The Last Boy Scout: On Taking a Positive Turn

In some sense, this is an update to my Addicted to Distraction post at The Mitrailleuse. Let me just note what worked: On a few individual days since, I’ve got up and read the local paper for local stories of interest like the weather and school sports, gone to work and completely ignored the swirling events of the “news” for an entire day, got a lot of work done, and felt very content and satisfied heading home in the evening.

Other days, I reverted to my old habits to an extent–spent breaks and lunch hours reading blogs and web pages and posting tweets. Listened to the “news” on the radio on the way to work. Read entire articles about the war, or whatever it is, in Yemen and the one in Syria and the one, apparently in Kenya. Am I the better for this?

No.

During those evenings there has been more anxiety, less energy, and, strangely, even more tweet reading and “reacting.” It’s not really that anything is so bad about what my friends are saying and posting; in fact, given the quality of the blogs and Twitter accounts I follow, the content is well written and on point about the problems of our age, and what ought to be done about them…yet I can feel a certain negativity, even despair, being driven right into my soul by all of this. There is such a thing as pessimism porn, and though I don’t see it as the main thrust of the Reactosphere or the Dark Enlightenment, he who hath eyes to see knows it’s there. Even someone as level and grounded as Malcolm Pollock indulges in it when discussing the presidential campaign of Hillary Clinton:

Mind you, I might be coming round to Hillary’s camp myself. As I mentioned in a comment last month, “there are times — and they are more frequent now — when I think that the only way to move beyond this tottering wreck, and begin to build whatever we can upon its rubble, is to help it fall, as quickly as possible.” If that’s the goal, then Hillary’s the gal.

Of course he’s not the first person to express similar sentiments about Mrs. Clinton. Over a year ago, Jack Donovan made the point that Hillary would at least wake up the remaining non-feminized men to the fact that:

President Hillary Clinton will reveal to American men that America is no longer a nation that elevates rugged cowboys and pioneers. That’s the bad, old America. The new America wants its men emasculated, weak, and completely controlled by a corporate-owned state that’s far more concerned with the wants of acquisitive career gals. Who better than Hillary Clinton to put the “nanny” in “nanny state?”

The Hillary Clinton Presidency will drive home the fact that America isn’t “our” country anymore.

We just live here.

Look, I like to do this as much as anybody. Sometimes I indulge in a bit of fantasy myself, imagining that Washington DC has been put to the torch. The cleansing fire will consume that foul nest of corruption and sodomy and finally, finally we can start over and build something clean and decent on the ashes.

But, no.

026

We may get Hillary for President, we may get more regulation of “greenhouse gases” and subsidies for bird-killing wind farms, more subsidies for sodomites in the schools, more “diversity” training and generally, more Prog bullshit thrown in our faces in the coming years, but I. WILL. NOT. DESPAIR. Nor will I “root” for massive destruction of the West in the interest of cleansing.

Beside this list, we may get cheap space travel, cheaper energy, quantum computing, genetically tailored treatments for illness. I have a 10-year-old son, who I’m training to be a Dangerous Child. I can’t change the world, really, I can only change myself, and I can prepare him for whatever may come in his life.

There are, no doubt, some great, horrible, terrible, wonderful things to come in the next years and decades. I choose to meet them with a song in my heart and on my lips. Certainly not “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” but one much older and deeper and substantial, something that will be with us as long as we’re human:

Freude, schöner Götterfunken

Tochter aus Elysium,

Wir betreten feuertrunken,

Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Deine Zauber binden wieder

Was die Mode streng geteilt;

Alle Menschen werden Brüder,

Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

And if that could be created by a Man, I think I can do things more joyfully even in our own Strange Days.

Predicting the Future I

As Land said, “succinct perfection from Fernandez.” (Again).

It will be interesting to see how it plays out.  The dominant ideology of the elite is based on a paradigm that is vanishing before our very eyes.  Perhaps its vanished already, but they just don’t know it. The socialist systems of Europe are dying on their feet.  The most amazing thing about their American admirers is their continuing belief in a socialist future rooted in the past.

