the mind of the young man when
he comes to see that, however atrocious and however well-proved
be the murder of a slave, the murderer uniformly escapes; and that,
though the cases where the slave has fallen a victim to passions of
the white are so multiplied, yet the fact of an execution for such a
crime is yet almost unknown in the country? Does not all this tend to
produce exactly that estimate of the value of negro life and
happiness which Frederic Douglass says was expressed by a
common proverb among the white boys where he was brought up:
“It’s worth sixpence to kill a nigger, and sixpence more to bury him”?
We see the public sentiment which has been formed by this kind of
education exhibited by the following paragraph from the Cambridge
Democrat, Md., Oct. 27, 1852. That paper quotes the following from
the Woodville Republican, of Mississippi. It seems a Mr. Joshua Johns
had killed a slave, and had been sentenced therefor to the
penitentiary for two years. The Republican thus laments his hard lot:

STATE v. JOSHUA JOHNS.

This cause resulted in the conviction of Johns, and his sentence to the penitentiary
for two years. Although every member of the jury, together with the bar, and the
public generally, signed a petition to the governor for young Johns’ pardon, yet
there was no fault to find with the verdict of the jury. The extreme youth of Johns,
and the circumstances in which the killing occurred, enlisted universal sympathy in
his favor. There is no doubt that the negro had provoked him to the deed by the
use of insolent language; but how often must it be told that words are no
justification for blows? There are many persons—and we regret to say it—who
think they have the same right to shoot a negro, if he insults them, or even runs
from them, that they have to shoot down a dog; but there are laws for the
protection of the slave as well as the master, and the sooner the error above
alluded to is removed, the better will it be for both parties.
The unfortunate youth who has now entailed upon himself the penalty of the law,
we doubt not, had no idea that there existed such penalty; and even if he was
aware of the fact, the repeated insults and taunts of the negro go far to mitigate
the crime. Johns was defended by I. D. Gildart, Esq., who probably did all that
could have been effected in his defence.
The Democrat adds:
We learn from Mr. Curry, deputy sheriff, of Wilkinson County, that Johns has been
pardoned by the governor. We are gratified to hear it.
This error above alluded to, of thinking it is as innocent to shoot
down a negro as a dog, is one, we fairly admit, for which young
Johns ought not to be very severely blamed. He has been educated
in a system of things of which this opinion is the inevitable result;
and he, individually, is far less guilty for it, than are those men who
support the system of laws, and keep up the educational influences,
which lead young Southern men directly to this conclusion. Johns
may be, for aught we know, as generous-hearted and as just
naturally as any young man living; but the horrible system under
which he has been educated has rendered him incapable of
distinguishing what either generosity or justice is, as applied to the
negro.
The public sentiment of the slave states is the sentiment of men who
have been thus educated, and in all that concerns the negro it is
utterly blunted and paralyzed. What would seem to them injustice
and horrible wrong in the case of white persons, is the coolest
matter of course in relation to slaves.
As this educational influence descends from generation to
generation, the moral sense becomes more and more blunted, and
the power of discriminating right from wrong, in what relates to the
subject race, more and more enfeebled.
Thus, if we read the writings of distinguished men who were slave-
holders about the time of our American Revolution, what clear views
do we find expressed of the injustice of slavery, what strong
language of reprobation do we find applied to it! Nothing more
forcible could possibly be said in relation to its evils than by quoting
the language of such men as Washington, Jefferson, and Patrick
Henry. In those days there were no men of that high class of mind
who thought of such a thing as defending slavery on principle: now
there are an abundance of the most distinguished men, North and
South, statesmen, civilians, men of letters, even clergymen, who in
various degrees palliate it, apologize for or openly defend it. And
what is the cause of this, except that educational influences have
corrupted public sentiment, and deprived them of the power of just
judgment? The public opinion even of free America, with regard to
slavery, is behind that of all other civilized nations.
When the holders of slaves assert that they are, as a general thing,
humanely treated, what do they mean? Not that they would consider
such treatment humane if given to themselves and their children,—
no, indeed!—but it is humane for slaves.
They do, in effect, place the negro below the range of humanity, and
on a level with brutes, and then graduate all their ideas of humanity
accordingly.
They would not needlessly kick or abuse a dog or a negro. They may
pet a dog, and they often do a negro. Men have been found who
fancied having their horses elegantly lodged in marble stables, and
to eat out of sculptured mangers, but they thought them horses still;
and, with all the indulgences with which good-natured masters
sometimes surround the slave, he is to them but a negro still, and
not a man.
In what has been said in this chapter, and in what appears
incidentally in all the facts cited throughout this volume, there is
abundant proof that, notwithstanding there be frequent and most
noble instances of generosity towards the negro, and although the
sentiment of honorable men and the voice of Christian charity does
everywhere protest against what it feels to be inhumanity, yet the
popular sentiment engendered by the system must necessarily fall
deplorably short of giving anything like sufficient protection to the
rights of the slave. It will appear in the succeeding chapters, as it
must already have appeared to reflecting minds, that the whole
course of educational influence upon the mind of the slave-master is
such as to deaden his mind to those appeals which come from the
negro as a fellow-man and a brother.
 CHAPTER III.
SEPARATION OF FAMILIES.

