Is Catastrophe Inevitable?

 

Alex Kurtagic

Ex: http://www.amren.com/  

How liberalism may lead to collapse and Western rebirth.

 

Guillaume Faye, Convergence of Catastrophes, Arktos, 2012, 220 pp., $28.05 (soft cover)

Convergence of Catastrophes is the third book by French author Guillaume Faye to be published by Arktos in English. If you have read the other two (Archeofuturism and Why We Fight), you will recognize in the title a familiar theme in the author’s critique of liberal modernity: the idea that liberalism has unleashed a series of catastrophic processes now converging towards a cataclysmic global implosion.

I was keen to read this volume because it promised an elaboration on one of the key arguments Dr. Faye makes in Archeofuturism. This proved to be the case, though one difference is that Dr. Faye’s prose has shifted to reflect a higher degree of rage, directed at Europe’s and particularly France’s liberal establishment.

Dr. Faye frankly addresses the unfolding, slow-motion policy car crash no politician wants to talk about. Though in a different order and separated into more categories, he identifies the following lines of catastrophe converging in the West today:

1. The collapse of the earth’s ecosystem, caused by overpopulation, half-hearted or absent environmental policies, and the belief that the Third World needs to be “developed” to the American standard—which Faye thinks would require several earths’ worth of resources.
2. The degeneracy of European culture and man, brought about by egalitarianism, secularism, and social liberalism.
3. The clash of civilizations, particularly between a degenerate Europe and a vigorous Islam, which Faye considers extremist by nature and never moderate (Dr. Faye deems the idea of a secular, moderate Islam a myth invented by scared Western politicians).
4. The demographic coma in Europe, resulting in a shrinking and ageing population, and the lack of political will to reverse this with pro-natalist policies rather than immigration.
5. The colonization of Europe by settlers from the Third World, who see the continent as a welfare El Dorado and whose continued arrival will increase ethnic tensions to the point of ethnic civil war.
6. The giant economic crisis caused by the failure of the casino economy of finance capitalism, which will lead to a collapse worse than the Great Depression and to universal poverty and a new Middle Ages.

The tone of Convergence is lighter than in Archeofuturism and Why We Fight, though each page drips with sarcasm, cynicism, and animated exasperation. There is no mincing of words here.

Dr. Faye takes the darkest view of everything, predicting always the worst possible outcomes. In his view it is too late; for decades the warning signs have been ignored, suppressed, and explained away by politicians, academics, and the media. Nothing has been done. They have let structural problems grow worse in the belief that disaster will somehow be averted or that things will magically work themselves out. Though he does not state it explicitly, it is clear that Dr. Faye has no hope of any kind of counter-cultural movement with the power to halt the final cataclysm.

Towards the end of the book, Dr. Faye outlines three possible collapse scenarios: a soft one, a hard one, and a very hard one. In the soft one a total systemic breakdown is averted, but Western societies live on impoverished and in a state of permanent crisis. In the very hard one there is total breakdown. Western civilization is destroyed and the world population collapses, ushering in a new Middle Ages. Dr. Faye considers this both the most likely and the most desirable scenario. For him, history is cyclical. We are at the end of a cycle, and the harder scenario clears the decks for a new beginning, founded on entirely different—and better—philosophical suppositions. For this reason, Dr. Faye believes that this grim convergence of catastrophes is positive and necessary, and that the prospect of a new beginning should be reason for hope.

For the future, Convergence offers the vision outlined in Archeofuturism: a diversified world with a highly developed zone in the northern hemisphere and agricultural or subsistence societies in the south. Dr. Faye sees this as not only environmentally more sustainable, but as a more accurate reflection of the diversity of human societies; only a fraction of humanity, in his view, is suited to a techno-industrial society.

I generally agree with Dr. Faye’s thesis of converging catastrophes, but I fear it includes a slight element of wishful thinking. It seems Dr. Faye looks forward to the collapse; his attitude is the mirror image of the liberals’, who are either complacent or in denial. This may lead him to paint a scenario that satisfies him and that begins to unfold within his lifetime—in other words, he imagines he will be there to gloat as liberals bite the dust. He also suggests that Europeans will rise naturally from the ashes, without stressing that this depends on what we do now; it is not the natural outcome of collapse. This assumption is dangerous, because there are no guarantees of anything.

There is no guarantee that Europeans will rise from the ashes.

I am less willing than Dr. Faye to predict cataclysm sometime within the next eight years (when he wrote Archeofuturism in 1999, he predicted disaster by 2020). Nor would I assume that the lines of catastrophe will all converge within a narrow timeframe, or that European man will necessarily exist in the post-collapse world, even in smaller numbers.

To begin with, collapse scenarios can take a variety of forms, including forms in which the collapse would not be recognized as such by those living through it, or even by those living after it. A soft collapse, for example, can be one in which life remains pleasurable, so collapse is never widely recognized as such. Standards of morality weaken, the race degenerates, and a culture dissolves gradually, giving way to another that takes over therapeutically, subtly enslaving people who do not mind because they love their slavery. There may be a few bumps here and there along the way, of course, but, on the whole, this is how it unfolds. Does this not sound like the collapse of WASPdom in the United States?

Dr. Faye’s soft collapse scenario I would describe as either “deferred” or “slow.” In the first, the collapse has already occurred, but the final cataclysm is endlessly postponed, more or less like the financial crisis we are living through now. Through subterfuge, ways keep being found to levitate what should already be on the ground. In the second, the collapse unfolds gradually, in a managed and technocratic manner, and the social temperature is always kept below the threshold needed for a revolution.

One can also debate the “hard” convergence thesis. We can accept that various catastrophic trends are in place, but will they converge close enough together in time for a complete collapse, or will the catastrophes hit in succession over a long period? It is conceivable that each line of catastrophe may progress at a different speed, and that some will prompt a delaying action, thus weakening the convergence.

For example, global warming may be slowed significantly if electric cars are improved enough to trigger a phase out of the internal combustion engine over the next 10 to 15 years. In 2004, when Convergence was originally published in French, the electric car was still a distant prospect; now it is getting closer, and with decreasing petroleum reserves, it may soon make sense for motorists to make the switch. A technological breakthrough could potentially take the environmental and even the economic trend out of the equation, or at least slow them down, though this may not matter a great deal if the other trends continue.

Of course, this does not argue against the very real prospect of declining economic conditions, continuing political paralysis, and so on; it simply argues in favor of what Dr. Faye may consider the worst and most insidious of all scenarios: a “soft” convergence and a protracted or deferred collapse, whose final denouement occurs so far in the future that there are not enough of us left for it to matter any longer.

The important point is that the outcomes of collapse are not foreordained: They depend on what we do now. If some form of collapse is inevitable, then it is imperative that we establish today the bases for the world that will follow that collapse, and that we seize control of the process—including precipitating it artificially—so as to ensure for us the most favorable outcome. I believe Faye would agree with this, although he does not say so explicitly.

I must refer to this book’s latent anti-Americanism. It is only a minor part of the narrative, but it is a flaw, and Jared Taylor’s foreword points out Dr. Faye’s careless conflation of America with the American government. For many Americans, their government is their number-one enemy, and is distinct and separate from America. In Convergence, Dr. Faye accuses America of trying to weaken Europe by promoting free trade and multiculturalism, while practicing protectionism and controlling immigration to the US, when, in fact, America enthusiastically practices the same policies it promotes in Europe. Fortunately, and as Mr. Taylor points out, Dr. Faye has since revised this position: In a speech delivered in Nashville at the 2012 American Renaissance conference, he described Americans and Europeans as brothers in arms.

Dr. Faye speaking at the 2012 American Renaissance conference.

The philosophical foundations of the American republic are classical liberalism, but I believe it is essential—even if difficult—to separate liberalism (Americanism) from America, and to re-imagine America in philosophically non-liberal terms. To this we would need to look at the parts of American heritage that existed before, or beyond the reach of, classical liberalism. One can think of the early colonial period (before) and the wild West (beyond). This may prove vital in the effort to guarantee the continuity in the 21st century of white Americans and white American culture in the New World.

Do not look to Dr. Faye for a practical action plan; his purpose is to frankly assess present trends in the West and to point out that any cataclysmic outcome marks a beginning as well as an end. It is up to each reader to decide his course of action and translate what he has learned into effective action. For more concrete policy matters, Dr. Faye has just published Mon Programme (My Program), but it is available only in French.

Despite its imperfections, Convergence is a compelling and furious read, addressing important topics with an honesty that is rarely found and never with such intensity in a single volume. Futurology is very subjective, so one must be lenient with predictions—particularly those involving complex global events; but Dr. Faye’s analysis is fundamentally correct and will be read with profit by anyone who wants to understand how the liberal global experiment will eventually end.

Introduction to Guillaume Faye’s book Convergence of Catastrophes

Introduction to Guillaume Faye’s book Convergence of Catastrophes, published by Arktos Media

An Explosive Cocktail

‘The modern world is like a train full of ammunition ­running in the fog on a moonless night with its lights out.’ (Robert Ardrey^[1])

For the first time in its history, humanity is threatened by a convergence of catastrophes.

A series of ‘dramatic lines’ are approaching one another and converging like a river’s tributaries with perfect accord (between 2010 and 2020) towards a breaking point and a descent into chaos. From this chaos — which will be extremely painful on the global scale — can emerge the new order of the post-catastrophe era and therefore a new civilisation born in pain.

Let us briefly summarise the nature of these lines of catastrophe.

The first is the cancerisation of the European social fabric. The colonisation of the Northern hemisphere for purposes of permanent settlement by the peoples of the global South, which is increasingly serious despite the reassuring affirmations of the media, is pregnant with explosive situations; the failure of the multiracial society, increasingly full of racism of all kinds with different communities becoming more and more tribal; the progressive ethnic and anthropological metamorphosis of Europe, a true historical cataclysm; the return of poverty to Western and Eastern Europe; the slow but steady growth of criminal activity and drug use; the continual disintegration of family structures; the decline of educational infrastructure and the quality of academic programs; the disruption of the transmission of cultural knowledge and social disciplines (barbarisation and loss of needed skills); the disappearance of popular culture and the increasing degrading of the masses by the culture of spectacles.^[2] All this indicates to us that the European nations are moving toward a New Middle Ages.^[3]

But these factors of social breakdown in Europe will be aggravated by the economic and demographic crisis which will only get worse and end by producing mass poverty. By 2010 the number of active workers will not be large enough to finance the retirements of the ‘grandpa boomers’. Europe will collapse under the weight of old people; then its ageing countries will see their economies slowed and handicapped by payments for healthcare and retirement benefits for unproductive citizens; in addition, the ageing of the population will dry up technical and economic dynamism. In addition to these problems, the economy will increasingly resemble the Third World because of the uncontrolled immigration of unskilled populations.

Modernity’s third dramatic line of catastrophe will be the chaos of the global South. By displacing their traditional cultures with industrialisation, the nations of the South, in spite of a deceptive and fragile economic growth, have created social chaos that is only going to get worse.

The fourth line of catastrophe, which has recently been explained by Jacques Attali,^[4] is the threat of a world financial crisis, which will be much more serious than the crisis of the 1930s and will bring about a general recession. The harbinger of the crisis will be the collapse of the stock markets and currencies of the Far East, like the recession that is striking this region.

The fifth line of catastrophe is the rise of fanatical religious cults, principally Islam. The rise of radical Islam is the backlash to the excesses of the cosmopolitanism of modernity that wanted to impose on the entire world the model of atheist individualism, the cult of material goods, the loss of spiritual values and the dictatorship of the spectacle. In reaction to this aggression, Islam has radicalised, just as it was already becoming once again a religion of domination and conquest, in conformity with its traditions.

The sixth line of catastrophe: a North-South confrontation, with theological and ethnic roots, will appear on the horizon. It is increasingly likely to replace the risk of an East-West conflict, which we have so far avoided. No one knows what form it will take, but it will be serious, because it will be based on collective challenges and sentiments much stronger than the old and artificial partisan polarity of the USA and USSR, capitalism and Communism.

The seventh line of catastrophe is the uncontrolled increase of pollution, which will not threaten the Earth (which still has four billion years to look forward to and can start evolution over again from zero), but the physical survival of humanity. This collapse of the environment is the fruit of the liberal and egalitarian myth (which was once also a Soviet myth) of universal industrial development and a dynamic economy for everyone.

We can add to all this the probable implosion of the contemporary European Union, which is increasingly ungovernable, the risks involved with nuclear proliferation in the Third World, and the probability of ethnic civil war in Europe.

The convergence of these factors in the heart of a globalised and very fragile civilisation allows us to predict that the Twenty-first century will not be the ‘progressive’ continuation of the contemporary world, but the rise of another world. We must prepare ourselves for this tragic possibility with lucidity.

Believing in Miracles

We are dealing with a general prejudice inherited from the egalitarian and humanitarian utopias, like the philosophy of Progress, according to which ‘we can have everything at the same time’ and that reality never has negative consequences.

People believe they can have their cake and eat it too. They imagine, according to the liberal faith, that an ‘invisible hand’ will spontaneously restore a harmonious equilibrium. I shall mention a few examples of believing in miracles:

•    Imagining that the dogma of the unlimited economic development of every nation is possible without massive pollution and ecological catastrophes that will destroy this very development. This is the illusion of indefinite development.

•    Believing that a permissive society will not produce a social jungle, and that you can obtain at the same time libertarian emancipation and self-disciplined harmony. We see this drama being acted out in the shipwreck of our schools, where violence, insecurity, ignorance, and illiteracy are arising out of the illusion of progressive education, an educational method which rejects any form of discipline for its students.

•    Believing that it will be possible to preserve retirement systems and social and medical entitlements while remaining faithful, in a period of demographic decline, to the ideal of ‘solidarity of distribution’. This is the illusion of the Communist conception of solidarity.