The balance of probability suggests that government will become less important over the next 10 years, though many states will not surrender its prerogatives without a fight. After all, a great deal of that missing $1.5 trillion in Europe represents political corruption. But those governments which survive will focus on providing the essential state services: maintaining sovereignty, controlling borders and delivering public goods.

The states which dabble in irrelevant atheistic, 19th century social engineering are probably going to have a hard time surviving. Ironically the nation whose vision naturally conforms to this is the the United States. The “hundred year old document” which the Left habitually dismisses as irrelevant may turn out to be the key map for the future; a future in which non-state actors are dominant, where the word “God” becomes relevant again in a universe where Demons are suddenly real.

Regular, or occasional, readers here know that Neal Stephenson had a very similar picture of how things might develop, almost 20 years ago. Thus the title of this blog.

I’m working on a longer piece about how the great speculative fiction (sci-fi) authors of the 20th century already did brilliant exploration of issues that may seem new to younger portion of the NRx. Meanwhile, as Wretchard points out, there are going to be myriad opportunities to break free of centralized Cathedral government in the next few years.

We must be prepared to take them.

 

Thousand-Year War

Nine hundred might be more accurate, but who’s counting?

Outside in points us toward PopeHat‘s GamerGate epic, but my eye was quickly caught by Clark’s immediately preceding Strange Seeds on Distant Shores. For those who have read important parts of the Moldbuggian Canon, there’s nothing startling here, but the last few paragraphs did cause my thoughts to take a slight detour:

Having an accurate view of the world is rewarding in its own right, but it’s especially nice when the alternative is being blindfolded and punched in the face.

If you think that the today’s headlines are primarily, or even largely, about today, you’re mistaken: they’re just reports from the latest skirmishes in a war started a thousand years ago because of climate change and technological progress.

If you think that because you’re on the winning side of the culture wars the footnotes are boring or irrelevant, I suggest that you’re wrong. I think that over the next decade or two the Roundheads (read Harvard Yankees) are going to take a major fall. Like dwarves delving too deep or Hitler pushing too far into the East, the irrational exuberance (not to say hubris) of roaming the culture war battlefield and humiliating your downed opponents before brutally executing them can have detrimental effects.

Now this may just be wishful thinking; I’m not sure what this “major fall” would look like in “real life.” Will reactionaries be able to spout their views in New York Times editorials and keep their positions as CEOs of major corporations? Will trannies go back in the closet? Will immigration laws be enforced? Will Nigel Farage become PM (damn, wouldn’t THAT be fun to watch?)?

I’ll say it straight out, I’m on the “Red Team” for partly aesthetic reasons. Any man or woman worth their weight in salt would recoil in disgust at the average “SJW” getting in their face. Of course, the average SJW doesn’t get in anybody’s face; SHe posts fake death threats against herself on web forums, then arranges for the evidence to be forwarded to a prog site with connection to the MSM. I’ve been saying for quite a few years that people will only take so much, that when they are really, truly up against the wall they’ll fight (and more cynical members of the reactosphere have called me hopelessly optimistic). One of the few examples where the progs have been stymied is their program of “gun control” in the US. Now, except for the government, Red Team has most of the guns. I always figured that as the last final argument that would prevent the Jacobin Terror, USA.

Maybe #GamerGate will be a spark. Maybe trannies are a bridge too far. Or maybe, and more likely to my mind, Hitler has only just crossed into the Soviet Union, and there will be a whole lot more shit, and casualties, to come, before the pendulum swings back to any significant degree.

The Hidden Variable of the Neoreaction

Introduction – “Behold the Lamb of God…”

Many days ago I seemed to promise that in my “next post” I would “begin using my own small gifts to relate ‘neoreaction’ to the Hidden Variables that most men never suspect, much less know.” Because “The Occult.”

