The Repressed Returns in the Trauma of Humanity -- Part Two: Humanity Traumatizing

 Prelude 

   Trauma can — and after a certain point surely will — cause disability. However, we need to be cautious about all of this, because it’s easy to use this information in a way that reinforces the medical model and carceral systems. Trauma is a failure of community — and government — not a problem inside an individual. [. . .]

                              — Katie Tastrom, A People’s Guide to Abolition and Disability Justice[1] 

Not only does humanity suffer trauma, but also humanity inflicts trauma. Thus, humanity is always both traumatized and traumatizing. As the first — how humanity traumatizes — was my focus in “Part One” of this combined two-part post,  which went up two weeks ago on October 28 of this year, so my focus in “Part Two,” which I am posting today, will be on the second — how humanity traumatizes.  

Katie Tastrom

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Part Two: Humanity Traumatizing  

The online Merriam-Webster Dictionary gives the following definitions for the noun trauma:

                                                1

a: an injury (such as a wound) to living tissue caused by an extrinsic agent

b: a disordered psychic or behavioral state resulting from severe mental or emotional stress or physical injury

c: an emotional upset

2

an agent, force, or mechanism that causes trauma

 

In turn, the Online Etymology Dictionary tells us this about the origin of that same word:

trauma (n.): 1690s, “physical wound,” medical Latin, from Greek trauma “a wound, a hurt; a defeat,” from PIE *trau-, extended form of root *tere (1) “to rub, turn,” with derivatives referring to twisting, piercing, etc. Sense of “psychic wound, unpleasant experience which causes abnormal stress” is from 1894.

 

The impending ecological catastrophe bears witness to how extensively humanity has been and continues to be an appallingly destructive force rubbing nature raw and turning it into a wasteland. We, humanity as a whole, are a destructive force attacking nature, inflicting deep wounds upon it from which—here on earth, at the very least—it is unlikely ever fully to recover.

Humanity has inflicted deep and destructive “injury” upon the “living tissue” of vast numbers of organisms that grow in nature. Think, for example, of the systematic and intentional “de-forestation” of vast stretches of the earth’s surface that for millennia provided rich soil for the roots of trees and plants to sink themselves deep and grow strong and tall. Vast forests have all around the globe been replaced by cities, highways, grazing lands, and cultivated millions of acres to be worked over to exhaustion by agricultural combines in pursuit of never-sufficient monetary profits for a small percentage of the human population.

Of course, wars are just another instance of trauma that humanity causes. In the case of wars, however, it is not just some “other,” such as plants and animals of varied species, that is traumatized. Rather, it is also human beings themselves. The bombs that the United States dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of World War II, for example, did not just kill off plants and non-human animals, but also masses of human beings themselves.

As Katie Tastrom suggests in the lines I cited above at the very beginning of my “Prologue” to today’s post, humanity today also inflicts trauma upon itself by way of the entire consumer corporate system itself causing and ceaselessly expanding what she calls “disablement,” by which she means the way in which segments of the population are split off and “othered”—most especially by way of being placed, one way or another, in one or another form of prison, whether that be in the form of jails or in some other form, including that form constituted by public schools, placed in such prisons by the coercive power (as I call it) that defines itself precisely in such “othering.”

That combined devastation variously wrought on itself as well as on other beings such as plants and non-human animals is one major way in which ”the trauma of humanity” is the trauma that humanity itself is. It is  one way in which humanity is not only itself subject to trauma, but also engenders massive trauma, thereby itself constituting the greatest conceivable “agent, force, or mechanism that causes trauma,” to hearken back to the dictionary’s second major sense of the word trauma: one way in which “we,” humanity, not only undergo trauma, but also inflict it.     

*     *     *

Psychoanalysis, I would suggest, can […] thus help us to think, and perhaps witness, a new kind of event that is constituted, paradoxically, by the way it disappears.

                — Cathy Caruth, Literature in the Ashes of History[2]

People’s capacity to speak, Freud was to find, depended on their childhood experience (people grow into their past, Freud realized, more than they grow out of it).

