D. H. Lawrence, Machine, and Inhuman Vitalism

“I tell you I must go!” I retorted, roused to something like passion. “Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart!”

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- Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

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In Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre, the term "automaton" recurs thrice, each instance reflecting the essence of the three main characters: Jane Eyre, Edward Rochester, and John Rivers. In the context of Jane, the automaton indicates her self-deprecation; she resolves to part ways with Rochester, believing that her impoverished status renders their love unattainable. When the term is applied to Rochester, it coincides with his unexpected encounter with Mr. Mason, Bertha's brother. Overwhelmed by Mason's visit, Rochester becomes a mere echo of himself, like "a speaking automaton to enounce its single words," illustrating the sense of guilt regarding his marriage to Bertha. In this instance, the automaton symbolizes the colonial implications of the British Empire, serving as a constant reminder of Rochester's irredeemable transgressions as a White European man. Lastly, when the term is used to characterize John Rivers, it highlights his decision to terminate his relationship with Rosamond Oliver. Faced with uncertainty about marrying her, Jane observes, "Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse." Rivers becomes a soulless entity, caught in the tension between his affection for Rosamond and his fervent missionary aspirations. This transformation into an automaton reflects the restrictive gender roles prevalent in the Victorian era, where Rosamond is expected to embody the virtues of a dutiful and pious wife, destined to support a clergyman. Thus, in Jane Eyre, the automaton motif encapsulates the Victorian subjectivity shaped by the prevailing ideologies of the nineteenth century. Jane, Rochester, and St. John emerge as automatons, stripped of their essence, vitality, and voice, as they navigate the oppressive forces of class, colonialism, and gender.

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If one considers the automaton as a representation of Victorian subjectivity, it becomes imperative to examine how modernist writers engaged with this mechanistic identity. I argue that the root of this ontological crisis lies in an existential fatigue stemming from the ecological crisis. The environmental conditions of the twentieth century gave rise to a distinct form of mechanistic subjectivity within British literature. For instance, Paul Morel's ambivalence between life and death in D. H. Lawrence's Sons and Lovers highlights a realm that transcends the Victorian binary of life versus machine. In fact, throughout Lawrence's oeuvre, there emerges a proposal for redefining life as a potential remedy for the deadlock imposed by mechanistic ontology, which diminishes human existence to mere mechanical repetition.

 

In this context, I intend to explore the representation of life within Lawrence's vitalist modernism and how it is reinterpreted through his concept of the "inhuman." To address the modern ontological crisis, Lawrence transcends mere criticism of civilization, seeking to uncover the more-than-human elements embedded within human existence. The transformation of the self is catalyzed by a vital force, an intrinsic otherness that resides within humanity. If the automaton is to be invigorated and brought to life, it is essential to uncover the essence of otherness from within, rather than seeking it in the external environment.

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In this light, I will investigate the interplay between ecological and ontological crises by analyzing the dichotomy between life and living in the early twentieth century. The apprehension surrounding ecological degradation is intertwined with Lawrence's apocalyptic vision and the rise of Lawrentian vitalism. This state of exhausted subjectivity engenders a rift between life and living, wherein life itself becomes estranged from humanity, reduced to mere mechanical motion. Consequently, I will scrutinize Lawrence's two novels, Sons and Lovers and Women in Love, to illustrate his endeavor to redefine life amidst a mechanized modernity. The "self-revelation" of life is attainable only through the acknowledgment of its inhuman characteristics; thus, for Lawrence, life transcends human exclusivity, embodying the potential for becoming more-than-human. Lawrence dedicated himself to articulating the notion that humanity is fundamentally inhuman, aiming to dismantle the anthropocentric trajectory of civilization.

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In 1829, Thomas Carlyle defined the Victorian era as the “Mechanical Age,” grounding his analysis of British civilization in the pervasive material and symbolic ”machine” that underpins Victorian society. He posited that Victorian society functions as “the grand working wheel from which all private machines must derive” (7), thereby generating a multitude of subordinate smaller machines. Carlyle asserts that the defining characteristic of the Victorian machine is “its moving power” (2), which propels the advancement of humanity. In this context, he highlights the emergence of a distinct Victorian subjectivity shaped by the machine, remarking, “Men are grown mechanical in head and in heart, as well as in hand” (4). The machine thus signifies the construction of a specific subjectivity that is subservient to the overarching Victorian mechanism. In this sense, in 1916, V. S. Prichett, the young boy who worked in the station near the London Bridge, wrote that his life in London was “simple and mechanical . . . chained to a dulling routine of systematized and tolerated carelessness and error” (370). The symbol of repetition and dullness is indirectly represented by the train transporting thousands of workers and coal every day. Thus, London was, for the boy, “the great city that rules his life” (367), or what Jesse Oak Taylor calls the “abnatural,” which means “nonlife opposed to death” (123).

