Also by Bernd Brunner
Inventing the Christmas Tree
Moon: A Brief History
Bears: A Brief History
The Ocean at Home: An Illustrated
History of the Aquarium
The Art of Lying Down
Originally published in the German language as
Die Kunst des Liegens: Handbuch der horizontalen
Lebensform by Bernd Brunner
Copyright © 2012 by Verlag Kiepenheuer &
Witsch GmbH & Co. KG, Köln / Germany
Translation copyright © 2013 by Lori Lantz
First Melville House printing: November 2013
Melville House Publishing 8 Blackstock Mews
145 Plymouth Street and Islington
Brooklyn, NY 11201 London N4 2BT
mhpbooks.com facebook.com/mhpbooks @melvillehouse
ISBN: 978-1-61219-310-6 (ebook)
A catalog record is available for this book from the Library of Congress.
v3.1
A thing that can’t be done in bed isn’t worth doing at all.
—Groucho Marx
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Are You Lying Down?
The Grammar of Horizontal Orientation
Drawn to the Center of the Earth
Chesterton and the Secret of Michelangelo
Shaking Up the Act of Lying Down
Common and Uncommon Ways to Lie Down
Lying Down in the Great Outdoors
Sun Worshippers
The Proper Way to Lie Down
Position as the Key to Personality
So Easy a Child Can Do It
Lying Down Together
Lying Down, Sleeping, Waking Up
Awake, Napping, Asleep
Eating and Lying Down: Better Together?
Horizontal—but Hard at Work
The History of the Mattress
The Archaeology of Lying Down
The Oriental Roots of the Art of Lying Down
Field Studies of Bedrooms and Reclining Habits
The Typical Bed
Lying Down on the Road
Strange Bedfellows
Mechanized Reclining
Horizontal Healing
Floating, Rocking, Swinging
The Puzzle of the Recliner
The Best Place for the Bed
Lying Down as the Stuff of Dreams—and Nightmares
The Museum of Reclining
Are You Still Lying Down?
For Further Reading
Illustration and Photo Credits
Acknowledgments
Are You Lying Down?
If you’re lying down right now, there’s no need to defend yourself. We all do it regularly, and often we enjoy it. We lie down to relax, assuming the posture that offers the body the least resistance and demands the least energy. And we perform all sorts of activities this way: we sleep and dream, make love, contemplate, give ourselves over to wistful moods, daydream, and suffer. But there’s one thing we rarely do in this state: move around. When we stretch out horizontally, we come the closest we can to remaining still.
In a society attuned to measurable performance, where quickly making and acting on decisions are what matters and people prove themselves by sitting for long hours at their desks and in front of their computers, reclining often goes unappreciated. Even worse, it is seen as proof of indolence or a sign of powerlessness in a fast-changing world. You can’t keep up when you’re lying down. Those who do anyway are considered weak or criticized for not putting their time to better use. Yet lying down can feel like taking a walk in a thick fog: we often emerge with clearer thoughts than before. As a calculated move to escape the ever-present pressure to be fast and efficient, conscious reclining costs nothing and is yet extremely valuable.
Lying down is the horizontal counterpart of the dreamy rambling of a melancholy flâneur, who walks about without pursuing any goal. Someone in repose may wander through town and countryside, too, but generally only in his or her imagination. These fanciful strolls demand a higher level of creativity since no real faces and places show up to stimulate the resting wanderer’s thoughts.
When we lie on our back and direct our gaze up toward the ceiling or sky, we lose our physical grasp of things and our thoughts soar. Our mental makeup and even the structure of our perception can change with this shift of position. Responses that seemed perfectly natural a few minutes earlier, when we were standing upright, become inexplicable. Questions that were so important appear in a different light when we view them horizontally. Voices and even the ringing of a telephone may no longer reach us with the same urgency as when we are standing. In no other position can certainties suddenly seem less certain. When we lie down, perhaps because we feel overwhelmed, a burden falls from our shoulders. But perception patterns differ, possibly even from person to person. Lin Yutang, the Chinese writer, once claimed that “our senses are the keenest in that moment” when we are lying down, and he goes on to say that “all good music should be listened to in the lying position.”
Thinking about what it means to recline involves not only questions of physiology, psychology, and creativity but also the economy of time and the pace of our lives, which the American psychologist Robert Levine once tellingly described as “a tangled arrangement of cadences, of perpetually changing rhythms and sequences, stresses and calms, cycles and spikes.” If and when lying down is acceptable all depends on the attitudes towards time. We operate in time, and it governs our behavioral cycles like a silent language. In an age and culture like ours, which has internalized a compulsion for constant movement and bred an internal agitation that rules every aspect of our lives, there is little we can do but turn the screws of time and adapt to its demanding rhythm. In places with different rhythms from our own, where activities emerge from what’s happening at the moment rather than from what has been planned, we can get a sense of what it means to live within time that follows different laws. In other societies, a moment when nothing seems to be happening may not be seen as a “waste of time,” but rather as something pleasant and essential to life. Another reason to give the horizontal world a closer look.