•    Believing that large-scale alien immigration is compatible with the ‘values of the French Republic’ and the preservation of the civilisation of the nations and peoples of Europe; and that Islam can become secular and blend in with republican values. Believing also that we can renew the working population by importing immigrants, when these immigrants are unskilled welfare recipients and our responsibility. Imagining also that by regularising the status of masses of illegal immigrants, it will be possible to assimilate them and avoid the arrival of new masses, although we observe exactly the opposite. This is the illusion of the benefits of immigration.

•    Extolling the assimilation and integration of aliens while wanting to preserve and maintain their special characteristics, their original cultures, their memories and native mores. This is the communitarian illusion, one of the most harmful of all, which is particularly cherished by ‘ethno-pluralist’ intellectuals.

•    Imagining that by cancelling Third World debt we can encourage their economic growth and prevent new indebtedness in the future. This is the Third Worldist illusion.

•    Demanding at one and the same time that we abandon nuclear energy programs and replace them with power plants using natural gas, coal and petroleum, while advocating the reduction of polluting gases. This is the ecologist’s illusion.

•    Thinking that a world economy founded on short term speculation based on computerised markets and replacing monetary policies with the caprice of financial markets will guarantee a lasting ‘new growth’. This is the illusion of the new economy.

•    Believing that democracy and ‘republican values’ will be reinforced by eliminating ‘populism’, that is, the direct expression of the will of the people.

I could make the list longer. In all these matters, believing in miracles can be explained by the incorrigible optimism of the secular religion of egalitarian progressivism, but also by the fact that, although it has reached an impasse, the dominant ideology does not dare deny its dogmas or make heartbreaking revisions, while clinging to the idea that ‘the storm will never come’. The whole thing is explained by the sophisms of bogus experts, whose conclusions are always that everything is going well and getting better and that we have the situation under control. They are like a driver who speeds through a red light and justifies it by explaining that the faster he drives, the less time he spends in the intersection and therefore reduces the risk of a collision.

Man, a Sick Animal

Paul MacLean,^[5] Konrad Lorenz,^[6] Arthur Koestler,^[7] and Jean Rostand^[8] have sensed that man is a sick animal, endowed with a brain that is too large. Conscience is perhaps, on the evolutionary scale, an illness and intelligence a burden. Man has lost touch with his natural survival instincts. We have not been on the Earth for a long time and it may be that, from life’s point of view, or Gaïa’s,^[9] we are a failed species, an abortive experiment; and that, especially by destroying the ecosystem that supports it, the suicidal human race is hastening its own disappearance.

Our neocortex, which some biologists compare to a tumour, does not function sufficiently in symbiosis with our reptilian brain. This is ‘cerebral schizo-physiology’, the source of a chaotic and self-destructive culture: wars, religious fanaticisms, frenzied exploitation of nature, aberrant demographic proliferation or, on the other hand, catastrophically low birth levels, frustrating natural selection, etc.: Homo sapiens sapiens does not deserve the name he has given himself. He is not ‘wise’, only intelligent. But he will perhaps perish from this excessive intelligence, which is pushing him to excess, hybris^[10], and is making him lose every instinct of collective survival and all capacity to ‘feel’ the dangers that are piling up.

The Golem Parable, or the Machine that Went Mad

Humanity has lost control of the forward rush of the technological and globalised civilisation born in the Nineteenth century. We should remember the parable of the Golem, the Jewish allegory from Prague, in which a mud figure brought to life by magic escapes its maker, becomes an autonomous and out of control entity, and then starts spreading terror.

Today’s little Jules Vernes^[11] are mistaken. Optimistic and short-sighted mechanics, they are only making the situation worse. More than that, they are not in control of the machine and have no idea where it is heading. There really is a pilot in the airplane, but he is convinced that he is driving a locomotive.

Among the inescapable trends at work today, there are other risks that are unforeseeable today but which will make things worse (or perhaps better, but this is less likely), or else create new tendencies or new earth-shattering phenomena. At any rate, it is hard to see any positive signs. All the indictors are flashing red.

In futurology, there are only two types of extrapolation from current trends that one can make with a high degree of probability: the weak and the strong. Today predictions are typically based on weak extrapolations. These latter are, for example, the pursuit of economic growth, linear and continuous technological progress, scientific civilisation, the affirmation of democracy everywhere in the world (who is telling us that Europe will be ‘democratic’ in 2030?); the lasting character of the United Nations; the effectiveness of antibiotics in the next century, and so on.

We are less concerned with strong extrapolations, which have a good chance of being realised in the next twenty years: the demographic disequilibrium of North and South that will grow massively; the unavoidable ageing of the indigenous European population; the growth of mass immigration into rich countries; the worsening of pollution, atmospheric warming and the exhaustion of resources, which is growing worse regardless of what measures may be taken today on a global level (and they are not being taken); the rising power of Islam; the worsening of social disintegration in Europe along ethnic lines, etc. All these strong extrapolations are headed in the direction of the system’s breakdown, and are what we might call ‘pessimistic’.

The ‘Billiard Ball’ Theory

The current implicit ideology that dominates the world, especially in the West, still continues to profess, officially, the utopia inherited from the egalitarian philosophy of the Enlightenment (Eighteenth century), positivism^[12] and scientism (Nineteenth century): to create a situation where, in a few decades from now, some eight billion people will live on the planet with a good standard of living and democracy for all. All this resembles the billiard player who imagines that after four or five rebounds his ball will automatically fall into the hole. These professors of ballistics are playing golf, but they do not know it.

It is a quasi-certainty that this persistent belief in progress and modernity, concepts which the political classes of the West are always jabbering about and which are totally obsolete, will never see its objectives occur. The dream will shatter into pieces. Constraining forces, a physical wall, makes this ideology resemble a mass of intellectual stupefaction and belief in miracles.

The demanding parameters, mentioned above, based upon the assumption that current realities will persist and that current projections for the future will be realised, are not taken into account. No one is looking at the dashboard or the fuel gauge. Only the short-term counts, but for how much more time? The majority of the elites do not concern themselves with the long term, or even the middle term, in this civilisation of the here and now. The fate of future generations does not interest the decision-makers at all. They care only about their own careers.

*  *  *

They are helped by the experts in every field, who practice constant disinformation and censorship of pessimism, taking advantage of the good old Coué method of optimistic autosuggestion:^[13] ‘Everything is going badly, so, to reassure myself, I say that everything is going well.’ Actually pessimism would be more convincing, since it incites people to improve matters and to try to cure the disease. Alas, I think that is already too late. We have passed the point of no return.

The majority of intellectuals, media people, politicians and businessmen maintain a language of utopian optimism, clinging to their dogmas and making a gross travesty of reality: ‘republican assimilation is making progress and will continue to make progress in France’; ‘we are on the path to control massive illegal immigration’; ‘Islamism is in decline’; ‘we are on track to win the war on terror’; ‘economic growth will resume next year and, because of the economic recovery, unemployment will go down’ (when tomorrow comes, erasing it will cost nothing); ‘we are going to establish democracy in the Near East’; ‘we can stop using nuclear power and reduce pollution by making more efficient use of other resources, even if we go back to power plants that use petroleum, natural gas and coal’; ‘we are going to find the money to pay for the costs of healthcare insurance without increasing public borrowing’; and so on.

We go forward each time either by lying and misrepresenting the objective situation, or by deliberately ignoring the parameters and changes that are taking place.

If elites of all different kinds pretend to believe this nonsense, public opinion (once upon a time we used to say, ‘the people’) subscribes to it less and less. Pessimism is present everywhere, like a sort of presentiment of a coming apocalypse. Already in 1995, an IFOP^[14] poll published in the Leftist newspaper Libération revealed that to the question, ‘In ten years will we live in a better world?’ 64 % of those polled responded in the negative. They were not mistaken.

‘Catastrophe Theory’ and ‘Discrete Structural Metamorphoses’

In his ‘catastrophe theory’ French mathematician René Thom^[15] explained that a ‘system’ (whether physical-chemical, mechanical, climatic, organic, social, civilisational, etc.) is an always fragile ensemble that can suddenly lurch into chaos, without anyone anticipating it, as a result of an accumulation of factors. It is the famous ‘drop of water that causes the cup to overflow’. Every system is unstable and every civilisation is mortal, like everything in the universe. But sometimes the collapse is violent and sudden. For a long time a system can be worn away from inside by an endemic crisis; it holds out for a long time and then, suddenly, everything tips over. We find here the law of viral and bacterial biology: incubation is slow, but the final attack is as fast as lightning. A tree, apparently in good health, falls down during the first storm, although no one suspected that its insides were eaten away.

History offers us examples of sudden and unforeseen collapses: the Amerindian civilisation after the Spanish invasion, or else the Egyptian empire facing the assault of the Romans. I am defending the thesis that this is what awaits today’s global civilisation in the next twenty years. We are going to hit a very sudden breaking point arising from the simultaneous convergences of great crises. It is easy to envisage spectacular and rapid historical reversals.

*  *  *

It is always necessary to beware of surprises, these unforeseen and sometimes discrete transformations, which turn everything upside down. They radically modify a system’s structure, without making a loud noise and suddenly, their consequences explode and change everything. That is what is heading for us today. They are ‘discrete structural metamorphoses’.

We believe that we are still living in world X, when we are already in world Y, and the house of cards of the old world collapses without warning. These metamorphoses do not always make the front pages of newspapers; they take place without making a fuss. They constitute history’s infrastructure, not its ephemeral surface.

The founding of the Fifth Republic,^[16] the fall of Communism, the results of American elections, etc., are events that depend on the superstructure. On the other hand, what we have called the ‘discrete structural metamorphoses’ will have incalculable consequences. For a generation they have been increasingly frequent and rapid. They are transforming the face of our civilisation.

Let us mention some cases. In France and Belgium, and soon in other countries, the number of active practitioners of Islam is soon going to surpass that of the Christian churches; the depopulation of Europe has begun as the radical ethnic modification of its population; the Spanish language has already equalled and even surpassed English in the American Southwest; some twenty nations possess the technology for making nuclear weapons; in a number of Western countries the traditional family is collapsing and a demographic coma is in place; the ‘casino economy’, purely speculative and unregulated, stretches over the entire world, especially in China, which still calls itself ‘Communist’; antibiotics are less and less effective against bacterial epidemics, and so on.

We are in control of none of these structural metamorphoses. And very few people are aware of the power of their interaction.

We Must Stop Believing in Sorcerers: Techno-science Gone Mad

The elites who direct the Western world, the over-credentialed ‘experts’, are pulling the wool over our eyes. They possess neither strategy nor mastery of analysis and are satisfied with tactics. The real problems are never investigated. The solutions are rhetorical or electoral. The good apostles, bureaucrats with MBAs from prestigious schools, are only masters of words. No improvement is in sight. The Golem’s inexorable march continues.

The burden of ‘doing nothing’ is the heaviest. But the experts and specialists (once called ‘savants’) are consoling us. They play the role sorcerers played in ancient societies.

*  *  *

No one is directing science and technology any longer and, far from improving the human condition as they used to, they are making it worse, notably by exhausting resources and destroying the environment. The modern myth of ‘development’, which is venerated more than ever all over the world, leads to its opposite, a gigantic regression, a race to the bottom. No authority, no international planning has emerged. Globalisation is anarchy. The backdrop of this fatal movement is generalised individual consumerism, the search for the highest possible standard of living, unbridled enthusiasm for the free market, the speculative economy and the cult of ‘taking each day as it comes’.

Similarly, democracy has to be seen as an aggravating factor, for this type of regime removes any central authority that can, when it sees the storm appearing, react in an emergency. Liberal democracy favours improvidence, the law of the market, and short-term calculation by individuals or corporations. If once upon a time this type of regime was efficient, today it seems incompetent, as it shows every day, to stem the rise of dangers.

International conferences on the environment are a futile waste of time. Just as there is no control over mass immigration, so the destruction of fish reserves and our forest heritage, the increased emission of greenhouse gases, the demographic gap between North and South, etc., are out of control. Even the authorities who arise to reverse the catastrophic course of events, whether they represent countries or the United Nations, do not succeed in correcting the direction of the cargo ship that is going full sail, faster and faster, towards the reefs.

*  *  *

But we are reassured by the ‘experts’ and are still fascinated by techno-science, believing that it will solve all our problems using some new form of magic. Computers, the electric or low-polluting engines, organic agriculture, and pharmaceutical research will not prevent the return of famines and epidemics or the exponential growth of pollution. It is too late. The machine is racing. Intellectuals and ‘philosophers’ have been telling us over and over again for decades that ‘the myth of Progress’ is dead. On the contrary, it has never been in such good shape, especially in the developing countries of the South. We are victims of the psychological condition of derealisation, a loss of the sense of reality of what is happening. Our contemporaries have persuaded themselves that ‘catastrophe cannot happen’ and that this civilisation is at the same time eternal and continually getting better and better, that it will never experience a reversal, and a fortiori^[17] not a collapse. Not only is this a possibility, but it will happen, and very soon.

What comforts us in this gloomy illusion is our techno-scientific environment, which we consider to be indestructible, when on the contrary this global civilisation is a colossus with feet of clay. The politicians and the experts, who possess neither audacity nor imagination, reject every radical solution. They always prefer little solutions, tactical or rigged, compromises that please an electorate with cold feet, always respecting the status quo. They believe, like King Arthur, that ‘the fortress is impregnable’ when no one is guarding the walls.^[18]

The groundswell — or rather the different groundswells arriving at the same time, demographic, strategic, sociological, economic, environmental — is arrogantly ignored. In France we even use the surreal expression ‘sustainable development’! The dominant ideology, which calls itself rationalist, is really magical. In every area it plays the role of an ‘ideology of sleep’.