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Carlyle expresses a sense of optimism regarding the future of British civilization; however, the residents of London in the late 19th century were acutely aware of the detrimental effects wrought by modern machinery. They found themselves ensnared in a waking nightmare. As elucidated by Francois Jarriage and Thomas Le Roux, the year 1914 marked the onset of what they term the "Toxic Age." In response to escalating environmental concerns, numerous European nations, including England, endeavored to mitigate pollution by implementing more stringent regulations aimed at curtailing the release of harmful chemicals and toxins. London, as the preeminent center of the global market, also bore the distinction of being the most polluted city in the world. Consequently, the climate crisis was predominantly perceived as a byproduct of human activities, particularly industrialization and urbanization. As Elizabeth Carolyn Miller claims, for the Londoners during the modernist era, extractive capitalism is shown as “an exhausted future that will not have grown from the past but will have been drained by it” (27).

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In this context, the subjectivity shaped by the ecological crisis and Victorian mechanization is seen as an automaton. For example, Lawrence's Sons and Lovers illustrates the ontological crisis and the formation of mechanistic subjectivity as fundamentally intertwined with environmental concerns, ultimately portraying the modern individual as a 'prisoner of industrialism' (114). When Gertrude confronts the lifeless body of her son William, she poses a poignant question to the doctor: "Might he never have had it if I’d kept him at home, not let him go to Nottingham?" (171). Her inquiry regarding Nottingham warrants attention, particularly considering that Nottingham was one of the most significant mining towns within the British Empire. It reveals her acute awareness of the town's notorious mining industry, suggesting that William's death is not merely attributable to pneumonia but is also a consequence of the extractive mining practices that pervade Nottingham. Consequently, William's death transcends the mere loss of a life; his dead body points to the larger scale of the crisis. Thus, the ecological crisis, epitomized by extractive capitalism, underpins the ontological turmoil depicted in Sons and Lovers. As William dies, the world itself is also decaying with humanity.

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In this context, Sons and Lovers can be interpreted as an exploration of Paul’s subjectivity. The novel illustrates Paul’s complex relationship with the concepts of life and death, reflecting the predicament of the modern individual who finds themselves unable to conform to the dichotomy of existence and non-existence.

 

‘Mother!’ he whispered—‘mother!’ She was the only thing that held him up, himself, amid all this. And she was gone, intermingled herself. He wanted her to touch him, have him alongside with her. But no, he would not give in. Turning sharply, he walked towards the city’s gold phosphorescence. His fists were shut, his mouth set fast. He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her. He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly. (464) 

 

The denouement of Sons and Lovers is encapsulated in Paul’s choice to reject his mother’s path. Throughout the narrative, Gertrude symbolizes the relentless quest for living, but her attempt to follow life is distorted; She “did not consent to die” even as “her body was wasted to a fragment of ash” (436). She is living as a machine, but what she repeats is a mere “living” itself, without vital life. Thus, although Gertrude's physical being instinctively yearns for living, she has already relinquished her vitality; she is alive, yet her body is automatically living, gradually depleting its essential life forces.

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In contrast, while his mother embodies the obsession with incessant and automatic motion in life, Paul, throughout the novel, represents a force of death, actively resisting the relentless momentum of existence; he cries, “mother, if I had to die, I’d die. I’d will to die” (432). His desire to halt the mechanistic progression of life manifests in a wish for death. However, at the end of the novel, Paul soon comes to the realization that death does not signify the cessation of the machine's operation; rather, it perpetuates a cycle of meaninglessness. He reflects that in death, “the real agony was that he had nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to say, and was nothing himself” (456). Thus, the void of meaning, which is created by machine civilization, persists even in death. The allure of death for him stems from a life saturated with emptiness. Consequently, as life increasingly resembles a state of death, Paul acknowledges the futility of seeking redemption. He finds himself caught in an ambivalence between the two extremes of life and death.