Ahem. I did post something else in the meantime. If you, Gentle Reader, will forgive me for that, let us now delve into the res, as my friend Jeeves would say.

Background: I was baptized in the Church (yeah, that one) just two-and-a-half years ago at the age of 51. And yeah, I believe that the bread and wine when properly consecrated (by a real, honest-to-God man of a priest) do transform into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. Let’s not beat around the bush, that’s one non-negotiable thing that one takes aboard when one becomes, or accepts, being a Roman Catholic. There are a few more, but let them be, for now.

I suspect that quite a few of the good people in the pews around me don’t really, truly believe in anything “supernatural.” In most of the Christian churches in the whole of the West, the same. I didn’t either for many, many years.

Some Personal History

I’m a 140-IQ white male ‘mericun who is strange enough to have vivid memories of watching the Republican and Democratic National Conventions as an eight-year-old, 1968. Especially, the Democrats; In other words, Mayor Daley, speeches, funny hats and riots on live TV. No one else in my family, including my parents, was interested; it’s still fresh in my mind, watching the conventions on the little black-and-white in the parental bedroom by myself. I decided I was a Republican.By age 11, I had begun reading Robert Heinlein (this was the first, wonderful dangerous stuff that I’m sure my unconventionally Protestant parents would have blanched about, had they understood what kind of dynamite can be contained in an “juvenile” science fiction book). I rapidly became a “scientific materialist,” read Rand’s Atlas Shrugged at 15 and became an “Objectivist” (or as Heinlein called them in The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, a “Randite”).

As I’ve written previously, the mid-1970s was a seemingly scary time for a young person looking ahead; the US economy was crap for about seven years (just as much as 2007-now, in my opinion), the USSR seemed ascendant, freedoms in the US seemed to be shrinking. After being a rational/objectivist/nerdy/square-peg unhappy high-schooler for a couple of years, I wrangled my way out of HS early, went to city college and began smoking weed and hanging out with Libertarian Party types. The weed was a successful anti-anxiety medication, the LPers not only had the weed but offered a vision of Outsideness, disconnection from “the herd” and a lot of great book recommendations. Also, psilocybin mushrooms and LSD.

So add to a combination of late-night bull sessions with the High-IQ Counterculture, daily pot smoking and the periodic ‘shroom and acid investigations many more Dangerous Books. Just one of them, Illuminatus!, referenced and led to:

A History Of Secret Societies, The Morning of the Magicians, Info-Psychology, Pawns in the Game,The Structure of Magic, Vol. 1: A Book About Language and Therapy and surely worst of all, Aleister Crowley.

The Wickedest Man in the World

Now, I have some disagreements about Crowley with people I respect. In a comment here, the most excellent E. Antony Gray replies to my somewhat favorable evaluation of Crowley’s work with:

The Crowley-mythologizing is just inflammatory. He knows how much the man is, like Carlos Casteneda, considered a harmful hack and a charlatan.

Then there’s Jules Evans, former MDMA-fueled Raver who regained his very capable mind through the study of Seneca and Aristotle, amongst others (see Philosophy for Life and Other Dangerous Situations: Ancient Philosophy for Modern Problems). He happened to post a long exposition on “Crowley and his Children” (especially his children in the music biz) as I was thinking about all this. His conclusion:

The arts, sex, drugs, magic and religion are all ways of ‘turning off the mind’, going beyond rational consciousness, opening the trapdoor and following the Imagination down into the dark, to try and find the treasure. But I think, in that perilous descent, it’s absolutely crucial what motive you have, and your moral ability to handle what you encounter without losing your shit.

Many artists and magicians make that descent for selfish motives – for money, sex and power. That’s very risky – it’s like the Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark trying to use the Ark for selfish reasons. You end up with a melted face.

