the power
of the gaze
The power of the gaze as a theoretical concept emerged from the psychoanalytical framework of Jacques Lacan’s Of the Gaze as Objet Petit A. In film theory, the gaze refers to the objectifying process whereby the eye fixes upon the objet petit a, which reveals power dynamics between individuals. [1] Although these concepts emerged from film studies, the power of the gaze also applies to art (as Berger gleans in Ways of Seeing) and photography.
According to Lacan, the objet petit a—or, the object of desire—is simultaneously subjected to and resistant to the gaze. As an abstract notion, the objet petit a is a “non-Thing,” a lost object we constantly seek but will never find. “One does not find it, but only its pleasurable associations” (Lacan). The subject of the image turns into an object under the power of "the One" who gazes upon him/her. In the most basic sense, Lacan’s research suggests that "the Subject" (the self/’I’), in order to constitute itself, must do so in relation to an "Other." The Subject cannot exist without the Other.
The gaze operates in various ways. The subject-object of the gaze (i.e. the objet petit a) resides in the first witness position; the artist/photographer resides in the second witness position; the viewer resides in the third witness position. The One (e.g. artist, photographer and film maker) uses his/her gaze to bear witness to an event and uses a specific medium (e.g. the paintbrush, camera, etc.) in order to construct a testimony (e.g. canvas, photograph, film). The machines that are used to construct these “frames” are an extension of the self: an extension of the eye, the consciousness, the ‘I’, and the ego. As such, the gaze of the One indicates an ever-present subjectivity that cannot be removed from the “frames” s/he creates.
The gaze also reveals the importance of power dynamics between the One and the object petit a. Power relations are immanent to the gaze: the One gazes upon the objet petit a, thereby asserting his/her power over s/he who is beholden to the gaze. The objet petit a may either avert or return the gaze. To gaze back at the One indicates a reversal of power, whereby the viewer feels violated by the gaze of the objet petit a. In this sense, the objet petit a regains some of the power that has been lost: a subject-turned-object-turned-subject.
The gaze operates in various ways. The subject-object of the gaze (i.e. the objet petit a) resides in the first witness position; the artist/photographer resides in the second witness position; the viewer resides in the third witness position. The One (e.g. artist, photographer and film maker) uses his/her gaze to bear witness to an event and uses a specific medium (e.g. the paintbrush, camera, etc.) in order to construct a testimony (e.g. canvas, photograph, film). The machines that are used to construct these “frames” are an extension of the self: an extension of the eye, the consciousness, the ‘I’, and the ego. As such, the gaze of the One indicates an ever-present subjectivity that cannot be removed from the “frames” s/he creates.
The gaze also reveals the importance of power dynamics between the One and the object petit a. Power relations are immanent to the gaze: the One gazes upon the objet petit a, thereby asserting his/her power over s/he who is beholden to the gaze. The objet petit a may either avert or return the gaze. To gaze back at the One indicates a reversal of power, whereby the viewer feels violated by the gaze of the objet petit a. In this sense, the objet petit a regains some of the power that has been lost: a subject-turned-object-turned-subject.
In the most Lacanian sense, one’s subjective self becomes violated under the gaze of the artist/photographer/filmmaker. One oscillates between a subjective and object-ified self when the gaze falls upon him/her. But what if the camera “freezes” a traumatic experience? What does a photo-graph take from the victim? At the same time, Lacan’s theory presupposes that the gaze, as a libidinal response, always informs the rhetorical act: “The painter must submit to the scopic drive before achieving a signifying shaping of the real."
The term “spectacle” denotes “an event that is visually impactful in some way: “something that attracts attention because it is very unusual or shocking” (Merriam-Webster). A public trauma such as the 9/11 attacks creates a spectacle that is collectively shared and remembered by a given culture. It is precisely because the event shocks the viewer in some way that it becomes a spectacle. Images of collective trauma become spectacles for mass consumption; it is the society of the spectacle that locks in the value of an image based how they respond. The spectacle created by witness photography sends mixed signals to viewers. In one instance, the viewer may experience a “Stop this!” response, yet in another instance an awestruck viewer may react by thinking, “What a spectacle!” (“Looking at War” 94).
