The political between antagonism and agonism
What is the best way to envisage democratic politics? Until a few years ago, the most fashionable model in political theory was that of ‘deliberative democracy’ defended, in different forms, by John Rawls and Jürgen Habermas. But another model, which proposes an ‘agonistic’ way of conceiving democracy, is steadily gaining influence, and I believe it is useful to examine what its representatives have in common. As I myself belong to the ‘agonistic camp’, I have chosen to highlight the differences that exist between my conception of agonism and that of a certain number of theorists who have other sources of inspiration.
I will begin by presenting the main principles of the theoretical framework that informs my reflection. I have suggested distinguishing between the political, which is linked to the dimension of antagonism present in human relations an antagonism that manifests itself politically in the construction of the friend/enemy relation and that can emerge from a large variety of social relations -, and politics, which aims to establish an order and to organise human coexistence under conditions that are marked by ‘the political’ and thus always conflictual. We find this distinction between the political and politics in the other agonistic theories, though not always with the same signification. We can in fact distinguish two opposing conceptions of what characterises ‘the political’. There are those for whom the political refers to a space of liberty and common action, while others view it as a site of conflict and antagonism. It is from this second perspective that my work proceeds, and I will demonstrate how it is on this point that the fundamental divergence between the different agonistic theories rests.
Politics and antagonism
One of the principal theses that I have defended in my work is that properly political questions always involve decisions which require a choice between alternatives that are undecidable from a strictly rational point of view. This is something the liberal theory cannot admit due to the inadequate way it envisages pluralism. The liberal theory recognises that we live in a world where a multiplicity of perspectives and values coexist and, for reasons it believes to be empirical, accepts that it is impossible for each of us to adopt them all. But it imagines that these perspectives and values, brought together, constitute a harmonious and non-conflictual ensemble. This type of thought is therefore incapable of accounting for the necessarily conflictual nature of pluralism, which stems from the impossibility of reconciling all points of view, and it is what leads it to negate the political in its antagonistic dimension.
I myself argue that only by taking account of the political in its dimension of antagonism can one grasp the challenge democratic politics must face. Public life will never be able to dispense with antagonism for it concerns public action and the formation of collective identities. It attempts to constitute a ‘we’ in a context of diversity and conflict. Yet, in order to constitute a ‘we’, one must distinguish it from a ‘they’. Consequently, the crucial question of democratic politics is not to reach a consensus without exclusion which would amount to creating a ‘we’ without a corollary ‘they’ but to manage to establish the we/they discrimination in a manner compatible with pluralism.
According to the ‘agonistic pluralism’ model that I developed in The Democratic Paradox (London: Verso, 2000) and On the Political (London: Routledge, 2005), pluralist democracy is characterised by the introduction of a distinction between the categories of enemy and adversary. This means that within the ‘we’ that constitutes the political community, the opponent is not considered an enemy to be destroyed but an adversary whose existence is legitimate. His ideas will be fought with vigour but his right to defend them will never be questioned. The category of enemy does not disappear, however, for it remains pertinent with regard to those who, by questioning the very principles of pluralist democracy, cannot form part of the agonistic space. With the distinction between antagonism (friend/enemy relation) and agonism (relation between adversaries) in place, we are better able to understand why the agonistic confrontation, far from representing a danger for democracy, is in reality the very condition of its existence. Of course, democracy cannot survive without certain forms of consensus, relating to adherence to the ethico-political values that constitute its principles of legitimacy, and to the institutions in which these are inscribed. But it must also enable the expression of conflict, which requires that citizens genuinely have the possibility of choosing between real alternatives.
Politics and hegemony
It is necessary at this point to introduce the category of hegemony, which will enable us to identify the nature of the agonistic struggle. To understand the political as the ever present possibility of antagonism, the absence of a final foundation and the undecidability that pervades every order must be acknowledged. It is precisely to this that the category of hegemony refers, and it indicates that every society is the product of practices that seek to institute an order in a context of contingency. Every social order is therefore hegemonic in nature, and its origin political. The social is thus constituted by sedimented hegemonic practices, that is, practices that conceal the originary acts of their contingent political institution and that appear to proceed from a natural order. This perspective reveals that every order results from the temporary and precarious articulation of contingent practices. Things could always have been different and every order is established through the exclusion of other possibilities. It is always the expression of a particular structure of power relations, and it is from here that its political character stems. Every social order that at a given moment is perceived as natural, together with the ‘common sense’ that accompanies it, is in fact the result of sedimented hegemonic practices and never the manifestation of an objectivity that one could consider external to the practices through which it was established.