The Grammar of Horizontal Orientation
Our bodies are designed for performance well beyond the limited movements we demand of them. We spend far more time sitting and move much less than our ancestors did just a few generations ago. Thanks to our genetic makeup and physical disposition, we are born to vary our movements, from walking to lying down, standing, sitting, and more. Reclining horizontally is just one of these many possibilities, but the urge to give in to the pull of gravity is a strong one. Gravity pulls us toward the earth, and we are constantly negotiating its demands. Although we aren’t consciously aware of this effort—we are so accustomed to it that we do it automatically—a great deal of our energy is dedicated to our struggle against this elemental physical force.
Lying down and walking or running are counterparts to each other, since one determines the other. Only someone who has walked, hiked, or run to the point of exhaustion can fully appreciate the infinite sense of rest that lying down can bring. Others never fully experience this sensation. But reclining can also present a different purpose: it offers a retreat when the body becomes too heavy to bear. Lying down is like powering down to zero.
We orient ourselves in two directions from the earth’s surface: vertical and horizontal. When we walk, our connection to the earth is experienced through the soles of our feet, but when we lie down, this contact spreads to the rest of our body. When we are upright, the horizon, the distant li
ne separating sky and earth, promises something beyond what we know but also represents a limit reaching that beyond. It is a fleeting construct that retreats into the distance whenever we try to approach it, a goal that can never be reached.
Lying down is possible to execute in many locations. While a cot or a bed is not essential, reclining does require a stable foundation. If we can’t lie down comfortably and are worried about our safety—perhaps because we’re in danger of falling off the surface, or rolling off—we won’t be able to relax. For this reason, the preparations we make for being horizontal shape how we experience this (in)activity. In the end, a person’s chosen method of reclining is a response to a particular resting place. The more comfortable we make ourselves by providing the best support for our weight, the greater the renewal we will feel.
Defining what it means to lie down is not as easy as it might seem. One might define it as when most of a body is in a horizontal position, or clearly tending in that direction, and is shifting the body’s weight to the underlying surface. It is possible to lie on the back (“supine”), the sides, or stomach (“prone”). We can lie next to, on top of, or—at least for a short time—under another person. Lying down can also take the form of leaning the torso back horizontally and raising the legs higher than the torso. Le Corbusier’s chaise longue, in which the upper body rests at a forty-five-degree angle, is designed for this sort of reclining.
Unlike sitting in a chair, which requires some physical control, lying down requires no effort at all. It is therefore perhaps the most archaic of all positions and reminds us of earlier states of existence. But standing up, especially if there is no pressing need to do so, means overcoming gravitational resistance. Lying down does entail a certain risk, though, because it’s easy to drift off into unconsciousness.
A great deal can happen when we are lying down. This position spans the human condition, from complete passivity to the most passionate of activities. Furthermore, human life begins and ends horizontally. According to Edmond and Jules de Goncourt, the “three great acts of life” that a writer must master are “birth, coitus, and death,” all of which usually involve lying down.
Drawn to the Center of the Earth
We tend to consider someone lying down to be passive, paralyzed, or at the power of others. Of course, such an impression often bears little relation to the motivations of the reclining person. Perhaps he wants to let go, rest, and relax; perhaps she wants to gather her energies for a next move. For someone lying in wait, lying down can form part of a clever strategy. It can also be an act of rebellion, as when large numbers of people come together and lie down to block passersby or traffic. These examples nicely contradict the statement Elias Canetti once made: “A man who lies down gives up all relationships with his fellows and withdraws into himself.”
Reclining is also the preferred posture of the lazy. As the German writer Hans W. Fischer once wrote:
Yet utter laziness seeks after nothing: no joy, not even complacence. It does not occur to laziness to make the slightest preparation to enjoy itself. Instead, it simply lets itself collapse and—as long as a wall does not happen to be in the way—follows the laws of mechanics to end up in an approximately horizontal position. Its preferred spot is the sofa, because it is so convenient; a dim remnant of consciousness warns it away from the naked floor, which would hurt to fall on, and keeps it from the bed, which harbors associations with the complicated act of getting undressed. But laziness does not seek out the sofa to sleep or enjoy a luxurious stretch; no, it simply needs a landing place for the weight of a body that feels drawn toward the center of the earth.
Being tired often seems like the only acceptable reason to lie down. Why is this pleasurable position so frowned upon? All too frequently we have internalized the sense that we have to be moving at every moment, that anything less reveals a lack of discipline, strength, and ambition. In a world that demands we stay on the go and make the most of our time, where flicking off the office lights late in the evening is a source of pride, time spent lying down appears to be time wasted. In our culture, lingering in the horizontal is acceptable only for the shortest possible period required to power the next bout of activity.