“What must the difference be,” said Dr. Worthington, with startling energy,
“between Isabel and her servants! To her it is loss of position, fortune, the fair
hopes of life, perhaps even health; for she must inevitably break down under the
unaccustomed labor and privations she will have to undergo. But to them it is
merely a change of masters”!
“Yes, for the neighbors won’t allow any of the families to be separated.”
“Of course not. We read of such things in novels sometimes. But I have yet to see
it in real life, except in rare cases, or where the slave has been guilty of some
misdemeanor, or crime, for which, in the North, he would have been imprisoned,
perhaps for life.”—Cabin and Parlor, by J. Thornton Randolph, p. 39.

“But they’re going to sell us all to Georgia, I say. How are we to escape that?”
“Spec dare some mistake in dat,” replied Uncle Peter, stoutly. “I nebber knew of
sich a ting in dese parts, ‘cept where some niggar’d been berry bad.”—Ibid.
By such graphic touches as the above does Mr. Thornton Randolph
represent to us the patriarchal stability and security of the slave
population in the Old Dominion. Such a thing as a slave being sold
out of the state has never been heard of by Dr. Worthington, except
in rare cases for some crime; and old Uncle Peter never heard of
such a thing in his life.
Are these representations true?
The worst abuse of the system of slavery is its outrage upon the
family; and, as the writer views the subject, it is one which is more
notorious and undeniable than any other.
Yet it is upon this point that the most stringent and earnest denial
has been made to the representations of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” either
indirectly, as by the romance-writer above, or more directly in the
assertions of newspapers, both at the North and at the South. When
made at the North, they indicate, to say the least, very great
ignorance of the subject; when made at the South, they certainly do
very great injustice to the general character of the Southerner for
truth and honesty. All sections of country have faults peculiar to
themselves. The fault of the South, as a general thing, has not been
cowardly evasion and deception. It was with utter surprise that the
author read the following sentences in an article in Fraser’s
Magazine, professing to come from a South Carolinian.
Mrs. Stowe’s favorite illustration of the master’s power to the injury of the slave is
the separation of families. We are told of infants of ten months old being sold from
the arms of their mothers, and of men whose habit it is to raise children to sell
away from their mother as soon as they are old enough to be separated. Were our
views of this feature of slavery derived from Mrs. Stowe’s book, we should regard
the families of slaves as utterly unsettled and vagrant.
And again:
We feel confident that, if statistics could be had to throw light upon this subject,
we should find that there is less separation of families among the negroes than
occurs with almost any other class of persons.
As the author of the article, however, is evidently a man of honor,
and expresses many most noble and praiseworthy sentiments, it
cannot be supposed that these statements were put forth with any
view to misrepresent or to deceive. They are only to be regarded as
evidences of the facility with which a sanguine mind often overlooks
the most glaring facts that make against a favorite idea or theory, or
which are unfavorable in their bearings on one’s own country or
family. Thus the citizens of some place notoriously unhealthy will
come to believe, and assert, with the utmost sincerity, that there is
actually less sickness in their town than any other of its size in the
known world. Thus parents often think their children perfectly
immaculate in just those particulars in which others see them to be
most faulty. This solution of the phenomena is a natural and amiable
one, and enables us to retain our respect for our Southern brethren.
There is another circumstance, also, to be taken into account, in
reading such assertions as these. It is evident, from the pamphlet in
question, that the writer is one of the few who regard the
possession of absolute irresponsible power as the highest of motives
to moderation and temperance in its use. Such men are commonly
associated in friendship and family connection with others of similar
views, and are very apt to fall into the error of judging others by
themselves, and thinking that a thing may do for all the world
because it operates well in their immediate circle. Also it cannot but
be a fact that the various circumstances which from infancy conspire
to degrade and depress the negro in the eyes of a Southern-born
man,—the constant habit of speaking of them, and hearing them
spoken of, and seeing them advertised, as mere articles of property,
often in connection with horses, mules, fodder, swine, &c., as they
are almost daily in every Southern paper,—must tend, even in the
best-constituted minds, to produce a certain obtuseness with regard
to the interests, sufferings and affections, of such as do not
particularly belong to himself, which will peculiarly unfit him for
estimating their condition. The author has often been singularly
struck with this fact, in the letters of Southern friends; in which,
upon one page, they will make some assertion regarding the
condition of Southern negroes, and then go on, and in other
connections state facts which apparently contradict them all. We can
all be aware how this familiarity would operate with ourselves. Were
we called upon to state how often our neighbors’ cows were
separated from their calves, or how often their household furniture
and other effects are scattered and dispersed by executor’s sales, we
should be inclined to say that it was not a misfortune of very
common occurrence.
But let us open two South Carolina papers, published in the very
state where this gentleman is residing, and read the advertisements
FOR ONE WEEK. The author has slightly abridged them.