*  *  *

We must not forget — and it is one of the central theses of this work — that mini-catastrophes reinforce one another, multiplying their effects among one another to produce a global mega-catastrophe. An accident (of an airplane, for instance) is the result of a series of causes and never just one: for example, the conjunction of a technical problem in the controls, bad weather and pilot error.

It is the same with the situation we are living through, or rather that we are soon going to be living through. For example, the natural calamities produced by global warming aggravate the famines caused by other economic and demographic causes and thus make the economic situation even worse and push the populations of the South to emigrate to the North, thus destabilising the West still more. Growing poverty in certain countries feeds religious fanaticism that, in turn, complicates political instability. And so on.

The system is holistic and interactive, which explains the acceleration of the arrival of the breaking point, since a multitude of crises converge at the same moment, without anyone being able to treat them separately.

---

^[1]     Robert Ardrey (1908-1980) was a widely read and discussed author during the 1960s, particularly his books African Genesis (1961) and The Territorial Imperative (1966). Ardrey’s most controversial hypothesis, known as the ‘killer ape theory’, posits that what distinguished humans’ evolutionary ancestors from other primates was their aggressiveness, which caused them to develop weapons to conquer their environment and also leading to changes in their brains which led to modern humans. In his view, aggressiveness was an inherent part of the human character rather than an aberration. Ardrey’s ideas were highly influential at the time, most notably in the ‘Dawn of Man’ sequence of 2001: A Space Odyssey, and also in the writings of GRECE, in which Ardrey was frequently cited.

^[2]     Presumably a reference to ‘society of the spectacle’, a term coined by Guy Debord (1931-1994), a French Marxist philosopher and the founder of the anarchist Situationist International. The spectacle, as described in his principal work, The Society of the Spectacle, is one of the means by which the capitalist establishment maintains its authority in the modern world — namely, by reducing all genuine human experiences to representational images in the mass media, thus allowing the powers-that-be to determine how individuals experience reality.

^[3]     This is a concept developed by the French author Alain Minc, in which he predicts a coming time of chaos and hardship resembling the Middle Ages, which will end in the development of a much smaller, but more sustainable, global economy. He discusses this idea in Le Nouveau Moyen-âge (Paris: Gallimard, 1993).

^[4]     Jacques Attali (b. 1943) is a French economist who was an advisor to Mitterrand during the first decade of his presidency. Many of his writings are available in translation. Faye may be referring to Attali’s article ‘The Crash of Western Civilisation: The Limits of the Market and Democracy’, which appeared in the Summer 1997 issue of the American journal Foreign Policy. In it, Attali claimed that democracy and the free market are incompatible, writing: ‘Unless the West, and particularly its self-appointed leader, the United States, begins to recognise the shortcomings of the market economy and democracy, Western civilisation will gradually disintegrate and eventually self-destruct.’ In many ways his arguments resemble Faye’s.

^[5]     Paul D. MacLean (1913-2007) was an American neuroscientist who developed the triune theory of the human brain, postulating that, over the course of its evolution, the brain was actually made up of three distinct elements: the reptilian complex, the limbic system, and the neocortex. As a result, human behavior is the product of all three tendencies.

^[6]     Konrad Lorenz (1903-1989) was an Austrian ethologist who won the Nobel Prize in 1973. He was a member of the National Socialist Party during the Third Reich. He speculated that the supposed advances of modern life were actually harmful to humanity, since they had removed humans from the biological effects of natural competition and replaced it with the far more brutal competition inherent in relations between individuals in modern societies. After the war, his books on popular scientific and philosophical topics earned him international fame.

^[7]     Arthur Koestler (1905-1983) was a Hungarian writer who, in his 1967 book The Ghost in the Machine, speculated that the triune model of the brain as described by Paul MacLean was responsible for a failure of the various parts to fully interconnect with each other, resulting in a conflict of desires within each individual leading to self-destructive tendencies.

^[8]     Jean Rostand (1894-1977) was a French biologist who was a proponent of eugenics as a means for humanity to take responsibility for its own destiny.  He was also a pioneer in the field of cryogenics.

^[9]     Gaïa is the Ancient Greek name for the goddess of the Earth. In recent decades, the name has been adopted by ecologists, who use it to depict the combined components of the Earth as a living organism with its different parts acting in symbiosis with one another, rather than as a resource merely intended to be exploited by humans.

^[10]    Latin: ‘pride’.

^[11]    Jules Verne (1828-1905) was a French novelist who is regarded as the inventor of the science fiction genre. Several of his books are notable for their predictions of future technological developments.

^[12]    Positivism holds that the only knowledge which can be considered reliable is that which is obtained directly through the senses and via the (supposedly) objective techniques of the scientific method.

^[13]    Émile Coué (1857-1926) was a French psychologist whose method involved repeating ‘Every day, in every way, I am getting better and better’ at the beginning and end of each day in a ritualized fashion, believing that this would influence the unconscious mind in a manner that would allow the practitioner to be more inclined toward success.

^[14]    The Institut français d’opinion publique, or French Institute of Public Opinion, is an international marketing firm.

^[15]    René Thom (1923-2002) was a French mathematician who made many achievements during his career, but is best remembered for his development of catastrophe theory. The theory is complex, but in essence it states that small alterations in the parameters of any system can cause large-scale and sudden changes to the system as a whole.

 

^[16]    The Fifth Republic began after the collapse of the Fourth Republic in 1958 as a result of the crisis in Algeria, bringing Charles de Gaulle to power and resulting in the drafting of a new constitution. It has remained in effect up to the present day.

^[17]    Latin: ‘an argument with a stronger foundation’.

^[18]    King Arthur’s Camelot was frequently left unguarded while his knights were engaged in lengthy quests.

L’incubo orwelliano

L’incubo orwelliano. Dalla letteratura distopica al totalitarismo contemporaneo

“Fahrenheit 451” di Bradbury, pubblicato nel 1953, pare debba il suo titolo al grado termico di combustione della carta. Nel futuro descritto dal romanzo la lettura è reato

Roberto Cozzolino

Ex: http://www.rinascita.eu/  

Nella letteratura classica dei secoli passati – ed in particolare sul versante filosofico – è stata designata come “utopia” la progettazione, puramente teorica, di una futura società ideale; una società dove sarebbe finalmente verificata l’armoniosa e pacifica convivenza degli individui, resa possibile, secondo i vari Autori, dal buon governo degli amministratori ovvero dal grado di emancipazione raggiunto dalle masse od anche dal progresso tecnologico che avrebbe definitivamente liberato l’uomo dalla schiavitù del lavoro.

L’etimologia del termine associato agli artefici delle opere riconducibili a tale filone letterario, derivante dal greco “ou” e “tópos” – letteralmente “non luogo” –, indica chiaramente per gli stessi l’ovvia consapevolezza di riferirsi a realizzazioni impensabili per la loro epoca; e che potevano semmai indicare una meta ideale verso la quale tendere, o avere valore di critica sferzante della struttura sociale dell’epoca in cui vivevano; da ciò deriva il concetto esteso di utopia come fantastica chimera, qualcosa cioè che risulta estremamente difficile, se non impossibile, realizzare nell’immediato.
 
Come è noto il termine fu adottato per la prima volta da Tommaso Moro nella sua celebre opera del 1516: “De optimo reipublicae statu deque nova insula Utopia”, in cui si descrive una comunità che risiede, priva di problemi, nell’isola di Utopia, dove vengono applicati metodi di governo d’ispirazione democratica e socialista; in verità il neologismo filologicamente corretto avrebbe dovuto essere “atopia” (senza luogo), con l’uso dell’alfa privativo associato al sostantivo, ma si sostiene da più parti che Moro intendesse consentire un’ambivalenza del termine, riconducibile sia ad “ou” e “tópos” (non luogo) che ad “èu” e “tópos” (luogo buono). Celeberrimo precursore di Moro fu Platone, che nella sua “Politéia” (390 a.C.) propose una forma di governo che tenterà - senza successo - di impostare presso la corte del tiranno Dionigi a Siracusa: una sorta di “comunismo” guidato da filosofi e con una società divisa in classi. Altra famosa opera utopica è “New Atlantis” di Francesco Bacone, del 1626; in essa le innovazioni tecnologiche possedute dagli abitanti dell’isola di Bensalem – fantasioso toponimo derivante dalla conflazione dei nomi di Betlemme e Gerusalemme - costituiscono un enorme supporto alla felicità degli uomini, per i quali la conoscenza diventa strumento di dominio sul mondo.

Citiamo inoltre “La città del Sole” (1602) di Tommaso Campanella – uno stato teocratico retto secondo i principi della religione naturale e basato sulla proprietà comune, riecheggiante l’epopea degli heliopolìtai di Aristonico (131 a. C.) -; “Les aventures de Télémaque, fils d’Ulysse” (1696) di François Fénélon - un viaggio didattico attraverso diversi paesi e forme di governo dell’antichità -; “Voyage en Icarie” (1840) di Étienne Cabet - un sistema di stampo socialistico dove è chiara l’influenza del comunismo egualitario di Babeuf e Buonarroti -; “News from Nowhere” (1890) di William Morris – una delle più anarchiche descrizioni di una società futura -; “Erewhon” (1872) di Samuel Butler – utopia satirica della società vittoriana -; da notare che quest’ultimo titolo é un anagramma di “nowhere”, con chiaro riferimento, come quello dell’opera di Morris, al significato di “utopia”. In questa rapidissima ed incompleta elencazione dei massimi esponenti del pensiero utopico non possiamo tacere i nomi di Owen, Fourier, Saint-Simon, Enfantin e Considérant, ovvero i massimi esponenti del cosiddetto socialismo utopistico (così definito sprezzantemente dai marxisti ortodossi, in contrapposizione al socialismo scientifico), che proposero società ideali sostenute da precise teorie sociopolitiche e che in qualche caso, forti delle loro convinzioni, finirono col rovinarsi economicamente nei tentativi falliti di realizzare i loro sogni. In concomitanza con gli utopici sistemi di società future ebbe ampio sviluppo, sin dal medioevo ma soprattutto nel Rinascimento ed oltre – ed in particolare presso i socialisti utopistici - la progettazione di complessi urbani ideali, dove erano quindi preponderanti su tutti gli altri gli aspetti urbanistici ed architettonici; dal momento che le realizzazioni antropiche sono determinate dalle varie funzioni sociali umane; e queste ultime direttamente dipendenti da orientamenti squisitamente ideologici.

Si noti peraltro che lo stesso socialismo marxista – che rimproverava agli utopisti l’assenza di un rigoroso metodo scientifico nell’analisi della società, il mancato riconoscimento della funzione storica del proletariato ed una eccessiva fiducia nelle possibilità di un riformismo basato sulla solidarietà e la filantropia - può considerarsi una grande utopia; tra l’altro densa di evidenti analogie – oltre ad altrettanto evidenti motivi di conflitto - con molti aspetti delle religioni messianiche del ceppo abramitico, come è stato efficacemente analizzato da diversi autori: ideologia intesa come ortodossia fondamentalista, aspirazioni egualitaristiche, rigida gerarchia, controllo e censura delle “eresie”, presenza di dogmi e di testi sacri, interpretazione dicotomica del mondo e fideistica certezza nella futura affermazione della giustizia universale; al punto da suggerire a Berdjaev che “il comunismo è l’insoddisfazione per il cristianesimo non realizzato”.

Verso la fine del XIX e nel corso del XX secolo prende forma un nuovo genere letterario conosciuto come anti utopia (od anche distopia, pseudoutopia, utopia negativa, cacotopia), che presenta evidenti affinità col genere utopico ma mostra, rispetto a questo, una totale inversione di segno, costituendone quasi un aspetto speculare; se infatti il romanzo utopico prospettava la futura realizzazione di una società migliore, il romanzo distopico prefigura per l’avvenire scenari da incubo, con un’umanità schiavizzata e condannata all’infelicità perpetua sotto il dominio di governi dispotici. In realtà secondo alcuni critici il primo autorevole esempio di antiutopia si ebbe già nel 1726, con la pubblicazione dei “Gulliver’s Travels” di Jonathan Swift, in cui le società immaginate possono essere considerate una grottesca satira dell’ordine sociale esistente. Tra i “moderni” precursori del genere ricordiamo H. G. Wells, che con “The time machine” (1895) ci porta in un lontano futuro per mostrarci un’umanità divisa in due fazioni antagoniste di prede e cacciatori: gli Eloi, esseri fragili e gentili ma parassitari; ed i Morlock, esseri produttivi e mostruosi che vivono nelle viscere della terra, da cui escono per dare la caccia agli Eloi e cibarsene.

“Brave New World”, scritto nel 1932 da Aldous Huxley, descrive un prossimo mondo dove tutto è sacrificabile ad un malinteso mito del progresso in cambio di un apparente benessere, e l’esasperata evoluzione scientifica, gestita da un regime totalitario, ha completamente annullato la libertà individuale. Il bellissimo e troppo poco noto “Noi” di Evgenii Ivanovich Zamjatin, scritto in pieno regime comunista ed a causa del quale l’Autore fu costretto ad espatriare – con le proprie gambe grazie all’intervento di Maxim Gorky -, ci mostra un’antiutopia, scritta in forma di diario, ambientata in un mondo dove i personaggi non hanno un nome, ma al suo posto una sigla numerica e dove tutto è ferreamente regolamentato dall’onnipresente potere. “Fahrenheit 451” di Bradbury, pubblicato nel 1953 come estensione di un racconto apparso nel 1951 (“The Fireman”), pare debba il suo titolo al grado termico di combustione della carta, in quanto nel futuro descritto dal romanzo la lettura è reato e tutti i libri devono essere bruciati, essendo sufficiente, per l’educazione delle masse, il mezzo televisivo controllato dal sistema.