What is at stake in the agonistic struggle is the very configuration of the power relations that structure a social order and the type of hegemony they construct. It is a confrontation between opposing hegemonic projects that can never be reconciled rationally. The antagonistic dimension is therefore always present but it is enacted by means of a confrontation, the procedures for which are accepted by the adversaries. The agonistic model that I propose acknowledges the contingent character of the hegemonic articulations that determine the specific configuration of a society at a given moment; as pragmatic and contingent constructions, they can always be disarticulated and transformed by the agonistic struggle. Unlike the liberal models, such an agonistic perspective takes account of the fact that every social order is politically instituted and that the ground on which hegemonic interventions occur is never neutral for always the product of previous hegemonic practices. Far from envisaging the public sphere, as for example Habermas does, as fertile ground in the search for consensus, my agonistic approach conceives it as the battlefield on which hegemonic projects confront one another, with no possibility whatsoever of a final reconciliation.
Which agonism?
My disagreement with Habermas is not surprising given that it is partly in opposition to his ‘deliberative democracy’ model that I developed my agonistic conception. But I would now like to examine the differences that exist between my approach and the one found within a certain number of conceptions that also adopt an agonistic perspective. Beyond the ‘family resemblance’ linking these conceptions, there are important points of divergence, which similar vocabulary tends to conceal.
I will begin with the case of Hannah Arendt. Arendt is often considered a representative of agonism, and her references to the Greek Agon can justify such a reading. But the conception of agonism that can be derived from her work is very different to the one I defend. Indeed, we discover in Arendt what I would call an ‘agonism without antagonism’. By this I mean that, although she insists a good deal on human plurality and conceives politics as dealing with the community and with reciprocity between different beings, she never recognises that this plurality is at the origin of antagonistic conflicts. According to Arendt, to think politically consists in developing the ability to see things from a multiplicity of perspectives. As indicated by her reference to Kant and his notion of enlarged mentality, the pluralism she advocates is finally not so different to Habermas’s, also resting as it does on the horizon of intersubjective agreement. It is clear that what she seeks in the Kantian critique of aesthetic judgement is a procedure to obtain intersubjective agreement in the public sphere. Despite the differences in their respective approaches, I therefore believe that Arendt, like Habermas, envisages the public sphere as a place where consensus can be established. Obviously, in her case, this consensus will be the result of an exchange of voices and opinions (in the Greek sense of doxa), rather than the rational Diskurs found in Habermas. As noted by Linda Zerilli in Feminism and the Abyss of Freedom (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2005), while for Habermas consensus emerges through what Kant calls disputieren, an exchange of arguments bound by logical rules, for Arendt it is a matter of streiten, where agreement is produced by persuasion and not based on irrefutable proofs. But neither of the two manages to acknowledge the hegemonic nature of every form of consensus in politics or the ineradicable character of antagonism, the moment of Widerstreit, that which Lyotard calls the différend.
My conception of agonism must also be distinguished from Bonnie Honig’s, which is clearly influenced by Arendt. In her book Political Theory and the Displacement of Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993), Honig criticises liberal conceptions for being too consensual and she advances the emancipatory potential of political contestation, which enables established practices to be questioned. She defends a conception of politics centred on virtú, and places agonistic contestation at its heart, thanks to which citizens are able to keep open a space of debate and prevent the confrontation of positions from drawing to a close. The permanent questioning of dominant identities and ideas is central to the agonistic struggle as conceived by Honig. Thus, in an article titled “Towards an Agonistic Feminism: Hannah Arendt and the Politics of Identity” (Feminist Interpretations of Hannah Arendt, edited by Bonnie Honig, The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995), she declares that the importance of Hannah Arendt’s work for feminists is to provide them with an agonistic politics of performativity. While acknowledging that Arendt never identified with feminism, Honig asserts that her agonistic politics of performativity is crucial for a feminist politics because it enables feminism to be envisaged as a site of contestation over the meaning, practice and politics of gender and sexuality. The appropriation of Arendt’s ideas should, according to Honig, enable feminists to understand that identities are always performative productions and to thereby question the existing positions of subject and liberate the identity of ‘woman’ from the restrictive categories in which we try to enclose it. The idea of an identity suitable for women and that would serve as a starting point for a feminist politics is replaced by a multiplicity of identities constantly produced in an agonistic space, opening the way for feminist emancipation.