I’d say Tolkien had the best idea about how to mine the Imagination without awakening too many Balrogs. You need to go in with a small ego, like a hobbit, with a fellowship of people around you to guide you when you feel lost. And you need to be prepared to give away whatever treasure you find, rather than trying to hang on to it for your own power. That’s the way to create great art, and it’s the way to live a meaningful life. Crowley’s ‘Do What Thou Wilt’ doesn’t end in happiness or power. It ends in emptiness, addiction, madness and self-destruction. It’s a lie – perhaps the oldest lie of all.

Now I don’t disagree with this at all; but perhaps there’s another layer that we might explore to our profit.

We Now Return to Dr. Land in the Swinging ’90s…

From my previous post on the previous episodes of Nick Land we follow this link and read:

In taking this approach, Land not only renounced the respect of his academic peers, but many times even lost the confidence of his supporters, as he sought by any means possible to drill through the sedimented layers of normative human comportment. Strange scenes ensued: A seminar on A Thousand Plateaus where a group of nonplussed graduates were encouraged to ‘read’ the chapter titles of the book by turning them into acronyms that were then plotted as vectors on a diagram of a QWERTY keyboard (‘qwertopology’); A three-week long experiment in refusing to speak in the first person, instead referring to the collective entity ‘Cur’ (comprising the hardcore participants in ‘Current French Philosophy,’ who extended the lectures into a continual movable seminar); and, most memorably, a presentation at the conference Virtual Futures in 1996: Rather than reading a paper, in this collaboration with artist collective Orphan Drift, under the name of ‘DogHead SurGeri,’2 and complete with jungle soundtrack, Land lay behind the stage, flat on the floor (a ‘snake-becoming’ forming the first stage of bodily destratification), croaking enigmatic invocations intercut with sections from Artaud’s asylum poems. In this delirious vocal telegraphy, meaning seemed to  disintegrate into sheer phonetic matter, melting into the cut-up beats and acting directly on the subconscious. As Land began to speak in his strange, choked-off voice (perhaps that ‘absurdly high pitched … tone … ancient demonists described as ‘silvery,’ which he later reports being taunted by),3the disconcerted audience begin to giggle; the demon voice wavered slightly until Land’s sense of mission overcame his momentary self-consciousness; and as the ‘performance’ continued the audience fell silent, eyeing each other uncertainly as if they had walked into a funeral by mistake. Embarrassment was regarded by Land as just one of the rudimentary inhibitions that had to be broken down in order to explore the unknown – in contrast to the forces of academic domestication, which normalised by fostering a sense of inadequacy and shame before the Masters, before the edifice of what is yet to be learnt.

(You shall have to go to the original to get the footnotes).

Let us compare this incident to something that Crowley wrote, and that I have not a shadow of doubt that Land read at some point (Book Four, Part I, free here!):

In any case, the mass of mankind is always ready to be swayed by anything thus authoritative and distinct. History is full of stories of officers who have walked unarmed up to a mutinous regiment, and disarmed them by the mere force of confidence. The power of the orator over the mob is well known. It is, probably, for this reason that the prophet has been able to constrain mankind to obey his law. I never occurs to him that any one can do otherwise. In practical life one can walk past any guardian, such as a sentry or ticket-collector, if one can really act so that the man is somehow persuaded that you have a right to pass unchallenged.

This power, by the way, is what has been described by magicians as the power of invisibility. Somebody or other has an excellent story of four quite reliable men who were on the look-out for a murderer, and had instructions to let no one pass, and who all swore subsequently in presence of the dead body that no one had passed. None of them had seen the postman.

The thieves who stole the “Gioconda” from the Louvre were probably disguised as workmen, and stole the picture under the very eye of the guardian; very likely got him to help them.

It is only necessary to believe that a thing must be to bring it about. This belief must not be an emotional or an intellectual one. It resides in a deeper portion of the mind, yet a portion not so deep but that most men, probably all successful men, will understand these words, having experience of their own with which they can compare it.

The most important factor in Dhyana is, however, the annihilation of the Ego. Our conception of the universe must be completely overturned if we are to admit this as valid; and it is time that we considered what is really happening.