COMMISSIONER’S SALE OF 12 LIKELY NEGROES.

Fairfield District.
 R. W. Murray and wife and }
others }
v. } In Equity.
William Wright and wife }
and others. }
In pursuance of an Order of the Court of Equity made in the above case at July
Term, 1852, I will sell at public outcry, to the highest bidder, before the Court
House in Winnsboro, on the first Monday in January next,

12 VERY LIKELY NEGROES,

belonging to the estate of Micajah Mobley, deceased, late of Fairfield District.

These Negroes consist chiefly of young boys and girls, and are said to be very
likely.
Terms of Sale, &c.
W. R. Robertson,
C. E. F. D.

Commisioner's Office, }
Winnsboro, Nov. 30, }
1852.
Dec. 2 42 x4.

ADMINISTRATOR’S SALE.

Will be sold at public outcry, to the highest bidder, on Tuesday, the 21st day of
December next, at the late residence of Mrs. M. P. Rabb, deceased, all of the
personal estate of said deceased, consisting in part of about
2,000 Bushels of Corn.
25,000 pounds of Fodder.
Wheat—Cotton Seed.
Horses, Mules, Cattle, Hogs, Sheep.
There will, in all probability, be sold at the same time and place several likely
Young Negroes.
The Terms of Sale will be—all sums under Twenty-five Dollars, Cash. All sums of
Twenty-five Dollars and over, twelve months’ credit, with interest from day of Sale,
secured by note and two approved sureties.
William S. Rabb,
Administrator.

Nov. 11. 39 x2

COMMISSIONER’S SALE OF LAND AND NEGROES.

Fairfield District.

James E. Caldwell, }
Admr., with the Will }
annexed, of Jacob Gibson, }
deceased, } In Equity.
v. }
Jason D. Gibson }
and others. }
In pursuance of the order of sale made in the above case, I will sell at public
outcry, to the highest bidder, before the Court House in Winnsboro, on the first
Monday in January next, and the day following, the following real and personal
estate of Jacob Gibson, deceased, late of Fairfield District, to wit:
The Plantation on which the testator lived at the time of his death, containing 661
Acres, more or less, lying on the waters of Wateree Creek, and bounded by lands
of Samuel Johnston, Theodore S. DuBose, Edward P. Mobley, and B. R. Cockrell.
This plantation will be sold in two separate tracts, plats of which will be exhibited
on the day of sale:

46 PRIME LIKELY NEGROES,

consisting of Wagoners, Blacksmiths, Cooks, House Servants, &c.

W. R. Robertson,
C. E. F. D.

Commissioner’s Office, }
Winnsboro, 29th Nov. }
1852.

ESTATE SALE—FIFTY PRIME NEGROES. BY J. & L. T. LEVIN.

On the first Monday in January next I will sell, before the Court House in
Columbia, 50 of as Likely Negroes as have ever been exposed to public sale,
belonging to the estate of A. P. Vinson, deceased. The Negroes have been well
cared for, and well managed in every respect. Persons wishing to purchase will
not, it is confidently believed, have a better opportunity to supply themselves.
J. H. Adams,
Executor.

Nov. 18 40 x3

ADMINISTRATOR’S SALE.

Will be sold on the 15th December next, at the late residence of Samuel Moore,
deceased, in York District, all the personal property of said deceased, consisting
of:

35 LIKELY NEGROES,

a quantity of Cotton and Corn, Horses and Mules, Farming Tools, Household and
Kitchen Furniture, with many other articles.
Samuel E. Moore,
Administrator.

Nov. 18 40 x4t.

ADMINISTRATOR’S SALE.

Will be sold at public outcry, to the highest bidder, on Tuesday, the 14th day of
December next, at the late residence of Robert W. Durham, deceased, in Fairfield
District, all of the personal estate of said deceased: consisting in part as follows:

50 PRIME LIKELY NEGROES.

About 3,000 Bushels of Corn. A large quantity of Fodder.
Wheat, Oats, Cow Peas, Rye, Cotton Seed, Horses, Mules, Cattle, Hogs, Sheep.
C. H. Durham,
Administrator.

Nov. 23.

SHERIFF’S SALE.

