Introduction to Primitivism and Psychoanalysis

         Freudian psychology, like natural selection, Social Darwinism, primitivism and the collective unconscious, consists of dialectical systems through which man can better understand the nature of human behavior; however, they, too, like political philosophies, often reflect only a partial view of the entire perspective. Thus, the subject must invariably be aware of the pitfalls to any theory which claims to interpret events objectively, often at the expense of subjective elements such as creativity, imagination, and individual preference. As Charles Darwin points out in his Autobiography, "The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature" (Darwin 74).

                                                  Introduction to the Works of D. H. Lawrence

              In Sons and Lovers, The Rainbow, and Women in Love, D. H. Lawrence uses Freudian psychology, primitivism, and biblical imagery to express his heroes' quests for meaning in a material world that has abandoned its archetypal origins. Lawrence's characters, like Conrad's, travel through the darkness of their own souls in their search for self-awareness; and like the characters in Hardy's Mayor, Jude, and The Return of the Native, Lawrence's protagonists focus on relationships between friends and lovers who place their ideals above the prejudice of society. Interestingly, Lawrence relies heavily upon the religious imagery of the Church and symbolism of the cross to portray the suffering and spiritual transformation that his characters undergo, as does Dostoyevsky in his use of biblical allusions and themes of death-and-rebirth or loss-and-redemption.

                                          Primitivism in Lawrence's Women in Love

             In D. H. Lawrence's Women in Love, the author's persona Rupert Birkin tragically laments the dichotomy between the real and the ideal. Like Hamlet, the protagonist depicts the world as a "rotting garden" rife with cruelty and self-destruction. The protagonist compares the futility of human achievement to a plant that fails to blossom, void of dignity and worth. In a conversation with Gudrun Brangwen, Birkin asseverates, "The whole idea is dead. Humanity itself is dry-rotten, really. There are myriads of human beings hanging on the bush—and they look very nice and rosy, your healthy young men and women. But they are apples of Sodom, as a matter of fact. Dead Sea Fruit, gall-apples. It isn't true that they have any significance—their insides are full of bitter, corrupt ash" (118). In a society of failed values and institutions, man must re-connect with the primitive instincts of his past. Lawrence's biblical allusions to the Tree of Life, Sodom, and Dead Sea Fruit reinforce his notion of man's spiritual estrangement. Apart from this connection, the archetypal hero's quest for meaning only leads to vain materialism and self-destruction. For Lawrence, the path to psychological fulfillment requires a need to return to the primordial ethics of his ancestors, much like the primitivism suggested in Conrad's Lord's Jim and Heart of Darkness, in essence, an abandonment of the hypocrisy and hollow conventions traditionally revered by British society. Lawrence suggests that these archaic values constrain man rather than freeing him to express his natural passion, leaving him "burdened to death with consciousness" and "imprisoned within a limited, false set of concepts" (34). In Freudian terms, the influence of the Superego prevents the free expression of the Id, and therefore, negates the possibility of a meaningful existence through the Ego. As a result of this deprivation, the personality manifests itself in withdrawn, self-conscious, and frequently destructive behavior in a futile attempt to overcompensate for its incapability. In essence, Women in Love echoes Lawrence's appeal for greater openness and freedom in personal relationships, particularly marriage, if it is to continue its existence as an institution.