Qualcuno individua chiari elementi distopici anche ne “La leggenda del grande inquisitore” di Dostoevskij, inserita nel suo ultimo lavoro: “I Fratelli Karamazov” (1879) dal sommo romanziere russo. Ma l’opera che realizza l’utopia negativa per eccellenza è, senza dubbio, “Nineteen Eighty-four” di George Orwell, scritto nel 1948 (il titolo è ottenuto scambiando tra loro le ultime due cifre che compongono tale data), dove il Grande Fratello, a capo di una enorme gerarchia costituita dal partito, controlla non solo gli individui ma anche i loro pensieri; l’Autore aveva già dato alle stampe nel 1945 l’altrettanto celebre “Animal Farm”, una feroce satira dello stalinismo scritta sotto forma di favola che, pur essendo già ultimata nel 1943, non risultava politicamente corretto pubblicare prima, dal momento che criticava la forma di governo di una nazione alleata nel recente conflitto mondiale.

In “1984” Winston Smith, il protagonista, membro subalterno del partito che lavora alla modifica di libri ed articoli di giornale pubblicati in passato, in modo che le previsioni fatte dal partito stesso risultino veritiere, non sopporta i condizionamenti della rigida e squallida struttura sociale entro la quale è costretto a vivere e ne infrange molte regole, instaurando tra l’altro un rapporto sentimentale con una compagna, in un mondo in cui è imposta per legge la castità ed il sesso è permesso solo a fini procreativi; nel momento in cui entrambi decidono di collaborare con un’organizzazione clandestina, proprio l’individuo che avrebbe dovuto costituire il contatto col movimento di resistenza si rivela essere invece un agente della psicopolizia che, dopo averli fatti arrestare, li sottopone ad orripilanti tecniche di rieducazione sociopolitica, in modo che si trasformino in individui perfettamente mansueti ed allineati con l’ortodossia del regime.

Il cinema ha tratto massiccia e costante ispirazione dalla letteratura distopica, che per sua natura si presta ottimamente alla trasposizione filmica, spesso contaminandone il genere con altri affini - in particolare quello fantascientifico e quello di fantascienza apocalittica e post-apocalittica. Ci sembra che esistano relativamente poche pellicole che si ispirano dichiaratamente ad una delle opere letterarie citate, rimanendo molto fedeli all’impianto narrativo originario. Ricordiamo tra queste: “Fahrenheit 451” (1966) di François Truffaut, dall’omonimo racconto di Bradbury; “Nel duemila non sorge il sole” (1956) di Michael Anderson ed “Orwell 1984” (1984) di Michael Radford, entrambi ispirati al romanzo di Orwell, come il precedente “1984” (1954), adattamento televisivo di Rudolph Cartier per la BBC; “The Time Machine” (1960) di George Pal, tratto da H. G. Wells e seguito da frequenti remake. Sono invece numerosissime le pellicole liberamente ispirate al “genere” nel suo complesso ma prive di riferimenti puntuali ad una singola opera. Rinunciando ovviamente alla completezza ed all’ordine cronologico ricordiamo alcune tra le più famose: l’intramontabile “Metropolis” (1927), di Fritz Lang; “L’uomo che fuggì dal futuro” (1971), primo lungometraggio di George Lucas; “Alphaville, une étrange aventure de Lemmy Caution” (1965), insolita incursione di Jean-Luc Godard nella fantascienza; il visionario, satirico ed al contempo agghiacciante “Brazil” (1985), di Terry Gilliam, che avrebbe dovuto chiamarsi “1984 ½” per un duplice omaggio ad Orwell e Fellini; “Soylent Green” (1973), di Richard Fleischer, ambientato in un mondo invivibile dove l’eutanasia appare come estrema risorsa; “Zardoz” (1974), di John Boorman, manifesto contro l’utopia progressista; “Rollerball” (1975) di Norman Jewison, con remake (2002) di John Campbell McTiernan, nel quale lo sport violento elargito alle masse diventa strumento di potere; “1997 Escape from New York” (1981) di John Carpenter, dove troviamo l’intera isola di Manhattan trasformata in un enorme ghetto-prigione di massima sicurezza per criminali; del medesimo regista è ”They Live” (1988), dove il potere è detenuto da insospettati alieni; “Terminator” (1984) di James Cameron, primo film di una serie che vede le macchine in guerra con gli uomini; “Twelve Monkeys” (1995), ancora di Gilliam, in cui un viaggiatore del tempo indaga sulle cause di una trascorsa epidemia della razza umana; per finire col totalitarismo virtuale di “Matrix” (1999), spettacolare trilogia dei fratelli Wachowski.

Qualunque siano, ad ogni modo, le differenze tra i vari classici distopici letterari - e tra questi e le loro più o meno fedeli rielaborazioni cinematografiche -, esistono nelle varie visioni di un futuro apocalittico alcuni elementi ricorrenti che riteniamo interessante analizzare; per cercare di capire se i loro Autori fossero solo degli intellettuali disancorati dalla realtà - e pertanto folli “profeti di sciagure” - o, al contrario, individui provvisti di una profonda capacità di analisi ed eccezionalmente lungimiranti quando ammonivano che, se si fosse continuato a percorrere certe strade, si sarebbero realizzati i terribili scenari descritti nei loro romanzi. In effetti uno dei massimi esponenti della letteratura antiutopica, il già citato Aldous Huxley, ventisette anni dopo l’uscita del suo “Brave New World” riesaminava le sue profezie alla luce di avvenimenti recenti col saggio “Brave New World Revisited” (1959), giungendo ad una conclusione inquietante: alcuni elementi dell’utopia negativa che aveva immaginato meno di tre decenni prima erano già entrati a far parte della realtà. E’ stato del resto ampiamente documentato che cambiamenti strutturali anche drastici, che la popolazione rifiuterebbe istintivamente se fossero imposti all’improvviso, vengono invece docilmente accettati se iniettati a piccole dosi nel tessuto sociale ed accompagnati da martellanti campagne massmediatiche. Altra osservazione che merita particolare attenzione è che se quasi tutti – ma non tutti – gli Autori distopici guardavano con preoccupazione, nel momento in cui scrivevano, a varie forme coeve di totalitarismo, oggi invece possiamo individuare proprio nel mondo cosiddetto “libero e democratico” molti degli aspetti più oppressivi da loro denunciati.

Uno di questi è la presenza di una gerarchia, basata prevalentemente sul potere economico, grazie alla quale le divisioni fra classi sociali sono rigide e quasi insormontabili. Si tratta di un’esagerazione? Forse, ma il costante impoverimento della classe media, il degrado della scuola pubblica ed i costi proibitivi dell’istruzione privata, la progressiva scomparsa dello stato sociale e dell’assistenza sanitaria, l’accesso al mondo del lavoro e – di conseguenza - ad una vita dignitosa presentati non come diritto acquisito ma come conquista individuale - uniti al disinvolto uso di clientelismo, raccomandazioni e tangenti da parte della casta che detiene le leve del controllo politico - vanno esattamente in tale direzione; a questo si accompagna la proliferazione di sterminate periferie degradate in tutte le grandi metropoli, a sottolineare - oggi più che nel passato - la separazione anche fisica tra le masse proletarie ed i pochi beneficiari dei vantaggi derivanti dal contatto col potere. Una immediata conseguenza è la scomparsa dei rapporti sociali come concepiti tradizionalmente dall’uomo: le relazioni umane sono dettate esclusivamente dal dogma del vantaggio individuale e del tornaconto personale.

Altro aspetto sicuramente individuabile come comune alla letteratura anti utopistica ed alla nostra società è il reiterato tentativo di soppressione del dissenso, visto come valore negativo in opposizione al conformismo dilagante; al di là dell’apparente pluralismo e libertà di espressione, peraltro sanciti da quasi tutte le costituzioni delle moderne democrazie, risulta chiaro a tutti che, tranne rarissime eccezioni, le coalizioni che si alternano alla guida dei governi, di qualunque colore appaiano, sono sempre espressione dei medesimi gruppi di potere. La propaganda di regime e tutto l’apparato educativo favorisce nella popolazione il culto del proprio sistema di governo, cercando di convincerla che è l’unico - e probabilmente il migliore – possibile. Le voci di reale dissenso presenti vengono o infiltrate dai “servizi” e sapientemente manipolate od emarginate limitando drasticamente, con tutti i mezzi individuabili, il loro raggio d’azione. Il sistema penale inoltre comprende spesso la tortura fisica e psicologica per tutti coloro che sono semplicemente sospettati di attività eversive. Sono consentiti anche gli omicidi mirati, purché, ovviamente, finalizzati al trionfo della “democrazia”.

In molti romanzi distopici la Storia viene continuamente riscritta in modo da risultare in linea con le previsioni ed i desideri del gruppo dominante; in “1984” è previsto un “nemico” che trama costantemente ai danni del governo e contro cui la popolazione è invitata quotidianamente a sfogare tutto il proprio risentimento; nella nostra epoca siamo ormai tristemente abituati a quegli episodi noti come tattica “false flag” od alle madornali ma sempre efficaci “bugie di guerra”, finalizzate ad ottenere il consenso della popolazione per aggredire altri Stati sovrani. Tali manovre sono spesso precedute ed accompagnate dalla minuziosa creazione del nemico da odiare, l’immagine del quale viene assemblata pazientemente, giorno dopo giorno, telegiornale dopo telegiornale, ospitando sui quotidiani e nei talk show di regime l’opinione di “esperti” e le accurate analisi politiche di sedicenti “gruppi dissidenti in esilio”; si arriva a negare – contro ogni evidenza - che il personaggio oggetto della campagna di demonizzazione sia mai stato considerato amico; si presentano come veri filmati realizzati da esperti cineasti dove alcune milizie, agli ordini diretti del novello despota, si abbandonano ad ogni sorta di violenze, tanto più odiose in quanto rivolte ad esseri indifesi quali donne, vecchi, neonati; la decisione di porre fine alla criminale attività del tiranno sarà salutata con entusiasmo crescente da tutta la popolazione. Tutto ciò è naturalmente reso possibile grazie anche alla solerte complicità di una agguerrita e ben remunerata schiera di pennivendoli e gazzettieri governativi, che diffondono come vere le notizie emesse direttamente dalle centrali di disinformazione. Le eventuali e sempre più rare voci contrarie che tentino una efficace controinformazione non hanno, in genere, i mezzi idonei per contrastare in tempo utile le menzogne ufficiali.

Altro interessante – ed eccezionalmente significativo - punto di contatto tra la realtà attuale e la letteratura distopica riguarda il divieto di revisione storica da parte dei singoli ricercatori: tale aspetto, che tra l’altro nega alla Storia il suo carattere scientifico – in quanto questa verrebbe affidata al giudizio di un tribunale piuttosto che alla libera ricerca – denuncia la scellerata volontà del pensiero unico dominante, che introducendo lo psicoreato pretende non solo il dominio sul presente ed il futuro, ma anche sul passato, secondo il motto orwelliano: “Chi controlla il passato controlla il futuro: chi controlla il presente controlla il passato”. Sempre ad Orwell è dovuta l’introduzione del concetto di “bispensiero”, ovvero la capacità di sostenere simultaneamente due opinioni palesemente contraddittorie e di accettarle entrambe come vere – sintetizzata nello slogan del partito: “la libertà è schiavitù, l’ignoranza è forza, la guerra è pace” -; grazie al bispensiero attuale assistiamo oggi a “guerre umanitarie” a seguito delle quali vengono massacrati migliaia di civili ed intere nazioni sono contaminate per molti decenni futuri con sostanze radioattive; ci indottrinano fino alla nausea con tematiche antirazziste ma dobbiamo tollerare come normale l’ingombrante e criminale presenza di una entità che fa del razzismo uno dei suoi elementi fondanti; alcune situazioni negative per la moderna sensibilità – arretratezza della condizione femminile, scarso rispetto delle minoranze, presenza della pena di morte – vengono denunciate ed aspramente contestate se riferibili al “nemico” di turno, tollerate, minimizzate e addirittura ignorate se presenti nel contesto socioculturale di un alleato.

In molti romanzi anti utopisti ed in moltissimi film riferibili a tale genere le agenzie governative paramilitari sono impegnate nella sorveglianza continua dei cittadini. In alcuni casi il controllo può essere sostituito o coadiuvato da potenti e sofisticate reti tecnologiche. Alla fine dell’Ottocento Jeremy Bentham ideò un sistema di carcere, il Panopticon, pensato come una struttura radiale che consentiva ad un unico guardiano – posizionato in una torretta centrale - di vedere, non visto, tutti i detenuti e divenne un modello nella successiva progettazione di molti istituti di pena. Analogamente i cittadini dell’incubo orwelliano sono continuamente spiati dal Grande Fratello, anche nell’intimità delle loro case (per analogia con tale attitudine è stato battezzato in Italia “Grande Fratello” un reality show dove la vita quotidiana dei protagonisti viene costantemente monitorata attraverso telecamere nascoste; risulta che la maggioranza degli adolescenti affezionati a tale demenziale spettacolo di diseducazione di massa ignori i motivi della scelta del titolo). Sembra che in quella che viene ritenuta “la più grande democrazia del mondo” sia imminente la realizzazione del progetto, spacciato come beneficio sanitario, finalizzato a dotare tutti i cittadini di un chip sottocutaneo che produrrà effetti fino ad oggi impensabili in termini di libertà personale. Sicuramente molti saranno indotti ad assecondare senza protestare questo piano criminale, perché efficacemente spaventati e resi insicuri dalla incombente crisi economica, dal terrorismo e dall’incremento della criminalità.