By virtue of sundry executions to me directed, I will sell at Fairfield Court House,

on the first Monday, and the day following, in December next, within the legal
hours of sale, to the highest bidder, for cash, the following property. Purchasers to
pay for titles:
2 Negroes, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the suit of
Alexander Brodie, et al.
2 Horses and 1 Jennet, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the
suit of Alexander Brodie.
2 Mules, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the suit of
Temperance E. Miller and J. W. Miller.
1 pair of Cart Wheels, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the
suit of Temperance E. Miller and J. W. Miller.
1 Chest of Drawers, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the suit
of Temperance E. Miller and J. W. Miller.
1 Bedstead, levied upon as the property of Allen R. Crankfield, at the suit of
Temperance E. Miller and J. W. Miller.
1 Negro, levied upon as the property of R. J. Gladney, at the suit of James Camak.
1 Negro, levied upon as the property of Geo. McCormick, at the suit of W. M.
Phifer.
1 Riding Saddle, to be sold under an assignment of G. W. Boulware to J. B. Mickle,
in the case of Geo. Murphy, Jr., v. G. W. Boulware.
R. E. Ellison,
S. F. D.

Sheriff’s }
Office,
Nov. 19 1852. }
Nov. 20 37
†xtf

COMMISSIONER’S SALE.

John A. Crumpton, }
and others, } In Equity.
v. }
Zachariah C. Crumpton. }
In pursuance of the Decretal order made in this case, I will sell at public outcry to
the highest bidder, before the Court House door in Winnsboro, on the first Monday
in December next, three separate tracts or parcels of land, belonging to the estate
of Zachariah Crumpton, deceased.
I will also sell, at the same time and place, five or six likely Young Negroes, sold as
the property of the said Zachariah Crumpton, deceased, by virtue of the authority
aforesaid.
The Terms of sale are as follows, &c. &c.
W. R. Robetson,
C. E. F. D.

Commissioner’s }
Office,
Winnsboro, Nov. 8, }
1852.
Nov. 11 30 x3

ESTATE SALE OF VALUABLE PROPERTY.

The undersigned, as Administrator of the Estate of Col. T. Randell, deceased, will

sell, on Monday the 20th December next, all the personal property belonging to
said estate, consisting of

56 NEGROES,
 STOCK, CORN, FODDER, ETC. ETC.

Terms of sale, &c. &c.

Samuel J. Randell.

Sep. 2 29 x16

The Tri-weekly South Carolinian, published at Columbia, S. C., has

this motto:
“Be just and fear not; let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy Country’s, thy God’s, AND
Truth’s.”
In the number dated December 23d, 1852, is found a “Reply of the
Women of Virginia to the Women of England,” containing this
sentiment:
Believe us, we deeply, prayerfully, study God’s holy word; we are fully persuaded
that our institutions are in accordance with it.
After which, in other columns, come the ten advertisements
following:

SHERIFF’S SALES FOR JANUARY 2, 1853.

By virtue of sundry writs of fieri facias, to me directed, will be sold before the
Court House in Columbia, within the legal hours, on the first Monday and Tuesday
in January next,
Seventy-four acres of Land, more or less, in Richland District, bounded on the
north and east by Lorick’s, and on the south and west by Thomas Trapp.
Also, Ten Head of Cattle, Twenty-five Head of Hogs, and Two Hundred Bushels of
Corn, levied on as the property of M. A. Wilson, at the suit of Samuel Gardner v.
M. A. Wilson.
Seven Negroes, named Grace, Frances, Edmund, Charlotte, Emuline, Thomas and
Charles, levied on as the property of Bartholomew Turnipseed, at the suit of A. F.
Dubard, J. S. Lever, Bank of the State and others, v. B. Turnipseed.
450 acres of Land, more or less, in Richland District, bounded on the north, &c.
&c.

LARGE SALE OF REAL AND PERSONAL PROPERTY.—ESTATE SALE.

On Monday, the (7th) seventh day of February next, I will sell at Auction, without
reserve, at the Plantation, near Linden, all the Horses, Mules, Wagons, Farming
Utensils, Corn, Fodder, &c.
And on the following Monday (14th), the fourteenth day of February next, at the
Court House, at Linden, in Marengo County, Alabama, I will sell at public auction,
without reserve, to the highest bidder,

110 PRIME AND LIKELY NEGROES,

belonging to the Estate of the late John Robinson, of South Carolina.

Among the Negroes are four valuable Carpenters, and a very superior Blacksmith.

NEGROES FOR SALE.

By permission of Peter Wylie, Esq., Ordinary for Chester District, I will sell, at
public auction, before the Court House, in Chesterville, on the first Monday in
February next,

FORTY LIKELY NEGROES,

belonging to the Estate of F. W. Davie.

W. D. DeSaussure, Executor.

Dec. 23. 56 †tds.

ESTATE SALE OF FURNITURE, &c., BY J. & L. T. LEVIN.