            Lawrence begins the novel with a conversation concerning the relevance of marriage. Protagonist Gudrun Brangwen asks her sister Ursula if she "really wants to get married." To this, the latter replies that marriage is" more likely to be the end of experience" rather than one in and of itself (1). The author's point of view here closely corresponds with Thomas Hardy's view in Jude the Obscure because in both instances, prejudice and societal attitudes limit the potential achievement of the partners. Lawrence even suggests the need for greater freedom in relationships between men. During the wedding reception at Beldover, Birkin and Gerald's conversation over the issues of freedom and restraint in society, Lawrence says, "There was a pause of strange enmity between the two men that was very near to love. It was always the same—between them; always their talk brought them into a deadly nearness of contact, a strange, perilous intimacy which was either hate or love, or both" (28). In this respect, Lawrence suggests that societal conventions inhibit the honesty of free and open expression between people, another justification for a return to a more basic, primitive set of values which would permit communication without the fear of criticism or embarrassment. At the close of the novel, Birkin laments never having established a closer relationship with Gerald. In the earlier conversation between the sisters, the author describes Ursula's unconscious desire to free herself from the fears associated with marriage, and compares her to a struggling infant in the womb: "Ursula having always that strange brightness of an essential flame that is caught, meshed, contravened. She lived a good deal by herself, to herself, working, passing on from day to day, and always thinking, trying to lay hold on life, to grasp it in her own understanding. Her active living was suspended, but underneath, in the darkness, something was coming to pass. If only she could break through the last integuments! She seemed to try and put her hands out like an infant in the womb, and she could not, not yet. Still she had a strange prescience, an intimation of something yet to come" (3-4). This dark force, or unconscious yearning, within Ursula also manifests itself in her sister Gudrun's inexplicable attraction to return to her home near the sordid, poverty-stricken colliery. Lawrence contrasts Gudrun's high ideals and refinement with the chthonic environment of Beldover: "It was strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full effect of this shapeless, barren ugliness upon herself. Why she wanted to submit herself to it, the insufferable torture of these ugly, meaningless people, this defaced countryside. She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust. She was filled with repulsion" (5). Like the repulsive beetle that Gregor Samsa becomes in Kafka's Metamorphosis, or the louse to which Raskolnikov compares himself following his murder of Alyona, in Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, Gudrun feels a measure of guilt and helplessness as she too struggles against the dark forces acting within her. Lawrence repeatedly uses the idea of darkness to create an inscrutable and surreal atmosphere corresponding with the unconscious. His description of Beldover, much like the underworld of Ellison's  Invisible Man, conveys this evil gothic aspect. In a conversation between the Brangwen sisters, Gudrun describes this dark, sinister quality: "It is like a country in an underworld," said Gudrun. "The colliers bring it above-ground with them, shovel it up. Ursula, it's really wonderful, another world. The people are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world, a replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything sordid. It's like being mad, Ursula" (5). Lawrence explores this darkness theme in his description of the colliery in both Sons and Lovers and The Rainbow. In the former, Paul and his mother Gertrude share Gudrun's repulsion for the mining community. In a similar respect does Ursula rebel against her father in The Rainbow. In Women in Love, Lawrence repeatedly refers to the colliery region as the "underworld" peopled with "underworld faces" (7). The author despises this sinister form of urbanization in the name of progress, and frequently contrasts this chthonic environment with nature and religious imagery associated with the beauty of the areas' untouched surroundings. Following Gudrun's description of the colliery's barren ugliness, Lawrence creates a pastoral image of sunlit churchyard with daisies and violets: "For the moment, the sunshine fell brightly into the churchyard, there was a vague scent of sap and of spring, perhaps of violets from off the graves. Some white daisies were out, bright as angels. In the air, the unfolding leaves of a copper-beech were blood-red" (8).