Ancora molto numerose ed indubbiamente interessanti sono le similitudini da individuare tra le apocalittiche visioni degli universi distopici e la moderna società sedicente democratica; lasciamo il piacere di ulteriori scoperte a chi voglia dedicarsi alla lettura di queste coinvolgenti e spesso profetiche opere letterarie, ricordando il monito che Orwell rivolgeva agli intellettuali e che deve essere fatto proprio da tutti gli uomini liberi del mondo: prendere posizione chiara contro ogni tipo di totalitarismo; soprattutto, aggiungiamo noi, quando si celi camaleonticamente sotto improbabili vesti democratiche per perseguire i propri inconfessabili fini.

A tale proposito – sebbene esuli dalle presenti note - è necessario spendere qualche parola sul concetto di stato totalitario, a nostro avviso oggi usato arbitrariamente - se per tale idealtipo si accettano le connotazioni eminentemente negative codificate da Hannah Arendt (“Le origini del totalitarismo”, 1951) -, soprattutto se riferito al periodo dell’Italia fascista, anche se l’aggettivo “totalitario” veniva disinvoltamente usato, naturalmente in una accezione positiva, da Giovanni Gentile e dallo stesso Mussolini, ad indicare che “… per il fascista … nulla … ha valore fuori dallo Stato …”; se è infatti innegabile che durante il ventennio prese forma un regime autoritario è comunque risibile la tesi secondo la quale tutti gli italiani si sarebbero trasformati all’improvviso in pavidi mentecatti ipnotizzati dal gruppo dirigente, peraltro sconfessata dalla nota e storicamente accertata presenza di diverse anime all’interno del movimento; alcune delle quali, autenticamente rivoluzionarie, emersero prepotentemente quando, con la costituzione della Repubblica Sociale Italiana, vennero definitivamente recisi i legami con le forze reazionarie che facevano capo alla Chiesa ed al troppo piccolo re fuggiasco e traditore.

Né ci convincono le smodate lodi dei glorificatori delle democrazie occidentali, dove chi (mal)governa - grazie alle sponsorizzazioni dei potentati economici che finanziano le campagne elettorali - lo fa col consenso di una percentuale infima della popolazione, vista la crescente disaffezione per le urne degli aventi diritto al voto. L’esigenza morale sentita da tutti deve essere quella di vigilare costantemente per denunciare con forza la deriva sociale verso sistemi disumanizzanti e privi di valori condivisibili e tentare di smascherare - e contrastare con ogni mezzo - le progressioni, anche se piccole ed apparentemente innocue, tendenti all’universo schiavizzante dei regimi effettivamente totalitari.


http://www.rinascita.eu/index.php?action=news&id=16899

Ray Bradbury ist tot – Chiffre 451

Götz Kubitschek:

Ray Bradbury ist tot – Chiffre 451

Ex: http://www.sezession.de/

Wer nach den berühmten Dystopien unserer Zeit gefragt wird, nennt George Orwells 1984, Aldois Huxleys Schöne Neue Welt, vielleicht Ernst Jüngers Gläserne Bienen, ganz sicher Das Heerlager der Heiligen von Jean Raspail (wenn er einer von uns ist!) und vor allem den Roman Fahrenheit 451 von Ray Bradbury. „451″ ist eine meiner Lieblingschiffren, und die Hauptfigur aus Bradburys Roman – der Feuerwehrmann Montag – ist Angehöriger der Division Antaios.

Bradbury – geboren 1920 – ist am 5. Juni verstorben. Fahrenheit 451 ist sein bekanntester Roman. In ihm werden Bücher nicht mehr gelesen, sondern verbrannt, wenn der Staat sie findet: Ihre Lektüre mache unglücklich, lenke vom Hier und Heute ab, bringe die Menschen gegeneinander auf. Vor allem berge jedes Stück Literatur etwas Unberechenbares, Freigegebenes, etwas, das plötzlich und an ganz unerwarteter Stelle zu einer Fanfare werden könne. In den Worten Bradburys: „Ein Buch im Haus nebenan ist wie ein scharfgeladenes Gewehr.“

Montag indes greift heimlich nach dem, was ihm gefährlich werden könnte. Er rettet ein paar Dutzend Bücher vor den Flammen, versteckt sie in seinem Haus und vor seiner an Konsum und Seifenopern verlorengegangenen Frau. Heimlich liest er, zweifelt, befreit sich und wird denunziert (von seiner eigenen, an den Konsum und die Indoktrination verlorengegangenen Frau); er kann fliehen und stößt in einem Waldstück auf ein Refugium der Bildung, auf eine sanfte, innerliche Widerstandsinsel, eine Traditionskompanie, eine Hundertschaft von Waldgängern: Leser wandeln auf und ab und lernen ein Werk auswendig, das ihnen besonders am Herzen liegt, um es ein Leben lang zu bewahren, selbst dann noch, wenn das letzte Exemplar verbrannt wäre.

Ich korrespondiere derzeit mit einem bald Achtzigjährigen, der insgesamt sieben Jahre im Gefängnis verbrachte und in dieser Zeit nichts für seinen Geist vorfand als das, was er darin schon mit sich trug. In Dunkelhaft war er allein mit den memorierten Gedichten, Dramenstücken, Prosafetzen, und er war dankbar für jede Zeile, die er in sich fand. Er kannte Fahrenheit 451 noch nicht und las begierig wie ein Student (wie er mir schrieb). Und er schrieb, daß er in Montags Waldstück keinen Prosatext verkörpern würde, wenn er dort wäre, sondern fünfhundert Gedichte – den Ewige Brunnen sozusagen.

Und Sie?

Ellen Kositza:

Nicht jeder kann Bradbury auswendig können

Ich will direkt an Kubitscheks Bradbury-Text anknüpfen: Sein leicht verbrämter Aufruf, das Memorieren poetischer Texte einzuüben, kommt aus berufenem Munde. Kubitschek kann mehr Gedichte aufzusagen, als ich je gelesen habe, gar auf russisch, ohne daß er die Sprache beherrschte. Ein seltener Fleiß, ich werde mir keine Sorgen machen, wenn er mal ins Gefängnis muß.

In der zeitgenössischen Pädagogik ist vor lauter Selberdenkenmüssen das Auswendiglernen ja stark in den Hintertreffen geraten. Unsere Kinder tun sich nicht besonders schwer damit, es wird ihnen aber kaum – und stets nur minimal – abverlangt. Nun kam es hier im Hause kam  öfters vor, daß die müden Kinder inmitten des Abendgebets gähnen mußten; ein bekanntes Phänomen, das dem Nachlassen der Konzentration und weniger mangelnder Frömmigkeit anzulasten ist. Nun lernen wir seit einigen Monaten das Vaterunser in verschiedenen Sprachen, mühsam Zeile für Zeile zwar (so daß für jede Sprache mehrere Wochen benötigt werden), aber die abendliche Leistung zeigt Wirkung; kein Gähnen mehr.

Jetzt gibt es vermehrt Leute, die sich ihre Lieblingszeilen nicht so gut merken können. Es hat nicht jeder den Kopf dafür. Es gilt nicht mehr für gänzlich unzivilisiert, sich ein nettes Lebensmotto mit Farbe unter die Haut ritzen zu lassen. Dann kann man es stets nachlesen oder sich wenigstens vorlesen lassen. Bekanntermaßen hat sich Roman, der deutsche Kandidat des Europäisches Liederwettbewerb, ein gewichtiges Lebensmotto (samt Mikro!) auf die Brust stechen lassen: Never fearful, always hopeful. Eine hübsche, gleichsam allgemeingültige Ermunterung!

Internationale Sangesgrößen haben es ihm vorgemacht. Rihanna trägt die Weisheit never a failure, always a lesson auf der Haut, Katy Perry schürft noch tiefer und ließ sich (Sanskrit!!) Anungaccati Pravaha!, zu deutsch „Go with the flow!“ stechen, und der intellektuell unangefochtene Star des Pophimmels, Lady Gaga, uferte gar aus und verewigte ihren „Lieblingslyriker Rilke“ mit folgen Worten auf einem Körperteil:

“Prüfen Sie, ob er in der tiefsten Stelle Ihres Herzens seine Wurzeln ausstreckt, gestehen Sie sich ein, ob Sie sterben müßten, wenn es Ihnen versagt würde zu schreiben. Dieses vor allem: Fragen Sie sich in der stillsten Stunde Ihrer Nacht: Muss ich schreiben?“

Aber auch (noch) wenig prominente Zeitgenossen mögen es philosophisch-lyrisch. Jessica, Studentin und Trägerin der Playboy-Preises „Cybergirl des Monats“ läßt auf ihrer glatten Haut in wunderschön geschwungener Schrift das Cicero zugewiesene Motto Dum spiro spero blitzen, und jüngst kamen mir hier im wirklich ländlichen Landkreis zwei weitere tätowierte Kalligraphien unter´s Auge: Einmal in fetter Fraktur an strammer Männerwade unterhalb eines kahlrasierten Schädels Carpe Diem, andermal , als Schultertext: Mann muß Chaos in sich tragen, um einen tanzenden Stern zu gebären. Nietzsche hatte , glaub ich, „man“ geschrieben, aber er schrieb wohl mehr so für Männer, und der Spruchträger war tatsächlich männlichen Geschlechts, also hatte ja alles seine Richtigkeit.

Nun mag mancher Tätowierungen an sich für ein Zeichen von Asozialität halten. Wir mögen es mit Güte betrachten: Schlägt sich darin nicht eine Sehnsucht nach Dauer, nach Absolutheit, nach Schwur und Eid nieder? Nicht jeder hat Geld, Zeit, Fähigkeit und Phantasie, ein Haus zu bauen, einen Baum zu pflanzen, ein Kind zu zeugen. Wenn er schon die eigene Haut zu Markte tragen muß, dann wenigstens symbolisch aufgeladen! Nun fragt sich manche/r schlicht: womit bloß? Stellvertretend möchte ich “ Adrijanaa“ zitieren, die auf einem Forum namens gofeminin händeringend fragt:

Hallo zusammen!
Ich liebe Tattoos und möchte endlich selbst eins haben. Habe mich für ein Zitat auf dem Schulterblatt entschieden (so ähnlichw ie bei Megan Fox). Das Problem: Mir föllt keins ein. Es ist schon irgednwie blöd im Internet nach zu fragen, aber ich bin momentan einfach sowas von einfallslos. Ich lege in diesem Fall auch nicht viel Wert darauf, ob jemand diesen Spruch schon auf eienr Körperstelle besitzt oder nicht. Ein englischer Zitat wäre am besten. Es können Weisheiten, Zitate aus Songlyrics oder Filmen sein. Falls ihr ein paar Ideen habt, wäre ich sehr froh darüber, was von euch zu hören!

LG, Adi

Die Adi wurde dann von einigen „Mitusern“ nachdrücklich gefragt, ob sie denn nicht selbst auf ein paar fesche Zitate käme, die ihr aus der „Seele“ sprächen. Aber:

Ich überleg ja schon die ganze Zeit. . . Hab einige gute Lieder, die ich ganz gerne mag, aber die Texte sind manchmal zu primitiv für ein Tattoo. . . Es ist nicht so einfach

Dabei ist es eben doch ganz einfach! Es gibt bereits einige Netzseiten mit hübschen Sprüchen, die unter die Haut gehen könnten. In einem entsprechenden Ratgeberforum für tätowierbare Sprüche habe ich den hier gefunden:

Wer singt und lacht, braucht Therapie.
Alfred Adler

Das ist tiefsinnig, und mit etwas Mühe könnte man es sogar auswendig lernen – für den Fall, daß man das Zitat im Nacken oder auf dem Po unterbringen will.

Dystopia is Now!

Dystopia is Now!

By Jef Costello

Ex: http://www.counter-currents.com/

Whatever happened to the Age of Anxiety? In the post-war years, intellectuals left and right were constantly telling us — left and right — that we were living in an age of breakdown and decay. The pre-war gee-whiz futurists (who’d taken a few too many trips to the World’s Fair) had told us that in just a few years we’d be commuting to work in flying cars. The Cassandras didn’t really doubt that, but they foresaw that the people flying those cars would have no souls. We’d be men at the End of History, they told us; Last Men devoted only to the pursuit of pleasure — and quite possibly under the thumb of some totalitarian Nanny State that wanted to keep us that way. Where the futurists had seen utopia, the anti-futurists saw only dystopia. And they wrote novels, lots of them, and made films — and even one television show (The Prisoner).

But those days are over now. The market for dystopias has diminished considerably. The sense that something is very, very wrong, and getting worse – (something felt forty, fifty years ago even by ordinary people) has been replaced with a kind of bland, flat affect complacency. Why? Is it because the anxiety went away? Is it because things got better? Of course not. It’s because all those dire predictions came true. (Well, most of them anyway).

Dystopia is now, my friends! The future is where we are going to spend the rest of our lives. The Cassandras were right, after all. I am aware that you probably already think this. Why else would you be reading this website? But I’ll bet there’s a tiny part of you that resists what I’m saying — a tiny part that wants to say “Well, it’s not quite as bad as what they predicated. Not yet, anyway. We’ve got a few years to go before . . . uh . . . Maybe not in my lifetime . . .”

Here is the reason you think this: you believe that if it all really had come true and we really were living in dystopia, voices would be raised proclaiming this. The “intellectuals” who saw it coming decades ago would be shouting about it. If the worlds of Brave New World ^[2], Nineteen Eighty-Four ^[3], Fahrenheit 451 ^[4], and Atlas Shrugged ^[5] really had converged and been made flesh, everyone would know it and the horror and indignation would bring it all tumbling down!

Well, I hate to disappoint you. Unfortunately, there’s this little thing called “human nature” that makes your expectations a tad unrealistic. When I was very young I discovered that there are two kinds of people. You see, I used to (and still do) spend a lot of time decrying “the way people are,” or “how people are today.” If I was talking to someone simpatico they would grin and nod in recognition of the truth I was uttering. Those are the people who (like me) didn’t think that “people” referred to them. But to my utterly naïve horror I discovered that plenty of people took umbrage at my disparaging remarks about “people.” They thought that “people” meant them. And, as it turns out, they were right. They were self-selecting sheep. In fact, this turned out to be my way of telling whether or not I was dealing with somebody “in the Matrix.”