Will be sold, at our store, on Thursday, the 6th day of January next, all the
Household and Kitchen Furniture, belonging to the Estate of B. L. McLaughlin,
deceased, consisting in part of
Hair Seat Chairs, Sofas and Rockers. Piano, Mahogany Dining, Tea, and Card
Tables; Carpets, Rugs, Andirons, Fenders, Shovel and Tongs, Mantel Ornaments,
Clocks, Side Board, Bureaus, Mahogany Bedsteads, Feather Beds and Mattresses,
Wash Stands, Curtains, fine Cordial Stand, Glassware, Crockery, and a great
variety of articles for family use.
Terms cash.

ALSO,
A Negro Man, named Leonard, belonging to same.
Terms, &c.

ALSO,

At same time, a quantity of New Brick, belonging to Estate of A. S. Johnstone,

deceased.
Dec. 21. 53 ‡tds.

GREAT SALE OF NEGROES AND THE SALUDA FACTORY, BY J. & L. T. LEVIN.

On Thursday, December 30, at 11 o’clock, will be sold at the Court House in

Columbia,

ONE HUNDRED VALUABLE NEGROES.

It is seldom such an opportunity occurs us now offers. Among them are only four
beyond 45 years old, and none above 50. There are twenty-five prime young men,
between sixteen and thirty; forty of the most likely young women, and as fine a
set of children as can be shown!!
Terms, &c.

Dec. 18, ‘52.

NEGROES AT AUCTION.—BY J. & L. T. LEVIN.

Will be sold, on Monday, the 3d January next, at the Court House, at 10 o’clock,
22 LIKELY NEGROES, the larger number of which are young and desirable. Among
them are Field Hands, Hostlers and Carriage Drivers, House Servants, &c., and of
the following ages: Robinson 40, Elsey 34, Yanaky 13, Sylla 11, Anikee 8, Robinson
6, Candy 3, Infant 9, Thomas 35, Die 38, Amey 18, Eldridge 13, Charles 6, Sarah
60, Baket 50, Mary 18, Betty 16, Guy 12, Tilla 9, Lydia 24, Rachel 4, Scipio 2.
The above Negroes are sold for the purpose of making some other investment of
the proceeds; the sale will, therefore, be positive.
Terms.—A credit of one, two, and three years, for notes payable at either of the
Banks, with two or more approved endorsers, with interest from date. Purchasers
to pay for papers.
 Dec 8 43

☞ Black River Watchman will copy the above, and forward bill to the auctioneers
for payment.
Poor little Scip!

LIKELY AND VALUABLE GIRL, AT PRIVATE SALE.

A LIKELY GIRL, about seventeen years old (raised in the up-country), a good Nurse
and House Servant, can wash and iron, and do plain cooking, and is warranted
sound and healthy. She may be seen at our office, where she will remain until
sold.
Allen & Phillips,
Auctioneers & Com. Agents.

Dec. 15, ‘49.

PLANTATION AND NEGROES FOR SALE.

The subscriber, having located in Columbia, offers for sale his Plantation in St.
Matthew’s Parish, six miles from the Railroad, containing 1,500 acres, now in a
high state of cultivation, with Dwelling House and all necessary Out-buildings.

ALSO,

50 Likely Negroes, with provisions, &c.

The terms will be accommodating. Persons desirous to purchase can call upon the
subscriber in Columbia, or on his son at the Plantation.
Dec. 6 41.

T. J. Goodwyn.

FOR SALE.

A LIKELY NEGRO BOY, about twenty-one years old, a good wagoner and field hand.
Apply at this office.
 Dec. 20 52.