We can observe that the agonistic struggle is, according to Honig, reduced to the moment of contestation. It is important for her to guarantee the expression of plurality and to prevent the closure of the questioning process. However, I myself consider that this is but one of the dimensions of the agonistic struggle, which cannot be limited to contestation. The second moment, involving the construction of new hegemonic articulations, is fundamental in politics. It is for this reason that I regard Honig’s conception of agonism as inadequate for envisaging democratic politics.
I have a similar problem with the conception of William Connolly, another theorist of agonism. Connolly is influenced by Nietzsche rather than Arendt, and he has endeavoured to render his Nietzschian conception of the Agon compatible with democratic politics. In his book Pluralism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005) he argues for a radicalisation of democracy through the development of a new democratic ethos among citizens. He conceives this ethos as one of permanent engagement in agonistic contestation that would make all attempts to bring closure to debate impossible. The central notion of Connolly’s work is that of ‘agonistic respect’, which he presents as originating in our common existential condition, itself linked to our struggle for identity and the recognition of our finitude. Agonistic respect constitutes for him the cardinal virtue of the type of pluralism he advocates and he considers it the most important political virtue in the pluralist world we live in today. Of course, I agree with Connolly when he insists on the role respect must play between adversaries engaged in an agonistic struggle. But I believe it is necessary to question the limits of this agonistic respect. Can all antagonisms be transformed into agonism? In other words, must all positions be considered legitimate and must they be granted a place inside the agonistic public sphere? Or must certain claims be excluded because they undermine the conflictual consensus that constitutes the symbolic framework in which opponents recognise themselves as legitimate adversaries? To put it another way, can one envisage pluralism without antagonism?
This is in my opinion the properly political question that Connolly’s approach is not able to ask. It is for this reason that I do not consider his conception of agonism any better placed than Honig’s to serve as a framework for democratic politics. In order to think and act politically, we cannot escape the moment of decision and this requires establishing a frontier and determining a space of inclusion/exclusion. Any perspective that evades this moment renders itself incapable of transforming the structure of power relations and of instituting a new hegemony. I certainly do not intend to deny the importance of a democratic ethos but I think it would be a mistake to reduce democratic politics to the promotion of an ethics of agonistic respect. Yet this appears to be what Connolly proposes and, rather than a new conception of democratic politics, what we find in his work is a new form of pluralist ethics. It undoubtedly has its merits but is not sufficient to envisage the nature of a hegemonic democratic politics and the limits the latter must impose on pluralism.
The fundamental difference between my conception of agonism and those that I have just examined resides in the absence in the cases of Arendt, Honig and Connolly of the two dimensions central to my approach and which I believe are indispensable to think the political: antagonism and hegemony. The principal objective of these authors is to prevent the closure of debate and to give free rein to the expression of plurality. Their celebration of a politics of destabilisation ignores the phase of hegemonic struggle, which consists in the establishment of a chain of equivalence between democratic struggles in order to construct another hegemony. However, it is not enough to disturb the dominant procedures and disrupt existing arrangements to radicalise democracy. Once we accept that antagonism can never be definitively eliminated and that every order is hegemonic in nature, we cannot avoid the central question in politics: what are the limits of agonism, and which institutions and configurations of power must be transformed to radicalise democracy? This requires the moment of decision to be confronted and necessarily implies a form of closure. It is the price to pay for acting politically.