From an ethical standpoint, victims of an atrocity photograph in particular represent dehumanized objects: their pain transforms into a spectacle when released into the rhetorical culture for mass consumption. The photographer initially resides in a subject position as a viewer who fixes the gaze on the victim, passively observing disempowered objects whose suffering becomes captured on film. As Sontag elaborates in On Photography, the camera itself is a “predatory weapon” (14). “To photograph people is to violate them, to see them as they never see themselves; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed” (14). The viewer, then, assumes the power of the gaze when viewing the image, grasping a moment of time that belongs to the original sovereign subject. The responsibility of the photographer transcends beyond the surface of the image and seeps into the viewer who endures the horror of witnessing the atrocity.
Spectatorship—a term oftentimes used in reference to sporting events—describes a visual process whereby a viewer acts as a passive observer to an event. Photographers and viewers, as second and third person witnesses to atrocity, respond similarly to sports fans: they sit in the sidelines and watch the event from a distance without intervening. The voyeuristic act of creating a spectacle out of another’s suffering raises several questions of interest in terms of the ethics of viewing the body in pain and the role of witness photographers. For example, what responsibility lies in the hands of the war photographer who passively observes a massacre taking place? Are war photographers culpable bystanders? Or does the role of the witness photographer denote passive observation and prohibit intervention? At what point does acting as a war photographer become—a sport?
Spectatorship remains a complex process, particularly when the body becomes a site of torture. According to Simone Weil, “Violence turns anybody subject to [war] into a thing” (as cited in “Looking at War” 86). The body as a source of pain and torture represents power and domination over the body. Depending upon the viewer, for some, there is an “appetite” for the depiction of bodies in pain that feels empowering, a satisfaction in the gaze or “pleasure in flinching” (88). Sontag emphasizes that it is not uncommon for viewers to enjoy the spectacle of torture: “As objects of contemplation, images of the atrocious can answer to several different needs. To steel oneself against weakness. To make oneself more numb. To acknowledge the existence of the incorrigible” (Regarding the Pain…98). To distinguish between “real” versus “fantasy” violence, viewers typically experience a sense of guilt or moral obligation when exposed to a factual representation of violence whereas fictional representations do not have the same effect (Peters 722).The mind can distinguish between actual violence versus fantasy violence, and a healthy mind should experience feelings of empathy or compassion when regarding factual accounts of the body in pain, not pleasure.
From a social advocate’s viewpoint, witness photography demonstrates the power to shift political discourse and alter public policy to serve the common good. Consider images of the My Lai massacre released by Ron Haeberle: the photographic evidence of the atrocity provided people with a better understanding of combat conditions in order to help remove U.S. troops from the Vietnam conflict. Or consider the travesties documented by James Nachtwey that brought attention to the genocide in Rwanda or the food crises in the Sudan. These examples emphasize the important role witness photographers play in shedding light on serious matters. The question is: Does the demand for recognition exceed the ethical consequences of commodifying and exploiting the victims?
It remains a curious undertaking to ponder visual witnessing in terms of the power of the gaze and the myriad ways in which concepts associated with it problematize the witnessing process. Who resides in empowered, subject positions? Who resides in powerless, object positions? In what ways are subject/object positions, subjectivity and object-ivity affected by the power of gaze? What must occur in order for a viewer to partake in ethical spectatorship? These are questions of interest that are just as important to consider as they are impossible to answer.
[1] Laura Mulvey’s research expanded upon Lacan’s work by exploring the sexual objectification of the female form by the male gaze. Mulvey’s work examines voyeurism and scopophelia—visual acts that violate the subject by rendering him/her as an object. Voyeurism indicates the pleasure in looking—which could arguably include pleasure in viewing the body in pain—whereas scopophelia denotes sexual pleasure through voyeuristic acts.