It will be conceded that we have given a very rational explanation of the greatness of great men. They had an experience so overwhelming, so out of proportion to the rest of things, that they were freed from all the petty hindrances which prevent the normal man from carrying out his projects.

Worrying about clothes, food, money, what people may think, how and why, and above all the fear of consequences, clog nearly every one. Nothing is easier, theoretically, than for an anarchist to kill a king. He has only to buy a rifle, make himself a first-class shot, and shoot the king from a quarter of a mile away. And yet, although there are plenty of anarchists, outrages are very few. At the same time, the police would probably be the first to admit that if any man were really tired of life, in his deepest being, a state very different from that in which a man goes about saying he is tired of life, he could manage somehow or other to kill someone first.

Now the man who has experienced any of the more intense forms of Dhyana is thus liberated. The Universe is thus destroyed for him, and he for it. His will can therefore go on its way unhampered. One may imagine that in the case of Mohammed he had cherished for years a tremendous ambition, and never done anything because those qualities which were subsequently manifested as statesmanship warned him that he was impotent. His vision in the cave gave him that confidence which was required, the faith that moves mountains. There are a lot of solid-seeming things in this world which a child could push over; but not one has the courage to push.

Dangerous, dangerous stuff. Fortunately one must venture boldly into dangerous and unknown territory to even begin to understand it, much less incorporate it. Otherwise we might have too many wolves and sheep dogs for the sheep available. Perhaps we still will, at some future time.

The Occult Nature of the NRx

I propose that this is the factor (let us call it, in tribute to Colin Wilson, “Factor X”) that separates the Neoreactionary, and certain other enlightened individuals who call themselves Reactionary, Neu Righty, Occidentalistas, Spartan Racers, Anarcho-Papists, Atlanteans, X-Men’n’Women, Futurists, Gumball Racers, &tc., from the equally high-IQ Servants at the Prog Cathedral.

Factor X is a refusal to go against what one sees and knows in order to fit into what Leary called “mammalian politics.” Progressives of the West today are so deeply embedded in mammalian politics that they must blind their eyes and cover their ears, suspend their critical facilities when the Unconfrontable Truths begin to edge into consciousness.

Every human finds a different way, route, road to the deeps. I passed through Crowley’s Magick and Will and found that Final Cause that lies at the end of time. Other fellow travelers call it something else. It matters not. “Neoreaction” and “Dark Enlightenment” are useful terms for the hidden truths and the explorers who search for them, despite the imprecations of the ignorant and the non-ignorant striving for power over other men.

It’s the search, a search that has no ‘X’ on a map. Or to give the last word to my early hero Heinlein, in the very last lines of Methusalah’s Children:

Yes, maybe it’s just one colossal big joke, with no point to it…whatever the answers are, here’s one monkey that’s going to keep on climbing, and looking around to see what he can see, as long as the tree holds out.

Cathedral Studies: Cornel West is Confused

I like the concept of “Cathedral Studies” as a field of specialization within the NRx; indeed, it was the heart of the beginning of the enterprise. It was Moldbug’s raison d’etre.

As Stirner comments at Outside in on UNESCO Man:

Unesco Man lays out how the progs wormed their way into the heart of UNESCO, and then used that as a platform to elevate the social science view of face and sideline to biological view of the physical anthropologists and evolutionary biologists.

Of great interest to NRxers with an interest in Cathedral Studies or the alt-History of the 20th century.