           Lawrence further develops the theme of primitivism through the initial attraction of Gudrun and Gerald. Referring to Gerald, Lawrence says, "Her son was of a fair, sun-tanned type, rather above middle height, well-made, an almost exaggeratedly well-dressed. But about him also was the strange, guarded look, the unconscious glisten, as if he did not belong to the same creation as the people about him. Gudrun lighted on him at once. There was something northern about him that magnetized her." In the same section, the author continues, "She was tortured with desire to see him again, a nostalgia, a necessity to see him again, to make sure it was not all a mistake, that she was not deluding herself, that she really felt this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account, this knowledge of him in her essence, this powerful apprehension of him" (9). As in The Rainbow, Lawrence employs animal imagery to describe Gudrun's initial, instinctual attraction toward Gerald Crich. She describes him as "a pure arctic" creature: "His gleaming beauty, maleness, like a young good-humored , smiling wolf, did not blind her to the significant, sinister stillness in his bearing, the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper. His totem is the wolf. His mother is an old, unbroken wolf" (9). Lawrence emphasizes their initial attraction to suggest the primitive, unconscious force at work between them . Shocked at the immediate animal impulse drawing her to him, she "experiences a paroxysm, a transport as if she had made some incredible discovery, known to nobody else on earth." Lawrence says, "A strange transport took possession of her, all her veins were in a paroxysm of violent sensation. 'Good God!' she exclaimed to herself, 'What is this?' And then, a moment after, she was saying assuredly, 'I shall know more of that man'" (9). In a subsequent conversation with her sister Ursula, Gudrun admits to herself that "she "wanted to see if the strong feeling that she had got from him was real . . . wanted to have herself ready" (16). When Gerald approaches her following the wedding, Gudrun "rises sharply and goes away" because she "could not bear it." Gudrun realizes that she "wanted to be along, to know this strange, sharp inoculation that had changed the whole temper of her blood" (17). The author also uses animal imagery to describe the strong, physical features of the groom, a young naval officer, who rushes to his place at his wedding:"Like a hound the young man was after her, leaping the steps and swinging past her father, his supple haunches working like those of a hound that bears down on the quarry" (14) Following the wedding, at the Crich home, Rupert Birkin feels trapped in a conversation with the elderly mother of the bride. Lawrence uses animal imagery here as well to describe the awkwardness of Birkin's position: "He smiled faintly, thinking on these things. Yet he was tense, feeling that he and the elderly, estranged woman were conferring together like traitors, like enemies within the camp of the other people. He resembled a deer, that throws one ear back upon the trail behind, and on ear forward to know what is ahead" (18). In contrast, Lawrence uses religious imagery to suggest the hopeless possibility of a meaningful relationship between Hermione Roddice and Rupert Birkin. As in the case of Paul and Miriam in Sons and Lovers, Hermione's spiritual, angelic appearance transforms into a demoniacal manipulation of Birkin's personality. Lawrence describes this tension as the former lovers recognize each other at the wedding: "She had suffered so bitterly when he did not come, that still she was dazed. Still she was gnawed as by neuralgia, tormented by his potential absence from her. She had awaited him in a faint delirium of nervous torture. As she stood bearing herself pensively, the rapt look on her face, that seemed spiritual, like the angels, but which came from torture, gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with pity. He saw her bowed head, her rapt face, the face of an almost demoniacal ecstatic." Despite his embarrassment, Birkin accompanies Hermione; however, her "rapt, triumphant look, like the fallen angels restored, yet still subtly demoniacal" in its absolute control destroys him. According to the author, Birkin was "expressionless, neutralized, possessed by her as if it were his fate, without question" (16-17). Here again, their failed relationship illustrates the greater need for freedom both physically and intellectually. For Lawrence, a return to the primitive emotions and responses ensures a higher level of honesty and fulfillment. In essence, the author contrasts the consequences of the attraction between the two couples. Gerald Crich's use of a conch shell to call the guests to dinner further contributes to Lawrence's image of primitivism (21-28). Gerald and Birkin's conversation of nation's exploitation of one another and the justification for violence equally adds to the author's suggestion that even the most sophisticated countries still maintain order and cooperation through coercion, a highly primitive practice (23-24). As Gerald suggests, "I shouldn't like to be in a world of people who acted individually and spontaneously, as you called it. We should have everybody cutting everybody's throat in five minutes" (27). Lawrence also identifies with Gudrun through her primitive sculptures. When Birkin visits Ursula at her classroom, he, Ursula, and Hermione discuss their primordial nature. Hermione declares that her carvings are "perfectly beautiful—full of primitive passion," and Birkin says that the sculptures "are not roused to consciousness, but that consciousness comes to them, willy-nilly" (32-33). Here the author suggests that people living in modern society must also be roused to consciousness if they are to reap the benefits of meaningful relationships. In this respect, Lawrence's anti-Victorian position calls for greater freedom in physical and sexual relationships. Speaking though Birkin, the author maintains that knowledge alone is insufficient. Birkin tells Hermione that knowledge itself "imprisons man within a limited, false set of concepts" (34) because it deludes man into believing that he possesses the solutions to his spiritual and emotional problems. In essence, man should rely more upon his true inner feelings. In essence, knowledge disillusions a person into thinking that it holds the key to fulfillment when in reality, these answers are far removed the purview of knowledge. For instance, when Birkin and Hermione discuss the catkins that Ursula uses to teach her students, Birkin goes into detail about the seed-producing aspects of pollination; whereas, Hermione appreciates the mystic attraction of the flower for its beauty. She calls them "little red flames" (31). In this case, knowledge of the germination process does little to enhance the natural beauty that appeals to one's aesthetic appreciation. Birkin also cautions Hermione concerning animalism: "You are merely making words," he said; "knowledge means everything to you. Even your animalism, you want it in your head. You don't want to be an animal; you want to observe your own animal functions, to get a mental thrill out of them. It is all purely secondary—and more decadent than the most hide-bound intellectualism. What is it but the worst and last form of intellectualism, this love of yours for passion and the animal instincts?" In that same conversation Birkin continues, "But now you have come to all your conclusions, you want to go back and be like a savage, without knowledge. You want a life of pure sensation and 'passion' . . . But your passion is a lie. It isn't passion at all, it is your will" (35).Here Birkin admonishes her not to confuse the desires of her will with the honesty and truth of her inner feelings. Birkin tells Hermione that she has allowed her will and the desire for power to fill a void for a non-existent sensuality. This fact alone explains the couple's incompatibility. Lawrence emphasizes that sensuality, and nothing else, is the fulfillment—the "great dark knowledge you can't have in your head—the dark involuntary being. It is death to one's self—but it is the coming into being of another" (36). This phase denotes the initial stage in the person's spiritual or emotional transformation. In this sense, the author uses the concept of death-and-rebirth to initiate the process of redemption or regeneration. As Birkin tells Hermione, "You've got to lapse out before you can know what sensual reality is, lapse into unknowingness, and give up your volition. You've got to do it. You've got to learn no-to-be, before you can come into being" (37).