The term “spectacle” denotes “an event that is visually impactful in some way: “something that attracts attention because it is very unusual or shocking” (Merriam-Webster). A public trauma such as the 9/11 attacks creates a spectacle that is collectively shared and remembered by a given culture. It is precisely because the event shocks the viewer in some way that it becomes a spectacle. Images of collective trauma become spectacles for mass consumption; it is the society of the spectacle that locks in the value of an image based how they respond. The spectacle created by witness photography sends mixed signals to viewers. In one instance, the viewer may experience a “Stop this!” response, yet in another instance an awestruck viewer may react by thinking, “What a spectacle!” (“Looking at War” 94).
From an ethical standpoint, victims of an atrocity photograph in particular represent dehumanized objects: their pain transforms into a spectacle when released into the rhetorical culture for mass consumption. The photographer initially resides in a subject position as a viewer who fixes the gaze on the victim, passively observing disempowered objects whose suffering becomes captured on film. As Sontag elaborates in On Photography, the camera itself is a “predatory weapon” (14). “To photograph people is to violate them, to see them as they never see themselves; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed” (14). The viewer, then, assumes the power of the gaze when viewing the image, grasping a moment of time that belongs to the original sovereign subject. The responsibility of the photographer transcends beyond the surface of the image and seeps into the viewer who endures the horror of witnessing the atrocity.
Spectatorship—a term oftentimes used in reference to sporting events—describes a visual process whereby a viewer acts as a passive observer to an event. Photographers and viewers, as second and third person witnesses to atrocity, respond similarly to sports fans: they sit in the sidelines and watch the event from a distance without intervening. The voyeuristic act of creating a spectacle out of another’s suffering raises several questions of interest in terms of the ethics of viewing the body in pain and the role of witness photographers. For example, what responsibility lies in the hands of the war photographer who passively observes a massacre taking place? Are war photographers culpable bystanders? Or does the role of the witness photographer denote passive observation and prohibit intervention? At what point does acting as a war photographer become—a sport?
Spectatorship remains a complex process, particularly when the body becomes a site of torture. According to Simone Weil, “Violence turns anybody subject to [war] into a thing” (as cited in “Looking at War” 86). The body as a source of pain and torture represents power and domination over the body. Depending upon the viewer, for some, there is an “appetite” for the depiction of bodies in pain that feels empowering, a satisfaction in the gaze or “pleasure in flinching” (88). Sontag emphasizes that it is not uncommon for viewers to enjoy the spectacle of torture: “As objects of contemplation, images of the atrocious can answer to several different needs. To steel oneself against weakness. To make oneself more numb. To acknowledge the existence of the incorrigible” (Regarding the Pain…98). To distinguish between “real” versus “fantasy” violence, viewers typically experience a sense of guilt or moral obligation when exposed to a factual representation of violence whereas fictional representations do not have the same effect (Peters 722).The mind can distinguish between actual violence versus fantasy violence, and a healthy mind should experience feelings of empathy or compassion when regarding factual accounts of the body in pain, not pleasure.
From a social advocate’s viewpoint, witness photography demonstrates the power to shift political discourse and alter public policy to serve the common good. Consider images of the My Lai massacre released by Ron Haeberle: the photographic evidence of the atrocity provided people with a better understanding of combat conditions in order to help remove U.S. troops from the Vietnam conflict. Or consider the travesties documented by James Nachtwey that brought attention to the genocide in Rwanda or the food crises in the Sudan. These examples emphasize the important role witness photographers play in shedding light on serious matters. The question is: Does the demand for recognition exceed the ethical consequences of commodifying and exploiting the victims?
It remains a curious undertaking to ponder visual witnessing in terms of the power of the gaze and the myriad ways in which concepts associated with it problematize the witnessing process. Who resides in empowered, subject positions? Who resides in powerless, object positions? In what ways are subject/object positions, subjectivity and object-ivity affected by the power of gaze? What must occur in order for a viewer to partake in ethical spectatorship? These are questions of interest that are just as important to consider as they are impossible to answer.
[1] Laura Mulvey’s research expanded upon Lacan’s work by exploring the sexual objectification of the female form by the male gaze. Mulvey’s work examines voyeurism and scopophelia—visual acts that violate the subject by rendering him/her as an object. Voyeurism indicates the pleasure in looking—which could arguably include pleasure in viewing the body in pain—whereas scopophelia denotes sexual pleasure through voyeuristic acts.