Shockingly, people in the Matrix take a lot of pride in being in the Matrix. They don’t like negative remarks about “how things are today,” “today’s society,” or “America.” They are fully invested in “how things are”; fully identified with it. And they actually do (trust me on this) believe that how things are now is better than they’ve ever been. (Who do you think writes Mad Men?)

And that’s why nobody cares that they’re living in the Village. That’s why nobody cares that dystopia is now. Most of those old guys warning about the “age of anxiety” are dead. Their children and grandchildren were born and raised in dystopia, and it’s all that they know.

In the following remarks I will revisit some classic dystopian novels, and invite you to consider that we are now living in them.

1. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (1932)

This is, hands down, the best dystopian novel of all. It is set in a future age, after a great cataclysmic war between East and West, when Communism and assembly-line capitalism have fused into one holistic system. Characters are named “Marx” and “Lenina,” but they all revere “Our Ford.” Here we have Huxley anticipating Heidegger’s famous thesis of the “metaphysical identity” of capitalism and communism: both, in fact, are utterly materialistic; both have a “leveling effect.”

When people discuss Brave New World, they tend to emphasize the “technological” aspects to the story: human beings hatched in test tubes, pre-sorted into “castes”; soma, Huxley’s answer to Zoloft and ecstasy all rolled into one; brainwashing people in their sleep through “hypnopedia”; visits to “the feelies” instead of the movies, where you “feel” everything happening on the screen, etc.

These things get emphasized for two reasons. First, some of them enable us to distance ourselves from the novel. I mean, after all, we can’t hatch people in test tubes (yet). We are not biologically designed to fit caste roles (yet). We don’t have “feelies” (virtual reality isn’t quite there – yet). So, we’re not living in Brave New World. Right? On the other hand, since we really have almost developed these things (and since we really do have soma), these facets of the novel can also allow us to admire Huxley’s prescience, and marvel a tad at how far we’ve come. The fantasies of yesteryear made reality! (Some sick souls feel rather proud of themselves when they read Brave New World.) But these responses are both defense mechanisms; strategies to evade the ways in which the novel really comes close to home. Without further ado, here they are:

The suppression of thumos: Thumos is “spiritedness.” According to Plato (in The Republic) it’s that aspect of us that responds to a challenge against our values. Thumos is what makes us want to beat up those TSA screeners who pat us down and put us through that machine that allows them to view our naughty bits. It’s an affront to our dignity, and makes us want to fight. Anyone who does not feel affronted in this situation is not really a human being. This is because it is really thumos that makes us human; that separates us from the beasts. (It’s not just that we’re smarter than them; our possession of thumos makes us different in kind from other animals.) Thumos is the thing in us that responds to ideals: it motivates us to fight for principles, and to strive to be more than we are. In Brave New World, all expressions of thumos have been ruthlessly suppressed. The world has been completely pacified. Healthy male expressions of spiritedness are considered pathological (boy, was Huxley a prophet!). (For more information on thumos read Francis Fukuyama’s The End of History and the Last Man – a much-misunderstood book, chiefly because most readers never get to its fifth and final part.)

Denigration of “transcendence.” “Transcendence” is my convenient term for what many would call the “religious impulse” in us. This part of the soul is a close cousin to thumos, as my readers will no doubt realize. In Brave New World, the desire for transcendence is considered pathological and addressed through the application of heavy doses of soma. Anyone feeling a bit religious simply pops a few pills and goes on a “trip.” (Sort of like the “trips” Huxley himself took – only without the Vedanta that allowed him to contextualize and interpret them.) In the novel, a white boy named John is rescued from one of the “Savage Reservations,” where the primitives are kept, and brought to “civilization.” His values and virtues are Traditional and he is horrified by the modern world. In one particularly memorable scene, he is placed in a classroom with other young people where they watch a film about penitents crawling on their knees to church and flagellating themselves. To John’s horror, the other kids all begin laughing hysterically. Religion is for losers, you see. How could anyone’s concerns rise above shopping? Which brings me to . . .

Consumerism. The citizens of Brave New World are inundated with consumer goods and encouraged to acquire as many as possible. Hypnopedia teaches them various slogans that are supposed to guide them through life, amongst which is “ending is better than mending.” In other words, if something breaks or tears, don’t fix it – just go out and buy a new one! (Sound familiar?) Happiness and contentment are linked to acquisition, and to . . .

Distractions: Drugs, Sex, Sports, Media. These people’s lives are so empty they have to be constantly distracted lest they actually reflect on this fact and become blue. Soma comes in very handy here. So does sex. Brave New World was a controversial book in its time, and was actually banned in some countries, because of its treatment of sex. In Huxley’s world of the future, promiscuity is encouraged. And it begins very early in life — very early (this was probably what shocked readers the most). Between orgasms, citizens are also encouraged to avail themselves of any number of popular sports, whether as participants or as spectators. (Huxley tantalizes us with references to such mysterious activities as “obstacle golf,” which he never really describes.) Evenings (prior to copulation) can be spent going to the aforementioned “feelies.”

The desacralization of sex and the denigration of the family. As implied by the above, in Brave New World sex is stripped of any sense of sacredness (and transcendence) and treated as meaningless recreation. Feelings of love and the desire for monogamy are considered perversions. Families have been abolished and words such as “mother” are considered obscene. Now, before you optimists point out that we haven’t “abolished” the family, consider what the vector is of all the left-wing attacks on it (it takes a village, comrades). And consider the fact that in the West the family has all but abolished itself. Marriage is now consciously seen by many as a temporary arrangement (even as a convenient merging of bank accounts), and so few couples are having children that, as Pat Buchanan will tell you, we are ceasing to exist. Why? Because children require too much sacrifice; too much time spent away from careering, boinking, tripping, and playing obstacle golf.

The cult of youth. Apparently, much of the inspiration for Brave New World came from a trip Huxley took to the United States, where aging is essentially regarded as a disease. In Brave New World, everyone is kept artificially young – pumped full of hormones and nipped and tucked periodically. When they reach about 60 their systems just can’t take it anymore and they collapse and die. Whereas John is treated as a celebrity, his mother is hidden from public view simply because she has grown old on the savage reservation, without the benefit of the artificial interventions the “moderns” undergo. Having never seen a naturally old person before, the citizens of Brave New World regard her with horror. But I’m guessing she probably didn’t look any worse than Brigitte Bardot does today. (Miss Bardot has never had plastic surgery).

The novel’s climax is a marvelous dialogue between John and the “World Controller.” The latter defends the world he has helped create, by arguing that it is free of war, competition, and disease. John argues that as bad as these things often are, they also bring out the best in people. Virtue and greatness are only produced through struggle.

As a piece of writing, Brave New World is not that impressive. But as a prophecy of things to come, it is utterly uncanny – and disturbingly on target. So much so that it had to be, in effect, suppressed by over-praising our next novel . . .

2. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell (1948)

This is the most famous of all dystopian novels, and also the one that is least prescient. Like Brave New World, its literary qualities are not very impressive. It is chiefly remembered for its horrifying and bizarrely over-the-top portrayal of a future totalitarian society.

As just about everyone knows, in Nineteen Eighty-Four every aspect of society is controlled by “Big Brother” and his minions. All homes feature “telescreens” which cannot be shut off, and which contain cameras that observe one’s every move. The Ministry of Peace concerns itself with war, the Ministry of Love with terror, etc. Orwell includes slogans meant to parody Hegelian-Marxist dialectics: “war is peace,” “freedom is slavery,” ignorance is strength.” The language has been deliberately debased by “Newspeak,” dumbed-down and made politically correct. Those who commit “thoughtcrime” are taken to Room 101, where, in the end, they wind up loving Big Brother. And whatever you do, don’t do it to Julia, because the Women’s Anti-Sex League may get you. In short, things are double-plus bad. And downright Orwellian.

Let’s start with what Orwell got right. Yes, Newspeak reminds me of political correctness. (And Orwell’s analysis of how controlling language is a means to control thought is wonderfully insightful.) Then there is “doublethink,” which Orwell describes in the following way:

To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget, whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again, and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself — that was the ultimate subtlety; consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.

This, of course, reminds me of the state of mind most people are in today when it comes to such matters as race, “diversity,” and sex differences.

The Women’s Anti-Sex League reminds me – you guessed it – of feminism. Then there is “thoughtcrime,” which is now a reality in Europe and Canada, and will soon be coming to America. (Speaking of Brigitte Bardot, did you know that she has been convicted five times of “inciting racial hatred,” simply for objecting to the Islamic invasion of France?) And yes, when I get searched at the airport, when I see all those security cameras on the streets, when I think of the Patriot Act and of “indefinite detention,” I do think of Orwell.

But, for my money, Orwell was more wrong than right. Oceania was more or less a parody of Stalin’s U.S.S.R. (Come to think of it, North Korea is sort of a parody of Stalin’s U.S.S.R., isn’t it? It’s as if Kim Il-Sung read Nineteen Eight-Four and thought “You know, this could work . . .”) But Orwell would never have believed it if you’d told him that the U.S.S.R. would be history a mere four decades or so after his book was published. Soft totalitarianism, not hard, was the wave of the future. Rapacious, unbridled capitalism was the future, not central planning. Mindless self-indulgence and phony “individualism” were our destiny, not party discipline and self-sacrifice. The future, it turned out, was dressed in Prada, not Carhartt. And this is really why Brave New World is so superior to Nineteen Eighty-Four. We are controlled primarily through our vices, not through terror.

The best description I have encountered of the differences between the two novels comes from Neil Postman’s book Amusing Ourselves to Death:

What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egotism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny “failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions.” In 1984, Orwell added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we fear will ruin us. Huxley feared that our desire will ruin us.

And here is Christopher Hitchens (in his essay “Why Americans are not Taught History”) on the differences between the two novels:

We dwell in a present-tense culture that somehow, significantly, decided to employ the telling expression “You’re history” as a choice reprobation or insult, and thus elected to speak forgotten volumes about itself. By that standard, the forbidding dystopia of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four already belongs, both as a text and as a date, with Ur and Mycenae, while the hedonist nihilism of Huxley still beckons toward a painless, amusement-sodden, and stress-free consensus. Orwell’s was a house of horrors. He seemed to strain credulity because he posited a regime that would go to any lengths to own and possess history, to rewrite and construct it, and to inculcate it by means of coercion. Whereas Huxley . . . rightly foresaw that any such regime could break but could not bend. In 1988, four years after 1984, the Soviet Union scrapped its official history curriculum and announced that a newly authorized version was somewhere in the works. This was the precise moment when the regime conceded its own extinction. For true blissed-out and vacant servitude, though, you need an otherwise sophisticated society where no serious history is taught.

I believe this just about says it all.

3. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (1953)

This one is much simpler. A future society in which books have been banned. Now that all the houses are fireproof, firemen go around ferreting out contraband books from backward “book people” and burning them. So, what do the majority of the people do with themselves if they aren’t allowed to read? Why, exactly what they do today. They watch television. A lot of television.

I read Fahrenheit 451 after seeing the film version by Francois Truffaut. I have to admit that after seeing the film I was a bit disappointed by the book. (This would be regarded as heresy by Bradbury fans, who all see the film as far inferior.) I only dimly recall the book, as the film manages to be more immediately relevant to current pathologies than the book does (perhaps because the film was made fourteen years later, in 1967).

I vividly remember the scene in the film in which Linda, Montag the fireman’s wife, asks for a second “wallscreen” (obviously an Orwell influence). “They say that when you get your second wallscreen it’s like having your family grow out around you,” she gushes. Then there’s the scene where a neighbor explains to Montag why his new friend Clarisse (actually, one of the “book people”) is so different. “Look there,” the neighbor says, pointing to the television antenna on top of one of the houses. “And there . . . and there,” she says, pointing out other antennae. Then she indicates Clarisse’s house, where there is no antenna (she and her uncle don’t watch TV). “But look there . . . there’s . . . nothing,” says the neighbor, with a blank, bovine quality.

Equally memorable was a scene on board a monorail (accompanied by haunting music from Bernard Herrmann). Montag watches as the passengers touch themselves gently, as if exploring their own sensations for the very first time, while staring off into space with a kind of melancholy absence in their eyes. Truffaut goes Bradbury one better, by portraying this future as one in which people are numb; insensitive not just to emotions but even to physical sensations. In an even more striking scene, Montag reduces one of Linda’s friends to tears, simply by reading aloud an emotionally powerful passage from David Copperfield. The response from her concerned friends? “Novels are sick. All those idiotic words. Evil words that hurt people. Why disturb people with that sort of filth? Poor Doris.”

What Bradbury didn’t forsee was a future where there would be no need for the government to ban books, because people would just voluntarily stop reading them. Again, Huxley was more prescient. Lightly paraphrasing Neil Postman (from the earlier quotation), “What Bradbury feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one.” Still, you’ve got to hand it to Bradbury. Although books still exist and nobody (at least not in America) is banning them, otherwise the world of today is pretty much the world of Fahrenheit 451.

No one reads books anymore. Many of our college graduates can barely read, even if they wanted to. Everywhere bookstores are closing up. Explore the few that still exist and you’ll see that the garbage they sell hardly passes as literature. (Today’s bestsellers are so badly written it’s astonishing.) It’s always been the case in America that most people didn’t read a lot, and only read good books when forced to. But it used to be that people felt just a little bit ashamed of that. Things are very different today. A kind of militant proletarian philistinism reigns. The booboisie now openly flaunt their ignorance and vulgarity as if these were virtues. It used to be that average Americans paid lip service to the importance of high culture, but secretly thought it a waste of time. Now they openly proclaim this, and regard those with cultivated tastes as a rather curious species of useless loser.

