The Miserific Vision

In Simon Montefiore’s history of the Romanovs and once again in his biography of Grigory Potemkin, I encountered the story that Catherine the Great had two éprouveuses, or quality-testers of her lovers. That the French found it necessary to have such a word may tell us something about them, or at least about the court culture of the eighteenth century, which made our own Sixties seem quite prudish.

I do not know whether modern young women use their best friends as vetters in this way. Perhaps not, as the institution would make the most sense if the principal is an absolute ruler while both the tester and the lovers are subjects. If there never was a common masculine of the term, that might be because heterosexual males have traditionally been less concerned with provable erotic skills; for it makes them uncomfortable to consider where these skills might have been acquired. There is also, of course, the fact that a man is usually able to climax, regardless of what his partner does or fails to do, while this is by no means the case for women. In fact, perhaps the prime cultural determinant of the species as such is the greater contingency of the female climax.

A hypersexual Swiss-African girl with whom I once travelled was firmly of the opinion that everything women said about what they wanted was actually disinformation. For them, she said, the name of the game was orgasms, for which all the languages of commitment, romance and love were merely so much smokescreen. She did not say whether these codes had been foisted upon women by the patriarchy, nervous as it was of the female capacity for sexual pleasure, or arose from some other reason. That is, we neglected to discuss whether the smokescreen had originally been imposed but was later preserved out of habit or strategy. That she genuinely believed her doctrine of the primacy of orgasm I was in no doubt whatsoever; the only question was whether it described solely herself or everybody.

If it were indeed a general truth, it would certainly make sense out of how women so frequently sacrifice themselves for obvious rotters: if only the blackguards make them come and come again, then nothing else can possibly matter. It would also encourage a certain lack of female conscience about infidelity – the cuckold has not done his job properly but the five-to-sevener has, so what is to complain about?

Judging by the memoirs of Clara Petacci, Mussolini thought of passion in terms of a perfect fit of genital equipment. The Chinese used to teach much the same thing. Were this idea to be true, it would in the same way explode an awful lot of verbiage about “spiritual” this, that and the other. One might wonder what Hallmark Cards would look like if everyone shared Mussolini’s take.

Were my Swiss-African companion correct about women’s willingness to do whatever was necessary to get the best orgasms, this would by no means be something they would want men to know about. Tiresias discovered this the hard way. Like many other conventional attributions, women’s insistence that men are sex-maniacs “wanting only one thing” might then be revealed as sheer projection, partly in the classic Jungian sense and partly as a distraction tactic. It would be bad enough for men to realise that they had ten times our capacity for pleasure, but our ability to see through their avowed reasons for bestowing their sexual favours would spoil so many games. For example, only the pretence that these favours are parted with reluctantly allows the charging of considerations in the form of goods or services, whether pecuniary or emotional.

As long as men fail to realise, or are forbidden by the rules of decency or political correctness to say openly, what sex-maniacs women really are or have the potential to be, the latter can occupy the high ground and pretend to embody other ethical values. They can then drag in all kinds of narratives about their emotions. Calling their absurdly strong dependence on orgasm by the name of “love”, for instance, enables them to cash in on millennia of sages and religious founders who have praised something actually rather different under the same name.

My companion also championed the apparent paradox that women needed always to be rewarded for having the sex that, when sufficiently climactic, was in any case their primus motor. This paradox I was to encounter again in Africa itself, which she praised as a culture that told a deeper truth about female lust than our own. To get paid for what one enjoys best, she argued, what’s not to like?

And yet I am not entirely convinced that women think sexual pleasure so much more important than status, that is, than rising in the female hierarchy and poking other women in the eye. If I could have my life again, I should like to have interrogated this Swiss-African woman on what she thought was the interrelationship between a woman’s orgasms, filthy lucre, and status ranking. I should next have liked to question her on how she thought males functioned. For an obvious corollary of her theory would have to be that men were the truly emotional sex. This is not how we have thought for centuries, but Antiquity had certainly thought so.

The true Miserific Vision is not in itself the idea that women are walking clits: men are used to being considered mobile penises, so it is turn and turn about. No, the killer app may perhaps be to let Occam’s Razor ask why we should believe in a female emotional life at all, given that all the visible phenomena are so amply explained by the worldly triad. After all, over and above the crudest level of endrocrine agitation, emotion is not something that can be proven. Men can surely cope with the idea of women as relentless hunters of their orgasms, we have done so in other eras; but it is less certain that we can cope with the idea that all their emotional agendas are actually false fronts, including giving a tuppenny damn about the likes of us.

For men have an exiguous connection with the world and a horribly fragile sense of their own worth; we have tended to regard a woman’s concern for us as the measure of our success as human beings, yea even our metaphysical ground of being. If this be taken away from us, why, we shall have nothing left but sports and scholarship.

Posted on January 27, 2019 at 16:39 by Hugo Grinebiter · Permalink
In: WHAT WOMEN WANT, The Nature Of Frigidity

Leave a Reply