Now, it is scarcely possible that a person who has been accustomed

to see such advertisements from boyhood, and to pass them over
with as much indifference as we pass over advertisements of sofas
and chairs for sale, could possibly receive the shock from them
which one wholly unaccustomed to such a mode of considering and
disposing of human beings would receive. They make no impression
upon him. His own family servants, and those of his friends, are not
in the market, and he does not realize that any are. Under the
advertisements, a hundred such scenes as those described in “Uncle
Tom” may have been acting in his very vicinity. When Mr. Dickens
drew pictures of the want and wretchedness of London life, perhaps
a similar incredulity might have been expressed within the silken
curtains of many a brilliant parlor. They had never seen such things,
and they had always lived in London. But, for all that, the writings of
Dickens awoke in noble and aristocratic bosoms the sense of a
common humanity with the lowly, and led them to feel how much
misery might exist in their immediate vicinity, of which they were
entirely unaware. They have never accused him as a libeller of his
country, though he did make manifest much of the suffering, sorrow
and abuse, which were in it. The author is led earnestly to entreat
that the writer of this very paper would examine the “statistics” of
the American internal slave-trade; that he would look over the
exchange files of some newspaper, and, for a month or two,
endeavor to keep some inventory of the number of human beings,
with hearts, hopes and affections, like his own, who are constantly
subjected to all the uncertainties and mutations of property relation.
The writer is sure that he could not do it long without a generous
desire being excited in his bosom to become, not an apologist for,
but a reformer of, these institutions of his country.
These papers of South Carolina are not exceptional ones; they may
be matched by hundreds of papers from any other state.
Let the reader now stop one minute, and look over again these two
weeks’ advertisements. This is not novel-writing—this is fact. See
these human beings tumbled promiscuously out before the public
with horses, mules, second-hand buggies, cotton-seed, bedsteads,
&c. &c.; and Christian ladies, in the same newspaper, saying that
they prayerfully study God’s word, and believe their institutions have
his sanction! Does he suppose that here, in these two weeks, there
have been no scenes of suffering? Imagine the distress of these
families—the nights of anxiety of these mothers and children, wives
and husbands, when these sales are about to take place! Imagine
the scenes of the sales! A young lady, a friend of the writer, who
spent a winter in Carolina, described to her the sale of a woman and
her children. When the little girl, seven years of age, was put on the
block, she fell into spasms with fear and excitement. She was taken
off—recovered and put back—the spasms came back—three times
the experiment was tried, and at last the sale of the child was
deferred!
See also the following, from Dr. Elwood Harvey, editor of a western
paper, to the Pennsylvania Freeman, Dec. 25, 1846.
We attended a sale of land and other property, near Petersburg, Virginia, and
unexpectedly saw slaves sold at public auction. The slaves were told they would
not be sold, and were collected in front of the quarters, gazing on the assembled
multitude. The land being sold, the auctioneer’s loud voice was heard, “Bring up
the niggers!” A shade of astonishment and affright passed over their faces, as they
stared first at each other, and then at the crowd of purchasers, whose attention
was now directed to them. When the horrible truth was revealed to their minds
that they were to be sold, and nearest relations and friends parted forever, the
effect was indescribably agonizing. Women snatched up their babes, and ran
screaming into the huts. Children hid behind the huts and trees, and the men
stood in mute despair. The auctioneer stood on the portico of the house, and the
“men and boys” were ranging in the yard for inspection. It was announced that no
warranty of soundness was given, and purchasers must examine for themselves. A
few old men were sold at prices from thirteen to twenty-five dollars, and it was
painful to see old men, bowed with years of toil and suffering, stand up to be the
jest of brutal tyrants, and to hear them tell their disease and worthlessness,
fearing that they would be bought by traders for the southern market.
A white boy, about fifteen years old, was placed on the stand. His hair was brown
and straight, his skin exactly the same hue as other white persons and no
discernible trace of negro features in his countenance.
Some vulgar jests were passed on his color, and two hundred dollars was bid for
him; but the audience said “that it was not enough to begin on for such a likely
young nigger.” Several remarked that they “would not have him as a gift.” Some
said a white nigger was more trouble than he was worth. One man said it was
wrong to sell white people. I asked him if it was more wrong than to sell black
people. He made no reply. Before he was sold, his mother rushed from the house
upon the portico, crying, in frantic grief, “My son, O! my boy, they will take away
my dear—” Here her voice was lost, as she was rudely pushed back and the door
closed. The sale was not for a moment interrupted, and none of the crowd
appeared to be in the least affected by the scene. The poor boy, afraid to cry
before so many strangers, who showed no signs of sympathy or pity, trembled,
and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. He was sold for about two
hundred and fifty dollars. During the sale, the quarters resounded with cries and
lamentations that made my heart ache. A woman was next called by name. She
gave her infant one wild embrace before leaving it with an old woman, and
hastened mechanically to obey the call; but stopped, threw her arms aloft,
screamed and was unable to move.
One of my companions touched my shoulder and said, “Come, let us leave here; I
can bear no more.” We left the ground. The man who drove our carriage from
Petersburg had two sons who belonged to the estate—small boys. He obtained a
promise that they should not be sold. He was asked if they were his only children;
he answered, “All that’s left of eight.” Three others had been sold to the south,
and he would never see or hear from them again.
As Northern people do not see such things, they should hear of them often
enough to keep them awake to the sufferings of the victims of their indifference.
Such are the common incidents, not the admitted cruelties, of an
institution which people have brought themselves to feel is in
accordance with God’s word!
Suppose it be conceded now that “the family relation is protected, as
far as possible.” The question still arises, How far is it possible?
Advertisements of sales to the number of those we have quoted,
more or less, appear from week to week in the same papers, in the
same neighborhood; and professional traders make it their business
to attend them, and buy up victims. Now, if the inhabitants of a
given neighborhood charge themselves with the care to see that no
families are separated in this whirl of auctioneering, one would fancy
that they could have very little else to do. It is a fact, and a most
honorable one to our common human nature, that the distress and
anguish of these poor, helpless creatures does often raise up for
them friends among the generous-hearted. Southern men often go
to the extent of their means, and beyond their means, to arrest the
cruel operations of trade, and relieve cases of individual distress.
There are men at the South who could tell, if they would, how, when
they have spent the last dollar that they thought they could afford
on one week, they have been importuned by precisely such a case
the next, and been unable to meet it. There are masters at the
South who could tell, if they would, how they have stood and bid
against a trader, to redeem some poor slave of their own, till the
bidding was perfectly ruinous, and they have been obliged to give up
by sheer necessity. Good-natured auctioneers know very well how
they have often been entreated to connive at keeping a poor fellow
out of the trader’s clutches; and how sometimes they succeed, and
sometimes they do not.
The very struggle and effort which generous Southern men make to
stop the regular course of trade only shows them the hopelessness
of the effort. We fully concede that many of them do as much or
more than any of us would do under similar circumstances; and yet
they know that what they do amounts, after all, to the merest trifle.
But let us still further reason upon the testimony of advertisements.
What is to be understood by the following, of the Memphis Eagle
and Inquirer, Saturday, Nov. 13, 1852? Under the editorial motto,
“Liberty and Union, now and forever,” come the following
illustrations:

NO. I.

75 NEGROES.

I have just received from the East 75 assorted A No. 1 negroes. Call soon, if
you want to get the first choice.
Benj. Little.

NO. II.
 CASH FOR NEGROES.

I will pay as high cash prices for a few likely young negroes as any trader in
this city. Also, will receive and sell on commission at Byrd Hill’s, old stand, on
Adams-street, Memphis.
Benj. Little.

NO. III.

500 NEGROES WANTED.

We will pay the highest cash price for all good negroes offered. We
invite all those having negroes for sale to call on us at our Mart,
opposite the lower steamboat landing. We will also have a large lot of
Virginia negroes for sale in the Fall. We have as safe a jail as any in the country,
where we can keep negroes safe for those that wish them kept.
Bolton, Dickins & Co.

Under the head of advertisements No. 1, let us humbly inquire what

“assorted A No. 1 Negroes” means. Is it likely that it means negroes
sold in families? What is meant by the invitation. “Call soon if you
want to get the first choice”?
So much for Advertisement No. 1. Let us now propound a few
questions to the initiated on No. 2. What does Mr. Benjamin Little
mean by saying that he “will pay as high a cash price for a few likely
young negroes as any trader in the city”? Do families commonly
consist exclusively of “likely young negroes”?
On the third advertisement we are also desirous of some
information. Messrs. Bolton, Dickins & Co. state that they expect to
receive a large lot of Virginia negroes in the fall.
Unfortunate Messrs. Bolton, Dickins & Co.! Do you suppose that
Virginia families will sell their negroes? Have you read Mr. J.
Thornton Randolph’s last novel, and have you not learned that old
Virginia families never sell to traders? and, more than that, that they
always club together and buy up the negroes that are for sale in
their neighborhood, and the traders when they appear on the
ground are hustled off with very little ceremony? One would really
think that you had got your impressions on the subject from “Uncle
Tom’s Cabin.” For we are told that all who derive their views of
slavery from this book “regard the families of slaves as utterly
unsettled and vagrant.”[18]
But, before we recover from our astonishment on reading this, we
take up the Natchez (Mississippi) Courier of Nov. 20th, 1852, and
there read:

NEGROES.

The undersigned would respectfully state to the public that he has leased the
stand in the Forks of the Road, near Natchez, for a term of years, and that he
intends to keep a large lot of NEGROES on hand during the year. He will sell
as low or lower than any other trader at this place or in New Orleans.
He has just arrived from Virginia with a very likely lot of Field Men and Women;
also, House Servants, three Cooks, and a Carpenter. Call and see.
A fine Buggy Horse, a Saddle Horse and a Carryall, on hand, and for sale.
Thos. G. James.

Natchez, Sept. 28, 1852.

Where in the world did this lucky Mr. Thos. G. James get this likely
Virginia “assortment”? Probably in some county which Mr. Thornton
Randolph never visited. And had no families been separated to form
the assortment? We hear of a lot of field men and women. Where
are their children? We hear of a lot of house-servants,—of “three
cooks,” and “one carpenter,” as well as a “fine buggy horse.” Had
these unfortunate cooks and carpenters no relations? Did no sad
natural tears stream down their dark checks, when they were being
“assorted” for the Natchez market? Does no mournful heart among
them yearn to the song of
“O, carry me back to old Virginny”?

Still further, we see in the same paper the following:

SLAVES! SLAVES! SLAVES!