      — Adam Phillips, Becoming Freud: The Making of a Psychoanalyst[3]                                          

The Tower-Keeper: [. . .] Everywhere we must continually turn back to where we always already are.

      — Heidegger, “The Teacher Meets the Tower-Keeper at the Tower-Rise Door”[4]

Until and unless we are brought to face ourselves, we, both collectively and individually, will continue to be not only traumatiz-ed but also traumatiz-ing.

Please do all you can to face that fact!

Cathy Catch


[1] Oakland, CA: PM Press, 2024, p. 180.

[2] Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013, p. 77.

[3] New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014, p. 29.

[4] In Gesamtausgabe 77: Feldweg-Gespräche (Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 1995), p. 176, in my own freely interpretive translation (the italics are in the original German text).

 

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Poetry, Prayer, and Memory (8)

This is the last in a series of posts.

*     *     *

To pray is to allow one’s thoughts to rise to God.

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My own first real experiences of prayer occurred when I was still a very young child, not yet old enough to be put in school. At the time, I did not know that what I was experiencing was called “praying.” Nor did I associate what I was experiencing with the word “God” (a word about the meaning of which I really had no ideas at all yet at the time). The combination of those two pieces of ignorance, of “not-knowing,” made my prayer all the more pure.

Thus, long before I ever heard of Heidegger, let alone read him, I heeded his admonition not to let words get between us and things. Just so, in my initial childhood experience without even needing to try, because I did not even know the words yet, I did not let the word “prayer” get between me and praying, or the word “God” between me and God. Instead, my soul just rose up to God like a feather carried aloft by the slightest breeze, as Abba Isaac, the old Christian desert solitary, long ago told John Cassian, who carried the desert tradition to the West, the soul would naturally just do, unless weighed down by its own sins.  Because at the time I am describing I was still too young to have weighed myself down with my sins (or at least any obsessive consciousness of them), my soul did just that—and I just prayed, without even knowing I was doing so.

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My father’s pride and joy during my early childhood years was his 1947 maroon-colored Buick Roadmaster convertible, which he always liked not only to drive fast, but also to drive fast quick, as Faulkner so nicely if ungrammatically put it. I am the youngest of three children. By brother is three years older than I am, and my sister is ten year older.

As a child not yet in school, my favorite place to ride in my father’s Buick, whenever the whole family went somewhere together and the weather was chilly enough that we had to leave the convertible top up, was in the well behind the back seat, where the convertible top would go when we went topless. On those colder weather occasions, I would climb over the backseat and stretch out on my back in the convertible-top well, and just look out the plastic window at whatever passed by overhead, from tall buildings to telephone wires to clouds to the moon and stars. Perhaps my very warmest childhood memory is of just lying there, thinking of nothing, wanting nothing, being content with whatever went by, and feeling the warmth and comfort of being surrounded by the family of which I was a part, without having to take any special part in what the rest of that family was saying to one another. I was just attentive to it all, open for whatever offered itself to me next through the plastic window above me—and I was happy.

*     *     *

            It was not until many years later, after I’d been sober for more than a decade and was in my fifties, that I realized what I had really been doing as I rode along happily and attentively all those years ago in the well behind the backseat of my dad’s pride and joy, his Buick Roadmaster convertible. I was just lying there as a young child, just letting my mind go where minds naturally go, when not weighed down by sins and self-preoccupations.

            I have never prayed so purely since, nor been so rapt in God.

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n 1967, just three years before he committed suicide by jumping into the Seine River in Paris, Paul Celan paid his one and only visit to Martin Heidegger, whose writings had had a major impact on Celan’s thinking and his poetry. Celan went to visit Heidegger in the latter’s ski-hut on the slopes above the little Black Forest town of Todtnauberg-im-Baden, the very place where Heidegger wrote most of Being and Time and many later works. There was a little well near Heidegger’s hut, with a star carved into the crosspiece above the opening. Heidegger also kept a guest-book in the hut for visitors to write a line or two in when they visited.

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