To finish, I would like to suggest that this inability to account for the nature of the political decision in the authors I have just examined is linked to the way they conceive the political as common action and envisage pluralism on the mode of the valorisation of multiplicity. This is what leads them to elude the constitutive role of conflict and antagonism. On the contrary, the other vision of the political, the one from which my work proceeds, recognises the constitutive character of social division and the impossibility of a final reconciliation. The two conceptions affirm that in modern democracy ‘the people’ can no longer be considered as ‘one’; but whereas in the first perspective it is seen as ‘multiple’, in the second it is understood as ‘divided’. The thesis I defend is that only once the ineradicable character of division and antagonism is recognised does it become possible to think in a properly political manner.
—
Chantal Mouffe (b. 1943) is a political theorist educated at the universities of Louvain, Paris, and Essex and a Professor of Political Theory at the University of Westminster. She has taught at many universities in Europe, North America and Latin America, and has held research positions at Harvard, Cornell, the University of California, the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, and the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique in Paris. Between 1989 and 1995 she was Directrice de Programme at the College International de Philosophie in Paris. Professor Mouffe is the editor of Gramsci and Marxist Theory, Dimensions of Radical Democracy, Deconstruction and Pragmatism, and The Challenge of Carl Schmitt; co-author (with Ernesto Laclau) of Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics (1985); and author of The Return of the Political (1993), and The Democratic Paradox (2000). Her latest work is On the Political published by Routledge in 2005. She is currently elaborating a non-rationalist approach to political theory; formulating an ‘agonistic’ model of democracy; and engaged in research projects on the rise of right-wing populism in Europe and the place of Europe in a multi- polar world order.
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La guerre d’Irak a tellement accaparé l’attention du public que le changement de régime en train de s’accomplir chez nous est resté dans l’ombre. On a peut-être envahi l’Irak pour y apporter la démocratie et renverser un régime totalitaire, mais, ce faisant, notre propre système est peut-être en train de se rapprocher de ce dernier et de contribuer à affaiblir le premier. Le changement s’est fait connaître par la soudaine popularité de deux expressions politiques autrefois très rarement appliquées au système politique américain. « Empire » et « superpuissance » suggèrent tous les deux qu’un nouveau système de pouvoir, intense et s’étendant au loin, a pris naissance et que les anciens termes ont été supplantés. « Empire » et « superpuissance » symbolisent précisément la projection de la puissance américaine à l’étranger, mais, pour cette raison, ces deux termes en obscurcissent les conséquences domestiques.
Les philosophies de la volonté, parties d’Héraclite (mais avec 
I have been reflecting of late on the concept of truth, both as a philosophical concept and as a value. Growing up, I always took the notion of truth completely for granted. “Tell the truth,” I was taught from an early age. “Don’t lie – not to your parents, your elders, and above all not to God.” Truth and falsehood was a primary duality, like light and darkness, good and evil.
Günther, in the same book, also notes that honor and honesty may share a common root, if not etymologically, then at least morally, for it is difficult to imagine an honorable man being fundamentally dishonest. The virtue of honesty is a corollary of the value of truth, and the history of Indo-European moral and ethical philosophy demonstrates a tradition of high regard for this virtue.
Qu’entendent les quelques politologues contemporains par « pyropolitique », concept qui vient d’être formé, notamment par le Professeur Michael Marder (cf. infra) ? Pour comprendre le contexte dans lequel ce vocable nouveau a émergé, il convient d’explorer deux domaines particuliers, exploration qui nous permettra de cerner le contenu même de la pyropolitique : le premier de ces domaines est celui de la théologie politique, avec, notamment, les réflexions de Juan Donoso Cortès sur le libéralisme, le socialisme et le catholicisme (posé, dans son œuvre, comme la « Tradition » à l’état pur) ; il faudra aussi, en explorant ce domaine de la théologie politique, relire les textes où Carl Schmitt affirme que tout concept politique moderne recèle en lui-même, quelque part, une racine théologique ; deuxième domaine à explorer dans l’œuvre politologique de Carl Schmitt : le corpus dans lequel le juriste de Plettenberg pose les confrontations du monde contemporain comme un choc permanent entre forces élémentaires brutes, de pré-socratique mémoire, en l’occurrence l’affrontement entre l’élément Terre et l’élément Eau. Toute expression réelle du politique (« das Politische ») étant, dans cette optique, une expression du facteur élémentaire « Terre », le politique en soi ne pouvant avoir qu’un ancrage tellurique, continental. Le véritable homme politique est alors une sorte de géomètre romain, explique Carl Schmitt dans son Glossarium publié après sa mort. Un géomètre qui mesure et organise le territoire qui tombe sous sa juridiction.