Nobody needs to ban books. We’ve made ourselves too stupid to deserve them.

4. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand (1957)

Atlas Shrugged changed my life.

You’ve heard that before, right? But it’s true. I read this novel when I was twenty years old, and it was a revelation to me. I’ve since moved far away from Rand’s philosophy, but there’s a part of me that still loves and admires this book, and its author. And now I’ll commit an even worse heresy than saying I liked the film of Fahrenheit 451 more than the book: I think that, purely as a piece of prose fiction, Atlas Shrugged is the best of the four novels I’m considering here. I don’t mean that it’s more prescient or philosophically richer. I just mean that it’s a better piece of writing. True, it’s not as good a book as The Fountainhead, and it’s deformed by excesses of all kinds (including a speech by one character that lasts for . . . gulp . . . sixty pages). Nevertheless, Rand could be a truly great writer, when she wasn’t surrounded by sycophants who burbled affirmatively over every phrase she jotted (even when it was something like “hamburger sandwich” or “Brothers, you asked for it!”).

Atlas Shrugged depicts an America in the not-so-distant future. Collectivism has run rampant, and government regulation is driving the economy into the ground. The recent godawful film version of the first third of the novel (do yourself a big favor and don’t see it) emphasizes this issue of government regulation at the expense of Rand’s other, more important messages. (Rand was not simply a female Milton Friedman.) Rand’s analysis of the roots of socialism is fundamentally Nietzschean, though she would not admit this. It is “hatred of the good for being the good” that drives people in the world of Atlas Shrugged to redistribute wealth, nationalize industries, and subsidize lavish homes for subnormal children. And at the root of this slave morality (which Rand somewhat superficially dubs “altruism”) is a kind of primal, life-denying irrationalism. Rand’s solution? A morality of reason, where recognition that A is A, that facts are facts, is the primary commandment. This morality is preached by Rand’s prophet, John Galt, who is the leader of a secret band of producers and innovators who have “gone on strike,” refusing to let the world’s parasites feed off of them.

Despite all her errors (too many to mention here) there’s actually a great deal of truth in Rand’s analysis of what’s wrong with the world. Simply put, Rand was right because Nietzsche was right. And yes, we are living in the world of Atlas Shrugged. But the real key to seeing why this novel is relevant to today lies in a single concept that is never explored in Atlas Shrugged or in any of the other novels discussed here: race.

 ^[12]Virtually everything Rand warned about in Atlas Shrugged has come to pass, but it’s even worse than she thought it was going to be. For our purveyors of slave morality are not just out to pillage the productive people, they’re out to destroy the entire white race and western culture as such. Rand was an opponent of “racism,” which she attacked in an essay as “barnyard collectivism.” Like the leftists, she apparently saw human beings as interchangeable units, each with infinite potential. Yes, she was a great elitist – but she believed that people became moochers and looters and parasites because they had “bad premises,” and had made bad choices. Whatever character flaws they might have were changeable, she thought. Rand was adamantly opposed to any form of biological determinism.

Miss Rand (born Alyssa Rosenbaum) failed to see that all the qualities she admired in the productive “men of the mind” – their Apollonian reason, their spirit of adventure, their benevolent sense of life, their chiseled Gary Cooperish features – were all qualities chiefly of white Europeans. There simply are no black or Chinese or Hispanic John Galts. The real way to “stop the motor of the world” is to dispossess all the white people, and this is exactly what the real-life Ellsworth Tooheys and Bertram Scudders are up to today.

Atlas Shrugged, Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty-Four, and Fahrenheit 451 all depict white, racially homogeneous societies. Non-whites simply do not figure at all. Okay, yes, there might be a reference somewhere in Atlas Shrugged to a “Negro porter,” and perhaps something similar in the other books. But none of the characters in these novels is non-white, and non-whites are so far in the background they may as well not exist for these authors. Huxley thought that if we wanted epsilon semi-morons to do our dirty work the government would have to hatch them in test tubes. Obviously, he had just never visited Detroit or Atlanta. Epsilon semi-morons are reproducing themselves every day, and at a rate that far outstrips that of the alphas.

These authors foresaw much of today’s dystopian world: its spiritual and moral emptiness, its culture of consumerism, its flat-souled Last Manishness, its debasement of language, its doublethink, its illiteracy, and its bovine tolerance of authoritarian indignities. But they did not foresee the most serious and catastrophic of today’s problems: the eminent destruction of whites, and western culture.

None of them thought to deal with race at all. Why is this? Probably for the simple reason that it never occurred to any of them that whites might take slave morality so far as to actually will their own destruction. As always, the truth is stranger than fiction.

The dystopian novel most relevant to our situation is also – surprise! – the one that practically no one has heard of: Jean Raspail’s The Camp of the Saints ^[13]. But that is a subject (perhaps) for another essay . . .

 

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Article printed from Counter-Currents Publishing: http://www.counter-currents.com

URL to article: http://www.counter-currents.com/2012/01/dystopia-is-now/

Evgueni Zamiatine

Evgueni Zamiatine

par Jean Mabire

Ex: http://www.centrostudilaruna.it/

 

On ne doit pas oublier Zamiatine, si étrange et parfois déplaisant soit le personnage, car il est peu d’écrivains «soviétiques» aussi étonnants, totalement inclassable au temps du tsar, de la révolution et de l’exil, solitaire entre les solitaires.

Evgueni Ivanovitch Zamiatine est né le 20 janvier 1884 à Lebedian, dans la province de Tambov. Son père est un pope de l’Eglise de l’Intercession de la Vierge et sa mère une pianiste, elle-même fille de prêtre. Après ses études au lycée de Voronej, il prépare l’Institut polytechnique de Saint-Petersbourg. Mais ses idées avancées lors de la révolution de 1905 lui valent séjours en prison, assignations à résidence et même deux ans de déportation dans une bourgade du golfe de Finlande.

Malgré tous ces aléas révolutionnaires, il devient, à 24 ans, ingénieur des constructions navales, songe à une carrière littéraire et épouse une étudiante en médecine. Il a déjà écrit une évocation de sa vie carcérale: Seul, ainsi qu’un récit prometteur, Province, d’un ton elliptique très personnel.

Bénéficiant d’une amnistie il regagne Saint-Petersbourg, où il publie dans un journal, en mars 1914, une longue nouvelle, Au diable vauvert, qui vient d’être traduite en français. Le sujet fait scandale tant il dénonce les turpitudes d’une poignée d’officiers russes en garnison dans un poste perdu d’Extrême-Orient, sur les bords de l’océan Pacifique. Jugé antimilitariste et même pornographique, le livre est interdit par la censure et son auteur, âgé maintenant d’une trentaine d’années, est à nouveau déporté, cette fois à Kemi, en Carélie, dans le Grand Nord.

Au diable vauvert. Le titre indique que l’action se déroule loin, très loin, dans quelque garnison perdue. Un jeune officier, Andreï Ivanytch, originaire de Tambov, comme Zamiatine, a l’impression d’arriver au bout du monde. Il fait peu à peu connaissance de ses camarades, après une visite à son général, cuisinier à ses heures. Tous sont d’assez tristes personnages: paillards, ivrognes, tricheurs, brutaux, voleurs même, puisque telle la seule loi de cet univers corrompu, rongé jusqu’à l’os par tous les vices.

La femme du capitaine Netchessa accouche de son neuvième enfant et la grande question qui se pose est de savoir
qui en est le père, puisqu’il s’agit à chaque fois d’un officier différent. Cette interrogation lancinante n’empêchera pas un baptême fort arrosé. Bagarres, duels, suicides semblent les seules distractions de ces soldats perdus, pour qui la visite d’une escadre de marins français deviendra le seul dérivatif: nous sommes à la belle époque de l’alliance franco-russe. Quelques figures de femmes, comme la belle Maroussia, l’épouse de l’ignoble capitaine Schmidt, n’apportent même pas une note de joie dans cet univers désespéré.

On comprend la hargne de la censure tsariste, d’autant que n’importe qui serait désarçonné par le style d’un Zamiatine qui, sous prétexte de réalisme, bouscule allégrement la langue russe et la simple logique. Comme doit l’avouer le traducteur Jean-Baptiste Godon dans sa préface à l’édition française: «On rencontre de nombreux archaïsmes, des régionalismes, des proverbes, des néologismes… et les formules intempestives du langage parlé succèdent aux longues phrases ciselées: l’ordre des mots est bouleversé, les phrases sont tronquées, les pensées et dialogues, inachevés, interrompus par des points de suspension, des tirets. Zamiatine n’écrit pas, il narre…» On plaint le traducteur. Et encore bien davantage le lecteur.

Zamiatine n’est pas seulement un écrivain, c’est un ingénieur qui a beaucoup voyagé, de Constantinople à Salonique et de Beyrouth à Port-Saïd. Pendant la guerre, il sera envoyé en Angleterre pour y construire des navires brise-glaces. Il revient en Russie en 1917, juste pour la Révolution, dont il est un partisan résolu avant d’en être assez vite saturé et déçu.

Il se réfugie dans des récits brefs et des pièces de théâtre comme La Puce, qui sera par la suite interdite. Son roman Nous autres, impubliable en Russie communiste, est publié (sans son autorisation, dira-t-il) en Angleterre et en Allemagne en 1923. Situé dans des siècles futurs, c’est l’histoire d’une «Révolution qui a mal tourné», alors qu’elle devait apporter «le bonheur mathématique et exact, en forçant les gens à être heureux».

Dirigés par un grand Bienfaiteur qui a sur eux droit de vie et de mort et les a définitivement privés de toute inquiétude héritée des religions absurdes d’autrefois, hommes et femmes ne sont plus que des «Numéros», étroitement surveillés par le Bureau des Gardiens. Tout est organisé pour leur bonheur par l’Etat unique, qui a planifié leur travail, leur repos et même leurs amours, grâce à des carnets à souches de couleur rose destinés à organiser leurs «Heures personnelles». Un mur de verre sépare cette cité soit-disant idéale du monde extérieur et il y a bien longtemps qu’a été oublié tout ce qui constituait l’âme des époques d’autrefois, avant la guerre de Deux Cents Ans, entre la ville et la campagne, entre les sédentaires et les nomades où ces derniers furent vaincus.

L’ingénieur D.5O3, dont la confession est écrite à la première personne, est chargé de construire un vaisseau intersidéral qui porte le nom d’Intégral. Il fait la connaissance d’une femme, I.330 qui va le subjuguer en lui faisant entrevoir une autre vérité que celle du monde dans lequel vivent les sujets soumis à la loi des «Tables», ces codes rythmant leur vie: «Tous les matins, avec une exactitude de machines, à la même heure et à la même minute, nous, des millions, nous nous levons comme un seul numéro. Nous commençons notre travail et le finissons avec le même ensemble».

Le seul idéal: «Rien n’arrivera plus». Le seul péché, c’est d’être original, car c’est détruire le fondement de la société nouvelle: l’égalité, condition de l’éternité du néant.

Il arrive un drame: on découvre que D.5O3 est malade: « Ca va mal, lui dit le médecin. Il s’est formé une âme en vous». La conscience personnelle est une maladie et une maladie si grave qu’elle ne peut être éradiquée que par une opération chirurgicale. En attendant cette intervention, l’ingénieur rencontre I.33O à la Maison Antique, sorte de fragment du vieux monde oublié, «le monde déraisonnable et informe des arbres, des oiseaux, des animaux…». Lors de la fête du Jour de l’Unanimité, il n’en courbera pas moins la tête sous le joug du «Numéro des Numéros», ce Bienfaiteur qui lui ordonnera l’opération décisive, celle qui le débarrassera des quelques gouttes de «sang solaire et sylvestre» qui lui venaient des temps anciens. Il va redevenir comme tous les autres.

Une telle contre-utopie ne pouvait qu’attirer la fureur des autorités soviétiques. En 1931, Zamiatine écrit à Staline pour lui demander l’autorisation d’émigrer, sans perdre sa nationalité pour autant. Il part pour Prague puis pour Paris, où il meurt dans la misère et l’oubli le 10 mars 1937, ayant conscience de faire partie de la grande confrérie des hérétiques: «Seuls les hérétiques découvrent des horizons nouveaux dans la science, dans l’art, dans la vie sociale; seuls les hérétiques, rejetant le présent au nom de l’avenir, sont l’éternel ferment de la vie et assurent l’infini mouvement en avant de la vie».

* * *

(National-Hebdo n. 1126 – 16-22 fevrier 2006).

George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four

George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four

By Jonathan Bowden

Ex: http://www.counter-currents.com/ 

George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four ^[2] is probably the most important political novel of the twentieth century, but the Trotskyite influence on it is under-appreciated. The entire thesis about the Party’s totalitarianism is a subtle mixture of libertarian and Marxist contra Marxism ideas. One of the points which is rarely made is how the party machine doubles for fascism in Orwell’s mind – a classic Trotskyist ploy whereby Stalinism is considered to be the recrudescence of the class enemy. This is of a piece with the view that the Soviet Union was a deformed workers’ state or happened to be Bonapartist or Thermidorean in aspect.

Not only is Goldstein the dreaded object of hatred — witness the Two-Minute hate — but this Trotsky stand-in also wrote the evil book, The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism, which the party defines its existence against. The inner logic or dialectic, however, means that the Inner Party actually wrote the book so that it would control the mainsprings of its own criticism.

