50 Philosophers Converge on Cumberland Lodge: Epistemics, The Vibrator, Cheating, Love and the Queen

The Cumberland Lodge Hiking Group, with something
out of the Lord of The Rings to back us up.

Last weekend saw us philosophical junkies heading off on a dreary (to be nice) Friday afternoon. Imagine a gaggle (we were rather like ducklings) of philosophers, complete with luggage, guitars, and talking incessantly, taking over the sidewalk as we walked from The Strand to Waterloo Station (20 minutes, from one side of the Thames to the other). I believe we were quite an odd scene.. and invariably we all fell into little pockets chatting with one another about whether or not we existed, which created the pragmatic dilemma of looking up 10 minutes later and wondering where the hell everybody else WENT....

Thankfully one of us had been near Waterloo station before. More fun at this juncture: how long does it take 10 philosophy students to piss off the ticket agent as we seek the cheapest group fare for a 45 minute trip to Egham? Not very long..

Monty Python comes to mind: two 'teams' of philosophers on a soccer field. The whistles blow; the game starts, and the philosophers just sit there.. like .. frogs. Eventually one of them shouts EUREKA!, dribbles the ball away from center field, and taps it into the goal.

Rob: "No no no you fool!! FIRST you dribble the ball, then you shoot!"
Saeed: "Ahh, yes, I see.. but then what?"

Ahh, philosophy. So much fun, so completely, hopelessly impractical. And yet so intriguing-- I have been very surprised lately to learn that when you look at almost anything closely enough, it starts to come apart. Jaques Derrida, I tip my beanie to you. More on metaphysics some other time though (and I promise it won't be too boring-- let me say only: money makes absolutely (and pardon the pun) NO CENTS!!).

So what is Cumberland Lodge? Apparently its the royal guest house for Windsor Palace, and it's been converted to a sort of conference center for groups of academics. There are two main buildings, and the rooms are all very interesting- some painted a deep, womb-like shade of pink (somebody else's description), while others are light blue, or perhaps green. I should have taken more pictures of the rooms.

Daniella (one of the 'Pink Room Residents') discovers what will soon be infinity:
Herself discovering herself in a blog discovering herself in a blog discovering.. etc..

We stayed in this philosophical sanctuary for the weekend. Each day there was a series of lectures that we were encouraged to attend. One or two were actually philosophically interesting, and so I will just brush on them- something about trying to define objects (for example, if I keep removing grains of sand from a pile of sand, when does it stop being a pile), and then some really deep epistemology (study of knowledge) and the old matrix question of: How can we know whether or not reality is even there.. what if you're just a brain in a vat, with all the proper electronic nodes connected, and reality is a big illusion?

I've never been a huge fan of this kind of stuff, but it's an agreeable way to pass an hour, inbetween reading massive amounts of sociological text for class next Monday.

What was much more fun was the lecture on the history of the vibrator, a screening of "The Crying Game", and Professor Luke Bovens' slightly hung over Sunday morning lecture on the nature of love. But wait, dear audience, because before this Saturday even spectacle was attended, we found it worthwhile to strap on our boots and take a 4 mile walk to Windsor palace. Pictures follow.

The intrepid philospohers journey toward the monolithic
King George on his horse.

Must.. conquer.. horse statue..


Victory is Mine!! The horse is vanquished. Now.. how to get down?

Once reaching the horse statue, we notice that Winsor is still
a LONG ways off..

But eventually we do find the castle, which is closed because the QUEEN
is currently residing therein.

OK, so the lecture wasn't called the history of the vibrator.. that was only part of its name. The full case was "Pornography, Objectification, and the History of the Vibrator". If you're a bit squeamish at this point, I can assure you the discussion remains PG (but is still fascinating). The lecture focused on contemporary feminist literature, which accuses men of objectifying (treating as objects) women in pornography, and also of personifying (IE treating as a person) the pornography they watch. The discussion was very interesting: at what point can you say you treat an object as a person? Is it because of the function (the end) to which you ascribe the person? I believe all men in the room became more and more uncomfortable as this line of thought went on.. perhaps we really DO objectify women too much.. there is definitely some sort of a link between pornography and focusing only on certain aspects of women in real life...

or is there?

The lecturer proceeded into a discussion of needlepoint magazines from the late 1800s. Why you ask? Because invariably at the back of the needlepoint magazines are MEDICAL advertisements for portable vibrators. These are completely non-pornographic and are socially acceptable in the context of common needlework magazines. Why is this? Apparently back in the 1800s part of the contemporary medical thought was that women can sometime start to get 'hysterical', and part of the solution to this hysteria (and I kid you not) was clinical stimulation of the woman to the point of attaining a 'hysterical paroxysm'.. what we would call an orgasm. This was a MEDICAL treatment for a well-documented and common condition that women often faced. Apparently the doctor (or sometime a spa technician) would administer the treatment, or have some sort of crazy contraption (IE a specialized douche, or a steam-powered vibrator) that would bring on the 'paroxysm'. How fascinating- doctors were, at least through the contemporary lense, a type of prostitute for women.