Today, our Cathedral Study will look at confused and confusing statements from the very heart of the Cathedral, the Harvard/Princeton/Union Theological Seminary/Washington DC/Salon axis, as  Thomas “The Baffler” Frank and Professor Cornel “Enter the Matrix” West come together to bitch about the insufficient Progness of our beloved Prog-in-Chief, President Obama. Looked at as a whole, the interview, or dialogue, or whatever the format is supposed to be, is just an extended bull session by a couple of creaky, cranky Pee-aitch-dees, but one section made me smile widely:

We ended up with a Wall Street presidency, a drone presidency, a national security presidency. The torturers go free. The Wall Street executives go free. The war crimes in the Middle East, especially now in Gaza, the war criminals go free. And yet, you know, he acted as if he was both a progressive and as if he was concerned about the issues of serious injustice and inequality and it turned out that he’s just another neoliberal centrist with a smile and with a nice rhetorical flair. And that’s a very sad moment in the history of the nation because we are—we’re an empire in decline. Our culture is in increasing decay. Our school systems are in deep trouble. Our political system is dysfunctional. Our leaders are more and more bought off with legalized bribery and normalized corruption in Congress and too much of our civil life. You would think that we needed somebody—a Lincoln-like figure who could revive some democratic spirit and democratic possibility.

REALLY? How nice of Distinguished Comrade West to note The Demotist Decline that he helped to further with his own work, that demotism produced Obama who couldn’t stop the demotist decline, and that “The democratic politician and the electorate are bound together by a circuit of reciprocal incitement, in which each side drives the other to ever more shameless extremities of hooting, prancing cannibalism, until the only alternative to shouting is being eaten.”

Oh, sorry Professor, you didn’t say that, that was Dr. Land in Dark Enlightenment, Part I.

I thought we elected Obama to accelerate our Empire in its Decline. He seems to be doing a fine job. Perhaps, more than we can believe as yet, The Cathedral is a House built upon sand.

A Whole New Land

Transamerica_building_san_francisco

“The Ministry of Truth–Minitrue, in Newspeak–was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up terrace after terrace 300 metres in the air.” George Orwell, 1984.

Through the good offices of E. Anthony Gray aka @RiverC we encountered The Nature of Order: An Essay on the Art of Building and the Nature of the Universe, Book 1 – The Phenomenon of Life

The reference to the image of the TransAmerica building is from a different work, A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction.

Via Land:

You really need to read Nature of Order, if you haven’t already. He outlines what underlies much of this somewhat unformed yearning of the romantic and otherwise sort. Fundamentally, he argues that on the Quantum level arrangement trumps causality; thus the ‘field of effect of arrangements’ is an empirical phenomenon of some degree.

What follows is the theory of centers, of wholes as a field of centers (and their fields) – providing a third theory which allows one to move between the empirical and metaphysical (empirical being continuous, metaphysical being discrete.)

The curious experiment at the heart of the mystery is the ‘two slit’ electron experiment. The books are rather expensive, but quite worth it (so far, anyway – we’ve not read the whole opus yet.)

I now am charged, indeed, glowing with the feeling, that never may I see the World the same.

Again.

Moldbug, Auster and the Sword

A few weeks ago I pointed to an exchange between Larry Auster and Mencius Moldbug that illuminated certain points of interest. I printed just a brief excerpt. Here’s another, from the same post at VFR:

Auster:

So Moldbug is not grounded in anything. As I said at the start of this discussion, he’s just way out there. “Let’s be clear,” he writes. “You are not taking our pill as a public service. Rather, you are dosing up because you’d rather be high. Despite the agony of ingestion, it’s just too much fun to see your old reality from the outside. This, rather than ‘society,’ is why you will return to UR again and again.” Take away the somewhat sinister and menacing tone, but leave in place the pull of a self-destructive high, and Mencius here reminds me of a song from Jimi Hendrix’s beautiful last (and posthumous) album Cry of Love (which I last listened to maybe 25 years ago).

(The lyrics below are as I heard them on the album, not as they appear in written versions on the Web, which get some of the best lines wrong. On three or four lines I’m not sure of, I’ve followed the written versions. The second line, beginning “His mind fell out of his face,” is not something I ever heard, and it seems too strange and off-putting, and also out of place coming right before the more hopeful, “Get out there, man, and do your best.” I always thought the line was, “He was flyin’ from outer space, and the wind blew it away.” But that doesn’t make sense either; what is the “it”? So here I’m using the written version. I can’t find the recording on YouTube.)

