The Art of Lying Down (2 page)

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.

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:

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

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.”

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. Instead 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.

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.

No standing: A
hamam
in Istanbul

Lying down is also important in the ritualized world of the
hamam
, or Turkish bath. There, after stretching and undergoing a massage and thorough scrubbing, the visitor enjoys a lengthy rest on a warm stone slab. This relaxation period is no mere luxury, for the
hamam
treatment, which removes the upper layer of the skin and loosens the muscles, can be draining or even painful. In some Muslim countries, this type of bath continues to be a social institution for people to relax and recharge.

Finding oneself in a horizontal position with nothing solid underneath sounds like a nightmare, yet it happens all the time. Swimmers lie on or just below the waterline: the buoyancy of the water counteracts their mass, an effect that is strongest in water with a high salt content. But it remains to be seen if a horizontal shower recently touted by a Swiss manufacturer will catch on. Bathers can use this shower while lying on the stomach or on the back.
The Guardian
was not impressed, however, dismissing the device as “an absurd contraption,” “sheer stupidity,” and “the worst invention ever.” The idea that in the future, showering could force the British nation to “writhe helplessly like beached seals on a platter of dead skin cells and tepid body fluids” filled the editorialist with dread.

Floating like an embryo: Dittman’s patented rocking basin

How can we distinguish lying down from other horizontal states? Floating, for example? Roland Barthes once described floating as living “in a space without tying oneself to a place.” Whether we float thanks to the absence of gravity or to the presence of intoxication, the sensation itself is always very real. And whether we are in water or in the air, floating requires neither a direction nor a destination. This very lack of purpose underlies its use as a therapeutic treatment; adherents believe that suspension in a salt-water bath kept at body temperature brings profound relaxation, even happiness.