Of course, nobody really saw (or admitted to seeing) the medical treatment as being, in any way, sexual. I can sort of see this. With the growth of technology, the need for the doctor and his machines led to the creation of more and more portable vibrators. At some point, the vibrator was included in a pornographic film (back in the '20s), at which point people realized that perhaps this 'hysterical paroxysm' procedure need not be a part of the medical profession..

This all led to some very interesting points about vibrators and pornography.. a sort of battle of the sexes ensued over whether women personify their vibrators (treating them, perhaps, as doctors?), and whether men are doing something similar with pornography.

My favorite thought of the evening: A lot (and by this I unfortunately mean most) of pornography portrays no mutual respect between the partners. Women are treated in ways that should not be legitimately portrayed if a society is to remain healthy... I personally feel that people should be very careful as to what sort of images they subject themselves to, and that's all I have to say about that.

This is before the vibrator lecture, but tangentially in context.. Jordi and Hallie
get into the fray regarding the exact limits of a loving, monogamous relationship..
I should have gotten a picture of Saeed here, who ended up in the exact same
position at Jordi, about 2 hours later (puzzled look and all).
Just so nobody thinks we're creepy (or cheating) we ACTUALLY DID have a 3 hour syposium
on what love is... and Saeed got gang-raped trying to defend a conservative version of love.
We're just that dweeby (and apparently just that liberal).

Our evening continued with a viewing of The Crying Game, which, if you have not seen, I highly recommend and will not comment on because I do not want to spoil the ending. I will, however, note that two people manage to fall in love despite some limitations that most would think keep such a love from ocurring. The movie has this one extremely beautiful moment when one of the characters is about to commit suicide, and the other character (the lover) gently takes the gun away.. the scene was one of sweeping beauty.

How goes the philosophy retreat in the moments away from the lectures? Cumberland lodge treats us to amazing food (delicious chicken kiev, I had not had pineapple slices in months, and there was fudge pudding for desert), and of course the bar is almost always open (heaven forbid the bar be closed at noon on a Sunday in England). More importantly, however: The Saturday evening party!!! More dweebish goodness- 50 philosophy students get drunk on wine and coronas (yes, Coronas.. with lime), and then proceed down to the Cumberland lodge basement, where waits a speaker system with the worst selection of music possible (random 80s movies soundtracks, esoteric bands from various countries.. this was rather incomprehendible), as well as two billiards tables. Where do we converge? The billiards table of course. The rest of us go back to the bar, leaving those who want to dance (namely myself, Professor Bovens, and four or five other adventurous souls) to try to make sense of unspeakably weird music. Various comedi moments ensue, the night wears on..

At some point one of us realizes we can hook up an IPOD and listen to our own music (EUREKA!! The philosopher runs to the IPOD, dribbles it to the speaker, taps it in). And at some point, the party becomes a party.. sort of.. Our musical mix upgraded to a selection of '50s swing tunes intermixed with the occasional Gorillas, Micheal Jackson, and Jay-Z. Ahh.. eclectic paradise. I went into a French club last Friday night, and was less lost. So it goes. More on this later.

The high point of the night: at 1 AM the bar closes, people make their way back down for a song or two. 20 philosophers are now in a big circle, watching two or three philosophers dance. One overly-exuberant (and rather bald) philosopher gets into a dance-off with his professor, and the professor not only keeps up, but rather dominates the younger student (myself, if you hadn't guessed) with his suave Belgian toe-pivoting-ballet moves. Ahh yes, a night to remember. I remember watchin Professor Bovens stagger off to his room, completely exhausted from 4 hours of continuous dancing (and maybe one or two too many Coronas). After the old people go to bed, what do all the kiddies do? Well, dance our butts off until 4:00 AM, of course! Best of house parties, and at the end of it, 6 exhausted philosophy students join their peers in the land of eclectic dreams. At some point, the limit is reached-- no more philosophical conversation seems possible.. Half time.

One of the Many random details in Cumberland lodge.. some Prince takes
a 'good old whack' at the ball one dreary morning sometime long ago..

Sunday morning: We drag ourselves out of bed, and half of us dress up to go to Sunday services. Why you ask? Because of the offhand chance that the QUEEN, who regularly stays in Windsor, will be in attendance. The other half go to Bovens' lecture, where we discuss various types of love, and how these types of love (love of certain attributes, or the compete person, or love of love, or love of duty) combine to create certain outcomes, such as that of The Crying Game. Very interesting. Our peers return: The queen was there!! Sarah Beth actually got to talk to her, as a person!! I'm kind of wishing I'd gone to services-- apparently her majesty is a very well put together person, and wears the best of hats.

Later that afternoon, in groups of threes, five, sevens, the philosophers get into taxis and start the journey home. It would seem the game has ended, but wait! A shootout ensues on the train ride home regarding John Stuart Mill, individualism, revolutions, and commodification. Sunday night is yoga, and then 12 hours of slumber.

Ahh Cumberland. I never knew philosophy could be such fun.. neither did I know I could actually tire of it.

Of course, we all wake up on Monday, head over to class, and continue to debate about the Kyoto Protocol and various ethical ramifications of climate change policies on the international spectrum.. 20 philosophers take the field, and sit..

EUREKA!!

Back at the LSE: I hadn't noticed this until now, but here's something random
right out of Dickens.