Astro Man

A little boy inside a dream just the other day
His mind fell out of his face and the wind blew it away
A hand came out from heaven and pinned a badge on his chest
It said, “Get out there, man, and do your best”. (Yeah.)

They call him Astro man
And he’s flyin’ higher than
That old fashioned Superman 
Ever could.

Oh, they call him cosmic nut
And he’s twice as good as Donald Duck
And he’ll try his best to screw you up
The rest of your mind.

Oh, look out! my guitars.

Astro man, 
Flyin’ across the sky 
Two times higher than that old fashioned Superman 
Ever could.

There he goes, there he goes
Where he stops, no one knows
There he goes, there he goes
He’s tryin’ to, blow out the rest of your mind
He’s gonna blow out the rest of your mind
Talkin’ about living with a little peace of mind
Astro man will leave you a piece of it 
Have you put our trouble behind him
Make you fly around it in pieces
Yeah, blow out the rest of your mind
Astro man will blow out the rest of your mind
He’s gonna blow out the rest of your mind …(whoo, hoo)

Now this is one of the things to love about the late Mr. Auster. He talks of “self-destructive highs” and immediately quotes a Hendrix song. It’s a delicious juxtaposition that wouldn’t occur to many.

“In my Father’s house there are many mansions. If it were not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.”

A year ago this spring, Auster was dying. Moldbug was moved to post The Greatness of Lawrence Auster. More than just an appreciation, there are clips inside that would bear repeating:

In case you haven’t heard, Larry is dying.  Say a prayer for him, or something.

Greatness?  I don’t know that anyone can really get away with the word in 2013.  What can greatness mean in a fourth-rate world?  In a fourth-rate world, the second-rate look great.  Worse, they feel great.  After all, they stand head and shoulders above their own age.   So why grow further?  Can we say that a Lawrence Auster saw farther, because he stood on the toes of dwarves?

Surely there’s a bit of that.  I think Auster’s work is best summarized by his statement, not a boast but merely the truth, that where the ordinary machine conservative takes a second look at our political narrative we live in, View from the Right took the second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth looks.  Very well.  I think our differences are best summarized by my feeling that six looks are entirely insufficient for our exquisitely sterquiline age, thirty or forty being perhaps more like it.  Six looks are certainly not enough to understand why Henry VII is worth taking seriously.  If indeed he is.

But we did not visit VFR for a history of the past – but rather, a history of the present.  Are you by some strange chance reading this in the 22nd century?  Stranger things have happened.  Do you want to read the true story of the early 21st, wie est eigentlich gewesen?  Find the VFR archive.  It must be somewhere.  Make sure you have a lot of time on your hands – or some kind of full-search FPGA in your medulla.

“To show what actually happened.” What a simple-seeming thing, yet so fiendishly difficult in a time when the “news” is not the “first draft of history” but mostly a disgusting and lukewarm stew of fact, spin, shading, lies, obfuscation, propaganda, mind control and fnords.

Moldbug seeks to free the mind with alchemical DMT; Auster with distilled water. I myself have had both, and both have their uses.

“And straightway there fell from his eyes as it were scales, and he received his sight;”

However, back to Moldbug on Auster:

The world of 2013 contains no genuine parliamentary institutions.  It contains the dried, bureaucratic husks of many – just as it contains the dried, bureaucratic husks of many old monarchies.  Before nations were ruled by a man “capable of prevailing over his rivals in single combat and face to face” with the sword of his tongue, they were ruled by the actual sword.  The king was a military leader.

Now we have no leaders of any kind.  At least, not in our political system.  Can you imagine a Barack Obama, stripped of his army of handlers, “in single combat and face to face,” in the old House of Commons or something like it, against… a Lawrence Auster?  Or even a Rush Limbaugh?  You might as well imagine Rush Limbaugh in a swordfight with Henry VII.