Fresh Arrivals Weekly.—Having established ourselves at the Forks of the Road, near
Natchez, for a term of years, we have now on hand, and intend to keep
throughout the entire year, a large and well-selected stock of Negroes, consisting
of field-hands, house servants, mechanics, cooks, seamstresses, washers, ironers,
etc., which we can and will sell as low or lower than any other house here or in
New Orleans.
Persons wishing to purchase would do well to call on us before making
purchases elsewhere, as our regular arrivals will keep us supplied with a
good and general assortment. Our terms are liberal. Give us a call.
Griffin & Pullam.

Natchez, Oct. 15, 1852.—6m.

Free Trader and Concordia Intelligencer copy as above.
Indeed! Messrs. Griffin and Pullam, it seems, are equally fortunate!
They are having fresh supplies weekly, and are going to keep a
large, well-selected stock constantly on hand, to wit, “field-hands,
house-servants, mechanics, cooks, seamstresses, washers, ironers,
etc.”
Let us respectfully inquire what is the process by which a trader
acquires a well-selected stock. He goes to Virginia to select. He has
had orders, say, for one dozen cooks, for half a dozen carpenters,
for so many house-servants, &c. &c. Each one of these individuals
have their own ties; besides being cooks, carpenters and house-
servants, they are also fathers, mothers, husbands, wives; but what
of that? They must be selected—it is an assortment that is wanted.
The gentleman who has ordered a cook does not, of course, want
her five children; and the planter who has ordered a carpenter does
not want the cook, his wife. A carpenter is an expensive article, at
any rate, as they cost from a thousand to fifteen hundred dollars;
and a man who has to pay out this sum for him cannot always afford
himself the luxury of indulging his humanity; and as to the children,
they must be left in the slave-raising state. For, when the ready-
raised article is imported weekly into Natchez or New Orleans, is it
likely that the inhabitants will encumber themselves with the labor of
raising children? No, there must be division of labor in all well-
ordered business. The northern slave states raise the article, and the
southern ones consume it.
The extracts have been taken from the papers of the more southern
states. If, now, the reader has any curiosity to explore the selecting
process in the northern states, the daily prints will further enlighten
him. In the Daily Virginian of Nov. 19, 1852, Mr. J. B. McLendon thus
announces to the Old Dominion that he has settled himself down to
attend to the selecting process:

NEGROEES WANTD.

The subscriber, having located in Lynchburg, is giving the highest cash prices for
negroes between the ages of 10 and 30 years. Those having negroes for sale may
find it to their interest to call on him at the Washington Hotel, Lynchburg, or
address him by letter.
All communications will receive prompt attention.
J. B. McLendon.

Nov. 5-dly.

Mr. McLendon distinctly announces that he is not going to take any

children under ten years of age, nor any grown people over thirty.
Likely young negroes are what he is after:—families, of course,
never separated!
Again, in the same paper, Mr. Seth Woodroof is desirous of keeping
up the recollection in the community that he also is in the market, as
it would appear he has been, some time past. He, likewise, wants
negroes between ten and thirty years of age; but his views turn
rather on mechanics, blacksmiths, and carpenters,—witness his
hand:

NEGROES WANTED.

The subscriber continues in market for Negroes, of both sexes, between the ages
of 10 and 30 years, including Mechanics, such as Blacksmiths, Carpenters, and will
pay the highest market prices in cash. His office is a newly erected brick building
on 1st or Lynch street, immediately in rear of the Farmers’ Bank, where he is
prepared (having erected buildings with that view) to board negroes sent to
Lynchburg for sale or otherwise on as moderate terms, and keep them as secure,
as if they were placed in the jail of the Corporation.
Aug 26.

Seth Woodroof.

There is no manner of doubt that this Mr. Seth Woodroof is a

gentleman of humanity, and wishes to avoid the separation of
families as much as possible. Doubtless he ardently wishes that all
his blacksmiths and carpenters would be considerate, and never
have any children under ten years of age; but, if the thoughtless
dogs have got them, what’s a humane man to do? He has to fill out
Mr. This, That, and the Other’s order,—that’s a clear case; and
therefore John and Sam must take their last look at their babies, as
Uncle Tom did of his when he stood by the rough trundle-bed and
dropped into it great, useless tears.
Nay, my friends, don’t curse poor Mr. Seth Woodroof, because he
does the horrible, loathsome work of tearing up the living human
heart, to make twine and shoe-strings for you! It’s disagreeable
business enough, he will tell you, sometimes; and, if you must have
him to do it for you, treat him civilly, and don’t pretend that you are
any better than he.
But the good trade is not confined to the Old Dominion, by any
means. See the following extract from a Tennessee paper, the
Nashville Gazette, Nov. 23, 1852, where Mr. A. A. McLean, general
agent in this kind of business, thus makes known his wants and
intentions:

WANTED.

I want to purchase immediately 25 likely NEGROES,—male and female,—between

the ages of 15 and 25 years; for which I will pay the highest price in cash.
A. A. McLean, General Agent,
Cherry Street.
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