Cependant, même si la Terre est aujourd’hui un élément dominé, houspillé, cela ne veut pas dire qu’elle cesse d’exister, de constituer un facteur toujours potentiellement virulent : elle est simplement profondément blessée, elle gémit dans une hibernation forcée. Les forces hydropolitiques cherchent à détruire par tous moyens possibles cette terre qui ne cesse de résister. Pour parvenir à cette fin, l’hydropolitique cherchera à provoquer des explosions sur les lambeaux de continent toujours résistants ou même simplement survivants. L’hydropolitique thalassocratique va alors chercher à mobiliser à son profit l’élément Feu comme allié, un Feu qu’elle ne va pas manier directement mais confier à des forces mercenaires, recrutées secrètement dans des pays ou des zones urbaines en déréliction, disposant d’une jeunesse masculine surabondante et sans emplois utiles. Ces forces mercenaires seront en charge des sales boulots de destruction pure, de destruction de tout se qui ne s’était pas encore laissé submerger. 
Lectures complémentaires (articles du Prof. Michael Marder):![PUCCI_MAIN_IMAGE_04[2].jpg](http://euro-synergies.hautetfort.com/media/01/01/412595558.jpg)
Selon le professeur en sciences politiques Michael Kenny, « les Britanniques ont pris la difficile décision, au moment de la disparition de l’Empire, d’entrer dans l’UE pour continuer de jouer leur rôle au plan international » (18). Il est de fait intéressant de rapprocher l’actuelle séquence historique de la période des empires coloniaux. Il était alors question de « mission civilisatrice » issue de l’humanisme des Lumières ou du positivisme. De projections de populations hors du continent européen, révolutions industrielles et première mondialisation (1880-1914) (19). Aujourd’hui comme hier, les motivations économiques sont parmi d’autres de s’emparer des richesses d’un pays et assurer l’approvisionnement en matières premières, garantir des débouchés à l’industrie nationale en cas de surproduction, forcer l’ouverture et contrôler les routes commerciales. Le contrôle de la traite négrière est devenu celui des flux d’émigration volontaire. « Gigantesque mouvement de migration des cerveaux européens vers l’Amérique qui, dans le sillage de la guerre, changea la face du monde » (20). Fuite des cerveaux et immigration plus ou moins choisie. La conquête d’espaces de peuplement (Etats-Unis, Australie…) par des sociétés encore très agricoles renvoie, pour nos sociétés de services, à l’installation de populations jeunes et fécondes dans des pays riches et vieillissants (21). Apport de carburant humain pour les économies locales, devenues creusets de l’Homme Nouveau. L’immigration est présentée comme une chance car la démographie européenne est en baisse, et bien sûr on ne peut pas obliger les Européens à faire des enfants, nous répète-t-on à l’envie. D’ici à 2050, le secrétaire d’Etat italien Sandro Gozi estime ainsi qu’il pourrait manquer 40 millions de travailleurs dans tout le continent (22)... Notre époque est celle d’un néo-colonialisme universaliste, expurgé de tout discours raciste mais toujours inégalitaire, qui vise, par la pratique du néolibéralisme politique et économique, le dépassement de toutes les civilisations. Les Soviétiques misaient en leur temps sur le communisme pour atteindre le même objectif. Quand le colonisateur universaliste est lui-même colonisé, il prête moins le flanc à la critique morale et politique (23). Agent à part entière ou supplétif d’un impérialisme par nature intégrateur et expansionniste, misant plus sur la communication que sur les armes. C’est l’épuisement de son récit qui mena l’Union Soviétique à sa perte, la fin de la guerre froide menaçant elle-même de déstabiliser le vainqueur (24).