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The denouement of the novel encapsulates the existential quandary faced by the modern individual, as Paul’s journey into the shadowy city underscores the liminal space that exists between life and death. Ultimately, he renounces both his own path toward death and the life his mother embodies, oscillating between the realms of "first on the side of death" and subsequently "on the side of life" (456). By illuminating this intermediary space, Lawrence suggests the potential for a novel form of existence that transcends the dichotomy of life and death. Viewed through this lens, Sons and Lovers emerges as a narrative that explores the modern subject's endeavor to surpass the binary opposition of life and death. True living diverges from a mere existence devoid of purpose and from a nihilistic demise; it occupies a state that is neither fully alive nor entirely lifeless.

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Paul's repudiation of both life and death illustrates that the crisis of modernity is intrinsically linked to the crisis of life itself. He consciously chooses to diverge from his mother's trajectory, which he perceives as a mere succession of purposeless activity of living rather than a dynamic and creative engagement with life. Thus, Lawrence was preoccupied with the task of redefining life beyond the confines of mechanization. He sought to restore an understanding of life that is liberated from mechanistic constraints. 

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At this juncture, Lawrence presents a novel conception of life that transcends mechanistic interpretations. If Lawrence sought to cultivate "positive inertia" (Kalaidjian 47) amidst the relentless progression of civilization, he undoubtedly accomplishes this by reinterpreting the essence of life. He argues that life is an emanation rather than a mere repetition of the sameness. In Women in Love, Lawrence's vision of life as a creative force is elucidated within an ecological and posthumanist framework, particularly through his notion of the 'inhuman.' The redefinition of life is intrinsically linked to the redefinition of humanity. For instance, in Ursula's classroom, Birkin articulates an alternative form of being that, while not human, is profoundly sexual. He describes a flower that is bifurcated by the vital force of life into “gynaecious flowers red” and “androgynous yellow” (35), with its reproduction contingent upon receiving pollen from the elongated stamens (37). This vital force engenders a sexuality that extends beyond heterosexual reproduction, flourishing through interactions with the life of others. Life, therefore, is inherently heterogeneous and cannot be confined to human biology. By exploring the interconnections between sexuality, love, and the reproductive forces of life, Birkin delineates a vision of a new world shaped by the inhuman forces of life itself.

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In this context, the narrative of Women in Love explores the dichotomy between two distinct modes of existence: the human and the inhuman. At one end of this spectrum lies Gerald's love for Gudrun, which epitomizes his conviction that all forms of life are ultimately subordinate to the will of humanity. For Gerald, it is humanity alone that possesses the capacity to forge unity amidst the diverse wills of existence, as he perceives life as merely the "pure fulfillment of his own will in the struggle with the natural conditions" (231). His conflict is fundamentally against life itself, with the objective of reducing existence to the mere manifestation of human will. Consequently, he posits that the human will represents the sole source of vitality capable of dominating other nonhuman forms of life. He asserts, “A horse got a will like a man, though it has no mind” (143), suggesting that the will of a mare under his control is merely a diminished reflection of human agency. In Gerald's worldview, there exists but one authentic vitality; life is merely a product of "repetition ad infinitum," destined to serve the "God of the machine, Deus ex Machina" (236). Viewed through this lens, Gerald emerges as a quintessential modern subject shaped by a mechanistic civilization, where human existence is indistinguishable from the mechanical operations of machinery.

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In contrast to Gerald's anthropocentric perspective on vitality, Birkin embodies a new paradigm shaped by "the finality of love" (57). Birkin perceives love as an ultimate end in itself, the sole means to rescue humanity from its desolate existence. He claims that genuine creation must arise from the diverse vitalities of life, asserting that "the creative utterances will not cease; they will only be there" (58). Representing Lawrence’s belief that “humans need to get back to their animalistic roots” (Hovanec 119), Birkin's vision transcends mere nihilism, as he aspires to forge a new conception of humanity—"a final me which is stark and impersonal and beyond responsibility" (150). The interaction between Birkin and Ursula gives rise to this newly liberated human entity, which is described as "quite inhuman," emerging from the union of "two utterly strange creatures" (150). Thus, it is Birkin's love for Ursula that elevates the couple beyond their individual selves. Love, in this context, serves as a catalyst for the emergence of life's vitality, a transformative force that propels them into a state of being that surpasses mere humanity.