One of the strongest features of Nineteen Eighty-Four is its use of what the novelist Anthony Burgess called “sense data.” These are all the unmentionable things — usually realities in the physical world — which make a novel physically pungent or real to the reader. This is the very texture of life under “real, existing socialism”: scraping oneself in the morning with a bar of old soap, the absence of razor blades, human hair blocking a sink full of dirty water; the unsanitary details of conformism, socialist commerce, and queuing which made the novel feel so morally conservative to its first readers. This and the depiction of the working class (or Proles), who are everywhere treated as socially degraded  beasts of burden. Some of the most fruity illustrations come from Winston Smith’s home flat in Victory mansions — the smell of cabbage, the horrid nature of the Parsons’ children, the threadbare and decrepit nature of everything, the continuous droning of the telescreen.

Most of these “sense data” are based on Britain in 1948. It is the reality of Wyndham Lewis’ Rotting Hill — a country of ration cards, depleted resources, spivdom, dilapidated buildings after war-time bombing, rancid food, restrictions, blunt razor blades, and almost continuous talk about Victory over the Axis powers. Britain’s post-war decline dates from this period when the national debt exceeded outcome by seven times — and this was before the joys of Third World immigration which were only just beginning. The fact that Nineteen Eighty-Four is just the conditions in Britain in 1948 — at the level of the senses — is a fact not widely commented on.

The uncanny parallels between Newspeak and political correctness are widely mentioned but not really analyzed — save possibly in Anthony Burgess’ skit 1985, a satire which majors quite strongly on proletarian or workers’ English — whereby every conceivable mistake, solecism, mispronunciation, or scatology is marked up; correct usage is everywhere frowned upon.

Another aspect of the novel which receives scant attention is its sexological implications. In most coverage of Nineteen Eighty-Four the party organization known as the Anti-Sex league is given scant attention. Yet Orwell had considerable theoretical overlaps with both Fromm and Wilhelm Reich — never mind Herbert Marcuse. Orwell’s thesis is that totalitarianism fosters a sexless hysteria in order to cement its power. The inescapable corollary is that more liberal systems promote pornography and promiscuity in order to enervate their populations.

Orwell certainly pin-pointed the arrant puritanism of Stalinist censorship — something which became even more blatant after the Second World War. One also has to factor in the fact that Orwell was living and writing in an era where importing James Joyce’s Ulysses and Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer were criminal offenses. Nonetheless, Orwell’s anti-puritanism and libertarianism, sexually speaking, is very rarely commented on. Perhaps this leads to the nakedly sexual rebellion of Winston’s and Julia’s affair against the Party. A series of actions for which the mock-Eucharist, the imbibing of bread and wine in O’Brien’s inner party office, will not give them absolution!

It might also prove instructive to examine the sequences of torment which Winston Smith has to undergo in the novel’s last third. This phase of the book is quite clearly Hell in a Dantesque triad (the introductory section in Victory Mansions and at the Ministry is Purgatory, and Heaven is the brief physical affair with Julia). In actual fact, well over a third of the novel is expended in Hell, primarily located in the fluorescent-lit cells of the Ministry of Love.

This is the period where O’Brien comes into his own as the party inquisitor or tormentor, an authorial voice in The Book, and a man who quite clearly believes in the system known as Ingsoc, English Socialism. He is a fanatic or true believer who readily concedes to the Party’s inner nihilism and restlessness: “you want an image of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping down on a human face forever.”

Moreover, the extended torture scene proceeds over a third of the novel’s expanse and was quite clearly too much for many readers — in north Wales, one viewer of the BBC drama in the mid-fifties dropped dead during the rat scene. I suppose one could call it the ultimate review! Questions were even asked in parliament about what a state broadcaster was spending its money on.

Nonetheless, O’Brien is quite clearly configured as a party priest who is there to enforce obedience to the secular theology of Ingsoc. (Incidentally, Richard Burton is superb as O’Brien in the cinematic version of the novel made in the year itself, 1984 ^[5].)

The point of the society is to leave the Proles to their own devices and concentrate entirely on the theoretical orthodoxy of both the inner and outer party members. In this respect, it resembles very much a continuation of the underground and Bohemia when in power. You get a whiff of this at the novel’s finale, with Winston ensconced in the Chestnut Tree cafe waiting for the bullet and convinced of his love for Big Brother.

This is the inscrutable face of the Stalin lookalike which stares meaningfully from a hundred thousand posters in every available public place. Might he be smiling under the mustache?

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Article printed from Counter-Currents Publishing: http://www.counter-currents.com

URL to article: http://www.counter-currents.com/2011/07/george-orwells-nineteen-eighty-four/

URLs in this post:

[1] Image: http://www.counter-currents.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/1984_movie_poster.jpg

[2] Nineteen Eighty-Four: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0452284236/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=countercurren-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399369&creativeASIN=0452284236

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[5] 1984: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00007KQA3/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=countercurren-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399369&creativeASIN=B00007KQA3

Algo sobre la distopia

 

Algo sobre la distopía

 

Alberto Buela (*)

 

El concepto de distopía se puede definir como antónimo de utopía, como lo opuesto al de utopía, pero ésta sería una versión negativa y limitada del mismo. Sería algo así como una utopía negativa o como definir el disenso por oposición al consenso.

Lo que sucede es que desde la ciencia filológica y etimológica se le viene otorgando ab ovo una carga negativa al prefijo “dis”. Pero esto no es cierto, es un error extendido del que muy pocos filólogos se han dado cuenta. En nuestro medio la gran Ofelia Kovacci, nuestra antigua profesora de filología, lo ha remarcado,  y nosotros mismos, cuando hablamos acerca de la teoría del disenso. Y allí afirmamos: “El prefijo dis, que proviene del adverbio griego diV y que en latín se tradujo por bis=(otra vez), significa oposición, enfrentamiento, contrario, otra cosa. Así tenemos por ejemplo los vocablos disputar que originalmente significa pensar distinto, o displacer que equivale a desagrado, o disyuntivo a estar separado.

Disenso significa, antes que nada, otro sentido, divergencia, contrario parecer, desacuerdo”.[1]

Así el prefijo “dis” significa antes que nada “otra significación o una significación distinta a la habitual”, más allá de la carga negativa a que nos tienen acostumbrados los intérpretes políticamente correctos que trabajan de policías del pensamiento único. Por eso el significado profundo de “dis” no hay que buscarlo en términos como “des-honesto”, donde el prefijo “dis” tiene una carga peyorativa, sino en términos como “dis-putar”, que muestran que se puede pensar de otra manera.

Los pocos que han escrito sobre la distopía [2] sostienen que “es un tipo de narración que enfatiza la desesperanza y la interpretación negativa de lo social”. Sin embargo los distopistas que más se han destacado tanto en la literatura: Eugenio Zamaitin, Philip K. Dick, Anthony Burgess, Bradbury, Huxley, Orwell, Kurt Vonnegut, como en el cine: Metrópolis (de F. Lang), La Vida del Futuro (de W. Menzies), Blade Runner (de R. Scott), Brazil (de T. Gilliam), Gattaca (A. Niccol), Matrix (de los hermanos Wachowski), La carretera (John Hillcoat) lo que realizan, en el fondo, es una crítica a nuestra sociedad y a su relato mayestático: la utopía de la ciudad ideal, como la zanahoria inalcanzable delante de la liebre que nos plantea la mentalidad progresista.  

La distopía, en nuestra opinión, viene a pintar las consecuencias directas de la realidad inminente que vivimos o mejor padecemos todos los días. La distopía no tiene por objetivo negar la utopía sino que le viene a pinchar el globo a la mismísima realidad que nos apabulla con sus contradicciones diarias. Así por ejemplo, en Argentina nos vinieron a prometer la construcción de un tren bala de alta velocidad y el pueblo viaja todos los días hacinado como ganado en trenes destruidos, a 40km por hora. Vemos como el relato utópico nos llena la cabeza de humo con el tren bala y  el distópico nos sumerge en la dura realidad, en esa realidad inminente que se nos viene encima a diario.

Es un error garrafal entender la distopía como “la creación de una sociedad catastrófica y sombría”,  o peor aún, como “una sociedad de pesadilla en donde prima la desesperanza”. Esto es lo que nos quieren hacer creer, pero la finalidad última del pensamiento distópico es, como se puede ver claramente en los ensayos de Kurt Vonnegut, mostrar las contradicciones flagrantes de la sociedad opulenta, de consumo, bajo el reinado del dios monoteísta del libre mercado.

Es en definitiva, una crítica a las ambiciones infinitas, sin límites, desatadas por el hombre moderno. Una crítica demoledora a la subjetividad como principio de valoración del hombre, el mundo y sus problemas.

El discurso distopista viene a caracterizar como lo hace Charles Champetier al homo consumans para recuperarlo como uomo libero.

El prototipo del hombre distopista es el rebelde, el que se rebela contra el statu quo reinante, que se ve envuelto en la aventura de la insurrección que parece condenada de antemano al fracaso. Pues como afirma Jünger: “Los rebeldes de reclutarán de entre los que están decididos a luchar por la libertad, incluso en una situación sin esperanzas”. [3]

Pero no importa, su lema es: nos pueden haber vencido pero no convencido.

 

(*) [e-mail]

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[1] Buela, Alberto: Teoría del disenso, Bs.As., Ed. Teoría, 2005, p. 8.

[2]Castro Orellana, Rodrigo:Ciudades Ideales, Ciudades sin Futuro.

El Porvenir de la Utopía,Murcia, Daimon, Suplemento 3, 2010, 135-144

[3] Jünger, Ernst: Tratado del rebelde, Bs.As., Sur, 1963, p.95

Sur "Gobalia" de Jean-Christophe Rufin

Ecole des cadres - Synergies Européennes - septembre 2008

Sur "Golbalia" de Jean-Christophe Rufin

http://users.skynet.be/pierre.bachy/rufin-globalia.html...

A lire à la suite de nos travaux sur George Orwell et Aldous Huxley

Brèves réflexions sur l'oeuvre de H. G. Wells

Werner OLLES:

 

Brèves réflexions sur l’oeuvre de H. G. Wells

 

Incontestablement,  Herbert George Wells est l’un des plus intéressants écrivains du 20ème siècle, à facettes multiples. Son oeuvre complète comprend près de cent volumes et va de la théorie (en biologie, en histoire contemporaine, en philosophie et en politique) à ces romans et récits devenus si célèbres dans le monde entier. Toutes ces créations littéraires sont des exemples de perfection en matière de littérature fantastique et utopique: de véritables classiques de la narration contemporaine. Wells est entré dans l’histoire intellectuelle de notre monde comme le père fondateur de la littérature de science-fiction et comme l’un des plus géniaux écrivains de ce genre.

 

H. G. Wells est né le 21 septembre 1866 dans la petite ville de Bromley dans le Comté de Kent en Angleterre. Son père était jardinier; plus tard, ses économies lui permirent d’ouvrir un petit commerce d’étoffes mais sa carrière de commerçant ne fut guère brillante. Le foyer parental était petit bourgeois, bigot, ce qui limitait les perspectives du jeune Wells. De cette époque de jeunesse date également son antipathie profonde à l’encontre du catholicisme qu’il abhorrait véritablement, l’accusant d’être une pensée pré-bourgeoise. La haine intense qu’il cultivait pour le culte “romain”, accusé d’être contre-révolutionnaire et médiéval, hostile à la modernité, l’amena même à plaider, pendant la seconde guerre mondiale, pour une destruction complète de Rome par les bombardiers alliés. Cette violente position anti-catholique le mettait pourtant en porte-à-faux par rapport à de nombreux intellectuels et écrivains anglais de son époque mais ne le dérangeait pas outre mesure: beaucoup d’écrivains anglicans en effet, comme Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, G. K. Chersterton ou Julien Green se convertirent au catholicisme.

 

Déjà dans ses premiers ouvrages, comme “La machine à remonter le temps”, un récit fantastique où un inventeur s’envole vers le futur, il se percevait lui-même en héros. De manière parfaitement prosaïque, il décrit un petit paradis où débarque son “voyageur à travers le temps”; y vivent les “Eloïs”, des créatures affables qui vivent en dehors de tous soucis. Mais bien vite, l’inventeur et voyageur remarque que cette société, en apparence si paisible, est pourtant soumise à la terreur le plus brutale. Les “Eloïs”, en effet, sont rançonnés et exploités par les Morloks, des monstres souterrains qui les massacrent sans pitié.

 

 

Dans “L’Ile du Dr. Moreau”, le héros est un scientifique expulsé d’Angleterre qui mène des  expériences dans une île du Pacifique Sud, afin de transformer des animaux en demi-êtres à la suite d’opérations chirurgicales précises. Moreau, vivisectionniste démoniaque, est simultanément un Prométhée et un dieu punisseur. Les parallèles avec le récit de la Genèse sont flagrants: l’homme est toujours menacé de glisser à nouveau vers l’état de la bête et, à l’instar des créatures fabriquées par Moreau, les hommes, eux aussi, sont condamnés à la souffrance.

 

Wells s’était engagé dans la “Fabian Society”, une association de socialistes britanniques mais ce ne fut que pour une courte durée. Ses rêves sociaux-révolutionnaires se sont assez rapidement évanouis et il se tourne alors vers la métaphysique. Dans “La guerre des mondes”, il décrit comment des extra-terrestres réduisent l’Angleterre en cendres. Dans les années 30, Orson Welles fit de ce récit un reportage radiophonique qui semblait si vrai que des dizaines de milliers  d’Américains prirent la fuite, en panique devant cette invasion imminente de Martiens. Dans “Les géants arrivent”, il pose la question: les hommes, comme jadis les dinosaures, sont-ils condamnés à disparaître?

 

A la fin de sa vie, l’évolution de la politique et le développement des technologies firent de lui un pessimiste (voir son essai: “L’esprit est-il au bout de ses possibilités?”). H. G. Wells meurt le 13 août 1946 à l’âge de 79 ans à Londres.

 

Werner OLLES.

(article paru dans “Junge Freiheit”, Berlin, n°33/2006; trad. franç.: Robert Steuckers).