American patent for recumbent total care
Chesterton and the Secret of Michelangelo
Is there such a thing as a philosophy of lying down? Many have expressed their disapproval of staying in bed, dismissing this behavior as nothing but senseless laziness, while others have simply practiced the rite of leisure without feeling the need to explain themselves. But has anyone actually thought deeply about the act of lying around and had something positive to say about it? One man in particular did just that: the prolific English social critic Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874–1936). His essay “On Lying in Bed” begins with a thought experiment: he imagines how nice it would be to have colored pencils long enough to use to draw on the ceiling while lying in bed. After all, only the ceiling offers a surface large enough for artwork; all the walls are covered already with wallpaper. His thoughts then turn to Rome: “I am sure that it was only because Michael Angelo was engaged in the ancient and honorable occupation of lying in bed that he ever realized how the roof of the Sistine Chapel might be made into an awful imitation of a divine drama that could only be acted in the heavens.”
He opposes the general disdain for lying down, a disdain he considers “unhealthy” and “hypocritical,” and encourages the freedom and flexibility of each individual to decide for himself when to get out of bed as he sees fit, or to enjoy his lunch “sometimes in the garden, sometimes in bed, sometimes on the roof, sometimes in the top of a tree.” Although Chesterton recommends that these bouts of leisure (which, in his description, do not involve sleeping) should be “very occasional,” he insists that it is unnecessary to justify such behavior, except in cases of serious illness. “If a healthy man lies in bed,” he explains, “let him do it without a rag of excuse; then he will get up a healthy man.” However, he continues, “If he does it for some secondary hygienic reason, if he has some scientific explanation, he may get up a hypochondriac.”
Shaking Up the Act of Lying Down
Reclining can be a more active or passive activity depending on the mood of those doing it, while the way we work influences how we spend the rest of our time. Those who spend most of their working hours seated—for example, in front of the computer screen—are likely to seek out sports and movement in their free time. Only then can they fully enjoy the relaxation that, later, lying down provides. On the other hand, people who work with their muscles, perhaps even to exhaustion, generally want to spend their leisure time simply relaxing. For them, lying down has a different character.
How do the significant changes taking place in the world of work today affect the relationship of work and free time—in terms of both the various stages of lounging and lying around we practice and the time we spend sleeping? Does a greater degree of flexibility allow for more idleness, more playful ease—more active laziness, if you like—in a kind of lying down that adds up to more than regeneration alone?
In a time when progress occasionally misses its mark by a wide margin, lying down is a preliminary exercise for thinking things through. It also has the pleasing quality of being removed from the compulsive forward-and-backward logic of progress and decline.
Have we forgotten how to lie down, just as we have forgotten how to cook when we eat nothing but takeout meals for too long? Perhaps. Just as eating is more than a way to fuel further work and physical processes, lying down has dimensions beyond those that prepare us to sit at our desks again. For although it’s true that reclining rarely produces any directly visible or economically exploitable outcomes, resting is not its sole purpose either.
Evidence exists that our society’s attitudes towards lying down are currently undergoing a transformation. In recent years French commentators have noted the rise of the génération vautrée, the lolling generation that refuses to sit upright. Instea
d of sitting down, its members collapse on the sofa or bed and get comfortable in this position without wasting a thought on what those around them may think. An enviable attitude. It’s possible to read this laxness as a revolt against sitting still and standing up straight, or it can be seen as a silent protest against parents who may set down authoritarian rules. But physicians are likely unfazed by this development; they are aware that, in physiological terms, a normal position in a chair is actually unsuitable for most people. Reclining at a 127-degree angle, however, seems to do a good job of eliminating the tension that builds up in the spine when we sit.
Adherents of the art of slow living, or l’arte del vivere con lentezza, offer further signs that these attitudes are changing. Like the slow food initiative, this movement has its roots in Italy. It is a movement toward deceleration and reflection, the point being not to achieve a goal in the shortest time and with the least effort, but rather to enjoy the process itself, in keeping with the saying “The journey is its own reward.”
Human creativity has brought forth a range of devices and furnishings to facilitate lying down. Of course, the most prominent examples are the lounge chair and the bed. Regular escapes into unconsciousness, which we usually attempt in bed, are essential to our well-being. But having the leisure to simply lie down on a lounge chair is truly a fine thing—in short, a luxury. As a piece of furniture, the lounge chair contributes to the relaxation and comfort required for contemplation—for situations in which traveling the distance to bed would feel like too much effort.
Common and Uncommon Ways to Lie Down
Between the short eternity that precedes the moment of birth and then follows the moment of death, beds and lounges offer opportunities for respite—for rest, sleep, and the other activities that we habitually or occasionally carry out while lying down. In fact, the time we spend horizontally adds up to at least two-thirds of our lives, although the exact figure may differ greatly from person to person. After all, a reclining position is a given for some kinds of labor or sports—mine shaft repairs or the art of the luge (although neither activity is particularly relaxing). We can also look at the horizontal profession, or grandes horizontals, as referred in nineteenth-century Paris to the top-tier courtesans who did business under exotic or elegant names.
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