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In Women in Love, the theme of escaping the constraints of historical and generational legacies is intricately woven into the dialectical relationship between unity and separation among lovers. The essence of sexual love is inextricably linked to the lover's subjugation to the other, resulting in a reduction of one's existence to a mechanistic will. For Birkin, the notion of complete fusion is repugnant, as it signifies a dissonance between ideals and reality, the old and the new, as well as the human and the nonhuman. He laments, “Fusion, fusion, this horrible fusion of two beings, which every woman and most men insisted on” (321), recognizing that absolute unity between lovers entails a forfeiture of one's distinctiveness. Birkin posits that, akin to how all forms of life are subsumed under Gerald's will, love as a singular entity eradicates the potential for individual becoming within the fabric of life. In the realm of love, there exists no dichotomy of “I and you,” but rather a singular “third” (385), as the enigmatic other is inherently present within both “I” and “you.” Consequently, if love serves as a catalyst for the emergence of a new being, it is characterized by the self-revelation of one's inner otherness. The ultimate expression of love, then, lies in the transformation into something beyond the human, representing a profound self-differentiation within the continuum of life.

 

 Ursula was silent, trying to imagine. ’I think,’ she said at length, involuntarily, ‘that Rupert is right—one wants a new space to be in, and one falls away from the old.’ 

 Gudrun watched her sister with impassive face and steady eyes.

 ’One wants a new space to be in, I quite agree,’ she said. ‘But I think that a new world is a development from this world, and that to isolate oneself with one other person, isn’t to find a new world at all, but only to secure oneself in one’s illusions.’ (Women in Love 454)

 

If Lawrence's characters navigate the dichotomies of life and death, the old and the new, as well as the human and the inhuman, this passage elucidates his perspective on the dual manifestations of modernity. Gudrun perceives the future as an evolution of the past, asserting that contemporary humanity is fundamentally shaped by historical continuity. On the contrary, Ursula envisions the future as a departure from the past, contending that it must embody novelty and divergence from any prior history, world, or existence she has encountered. She maintains that “one has a sort of other self that belongs to a new planet” (455). Consequently, self-revelation—deemed the ultimate aim of Lawrence's vitalism—transcends mere self-disclosure. It perpetually unveils the otherness inherent in one's existence, suggesting that Ursula's quest for a “new planet” remains perpetually attainable within the confines of her own life. The love shared between her and Birkin is poised to forge a new world that is neither “too human and little” (455).

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In this context, Lawrence's redefinition of life seeks to establish a novel paradigm that addresses pivotal modernist themes, notably the contrast between the old and the new, as well as the intricate relationship between nature and humanity. In response to the encroachment of mechanization, Lawrence formulated his own interpretation of vitalism, endeavoring to reconcile these dichotomous divisions. If Paul’s choice, which exists in a liminal space between life and death, encapsulates the fundamental existential dilemma faced by the modern automaton, Lawrence, through the characters of Ursula and Birkin, endeavors to provide a fresh perspective on the "damned" condition of humanity. For Lawrence, life is intrinsically "inhuman," transcending the confines of the mechanistic "human will" (Women in Love 143) and embodying a redefined conception of humanity as "a chameleon, a creature of change" (95).

 

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Works Cited

 

Carlyle, Thomas. "Signs of the Times.” 1829." A Carlyle Reader: Selections from the Writings of Thomas Carlyle, 1971, pp. 3-24.

Hovanec, Caroline. Animal Subjects: Literature, Zoology, and British Modernism. Cambridge UP, 2018.

Jarrige, Francois and Le Roux, Thomas. The Contamination of the Earth: A History of Pollutions in the Industrial Age. The MIT P, 2020.

Kalaidjian, Andrew. Exhausted Ecologies: Modernism and Environmental Recovery. Cambridge UP, 2020.

Lawrence, D. H. Sons and Lovers. Penguin, 1994.

—. Women in Love. Oxford UP, 1998.\

Miller, Elizabeth Carolyn. Extraction Ecologies and the Literature of the Long Exhaustion. Princeton UP, 2021.

Prichett, V. S. “Office Boy, c. 1916.” London: The Autobiography, edited by Jon E. Lewis. Running P, 2008. pp. 367-70.

Taylor, Jesse Oak. The Sky of Our Manufacture: The London Fog in British Fiction From Dickens to Woolf. U of Virginia P, 2016.