This is what I see when I look at Auster’s oeuvre – not just a prophet, but a leader.  A king, if you will.  A king out of water, in a dry and kingless age.  He was still born a king, or made himself one, and if you type in the right URL you can see it plain as day.

Does this have anything to do with Larry’s faith?  Of course it does.  It is impossible to imagine a king who does not serve the King of Kings.  Or rather, if we imagine one, we find ourselves looking for other words, pejorative ones – like “dictator.”  What were Hitler and Stalin, but godless kings?

More:

It is also a well-defined and cogent statement to say that Lawrence Auster is a servant of God.  One can serve without orders.  Larry doesn’t need God’s cell-phone number to serve God, and nor for that matter does the Pope.  When we say “God,” we know what we mean – it is a shorthand for the superhuman and perfect, for infinite wisdom and intelligence, just as the character of Hamlet is a shorthand for a mercurial and hesitating character.  What, pray tell me, is the Flying Spaghetti Monster a shorthand for?

At the level of evolutionary psychology, man is both a social animal and a hierarchical one.  Not only is he extremely good at defining and relating to characters, he is born with “modules” both for ruling and for serving.  Anyone living is the descendant of many kings and many, many servants.  Those kings, too, were born knowing how to serve.  Whom did they serve?  We know the answer.

Whether a man is a king, a peasant or anything in between, to ask him to be an atheist and an egalitarian is to ask him not to use the machines in his brain that he was born with.  It is to diminish him as a human being.  The capacity to personalize the superhuman, and to use this fictional anthropomorphism as a mechanism by which we may approach the superhuman, is characteristically human.  I suppose I will never be anything but a “secular humanist,” but I have learned in this way to respect, admire, and sometimes even envy my Christian friends.

 

For instance, characteristic of the enormous, and certainly regal, dignity of the man, is the strength and honor with which Auster approaches death.  Socrates was not a Christian, nor was Cato, nor were the 47 Ronin.  So atheists need not despair of these qualities.  On the other hand, neither Socrates nor Cato had to live in the same world as Beyonce.  It strikes me as quite implausible that when our dark age ends and the kings return, if ever, it will be under any banner but the Cross.

Or as Maistre put it:

Frenchmen, it was to the noise of hellish songs, the blasphemy of atheism, the cries of death, and the prolonged moans of slaughtered innocence, it was by the light of flames, on the debris of throne and altar, watered by the blood of the best of kings and an innumerable host of other victims, it was by the contempt of morality and the established faith, it was in the midst of every crime that your seducers and your tyrants founded what they callyour liberty.

But when man works to restore order he associates himself with the author of order; he is favored by nature, that is to say, by ensemble of secondary forces that are the agents of the Divinity.  His action partakes of the divine; it becomes both gentle and imperious, forcing nothing yet not resisted by anything.  His arrangements restore health.  As he acts, he calms disquiet and the painful agitation that is the effect and symptom of disorder.  In the same way, the hands of a skilful surgeon bring the cessation of pain that proves the dislocated joint has been put right.

When I look at VFR, especially when I look at the thanks and well wishes of Larry’s readers, this is what I see – a small area of order, in the hands of a skilful surgeon.  Who will not be with us much longer.  But humanity abides, and other surgeons will come.  They will need not a scalpel, but a sword.  Let us pray they are no less skilful.

“Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one.”

There is all sorts of opinion about whether Neoreaction is, and is becoming; critical analysis, a diagnosis of ills, a prescription for cure? Many believe in quietism, in wu wei. I am, myself, a big believer in what I call “creative inaction.”

Most problems in life, left alone, resolve themselves. Our frenetic and stressful efforts to “solve” them sometimes do so, sometimes make them worse, sometimes have no visible effect.

The degradation of society and the West through the tender mercies of progressivism is proceeding apace. There is time and room for debate about how long to let it burn.

But we’d best not let it burn to long, and we’d best prepare to take up the sword at any time.

“But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.” 

We’d better keep our eyes open, friends.