           Lawrence furthermore suggests that man's primitive instincts, when repressed by social conventions and archaic notions of love or fulfillment manifest themselves in anti-social behavior and violence. For example, Gerald's inadvertent shooting of his brother (42), in essence, foreshadows his jealous murder of Loerke (463-464). The author also uses primitive animal imagery to describe Minette's attraction to him. Like Ursula with Birkin, Minette feels "limited" by Gerald; however, she is unconsciously drawn to him. According to Lawrence, "Gerald's face was lit up with an uncanny smile, full of light and rousedness, yet unconscious. He sat with his arms on the table, his sun-browned, rather sinister hands that were animal and yet very shapely and attractive." It is Gerald who confesses that "savages are over-rated . . . too much like other people, not exciting after the first acquaintance" (59). In that same conversation, the author says, "The girl kept near to Gerald, and seemed to be at one in her motion with him. He was aware of this, and filled with demon-satisfaction that his motion held good for two. He held her in the hollow of his will, and she was soft, secret, invisible in her stirring there." The couple was so closely connected subconsciously that between them existed "this silence and this black, electric comprehension in the darkness" (65). As Gerald subsequently recollects, "She looked so small and childish and vulnerable, almost pitiful. And yet the looks of her eyes made [him] feel drowned in some potent darkness that almost frightened him" (69). Lawrence uses this darkness theme in both The Rainbow and Sons and Lovers to suggest Gertrude, Anna and Ursula's connection with a guiding, subconscious life-force, an influence much stronger than social convention or religious