Nietzsche also espouses this sentiment in The Birth of Tragedy where he describes culture as the “most basic foundation of the life of a people”.6 The modern nation however has become increasingly complex and the more it grows, the weaker the ties to the people and the concept of Being in the nation becomes. Familiarity is essential in creating communal bonds, but the very size of the nation renders this difficult, and micro-communities are therefore formed which ultimately serve to de-stabilize the larger power structure of the government. This is not only bad for the nation, but also for those who govern the nation, because it creates a distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them’, and this perceived disparity dissolves the foundation of collective identity within the nation. As such, the elected representatives of modern democracies immediately find themselves juxtaposed with a large group of disgruntled citizens who have no true loyalty to the nation, and are instead controlled by purely by legislative force alone. In the worst case scenario, this leads to both ressentiment and revolution.
In regards to music and its effect on politics and culture, another figure connected to Nietzsche who cannot be ignored is the ever-present specter of Richard Wagner. Ultimately the friendship of the two was not based purely on passion for music, but also the use of mythology, something with Richard Wagner indisputably drew upon in his operas. Wagner wrote in Deutsche Kunst and Deutsche Politik on the social and political meaning of such aesthetic theories: “Modern life, Wagner wrote, [shall be] reorganized by the rebirth of art, and especially by a new theater whose life-giving function shall be equal to that of ancient Greek drama”.17 Although Nietzsche would eventually separate himself from Wagner due to the musician’s anti-Semitism, Nietzsche also explored the uses of myth during his period of friendship with Wagner. “The legend of Prometheus”, Nietzsche writes,
This is Nietzshe’s Geisterkrieg – a war of ideas that is to fought at the academic and intellectual level to control the flow of ideas, culture, and the politics that emerge from it. This is similar to the modern idea of “metapolitics”. The Geisterkrieg however, “cuts right through the absurd arbitrariness that are peoples, class, race, profession, education, culture,” a war instead “between ascending and declining, between will-to-live and the desire for revenge on life”.29 In the context of the Geisterkrieg and Grosse Politik, the artists and the philosophers become the creators of all future governments and orders – for as Nietzsche tells us, “The artist and philosopher […] strike only a few and should strike all”.30 This means that they have not yet realized their ability to create cultural changes. Only the artists and philosophers are capable of launching Nietzsche’s Geisterkrieg, the war of ideas. However, due to the current dominance of capitalism and production based society over democracy (across both the Left and Right) the influence of artists and philosophers are severely impaired. And because of this, their rule continues unchallenged because Nietzsche’s Geisterkrieg, if successful, would end all petty nationalism and party specific squabbles. Partisan based politics would no longer exist, replaced instead by leaders who embody thymos the most as is stated here,
The subject of Nicolás Gómez Dávila’s Text Implicite is democracy. According to the Author, democracy is a new religion; more precisely, an anthropotheistic religion in which Man is presented as God. The Catholic Thinker therefore concludes that the ultimate consequence can only be to treat democracy as if it were a form of Satanism.
According to Nicolás Gómez Dávila, the sovereign Will reigns in liberal and individualistic democracies, while the authentic Will reigns in collective and despotic democracies. In his characterisation of the democratic religion, the Author of the Scholia holds that “the transformation of a liberal and individualistic democracy, into a collective and despotic democracy, does not molest the democratic intention, nor does it depart from its promised objectives.”23 This is because the law of the democratic Will has the mandate to coerce the obedience of the individual Will, due to the fact that the individual Will “sins against its [i.e. the democratic Will’s] own being.”24 Summarising thus far, the Bogotán writes that “continued faith in the democratic ideal interferes with the immediate objectives of the authoritarian democrat, who enslaves in the name of freedom and awaits the coming of a god from without the depraved masses.”25 Thus in the context of Man’s supposed omnipotence, Gómez recalls democracy’s resulting abuse of technology and the “inexorable industrial exploitation of the planet.”26
The geneology of Gnosticism is not foreign to Gómez: “the birth of gnosis can evidently be traced to the pre-Christian era, yet its poison has evolved in the shadow of Christianity.”46 Thus the Bogotán ceases to associate Platonism – to which he is endeared – with Gnosticism and directs his suspicions towards Stoicism47 – which he despises: “The Greek roots of Gnosticism spätantike are not found in Platonic dualism but in Stoic monism.”48
In the second century A.D., Gnosticism was customarily concerned with the Fall of the divine entity; Manicheanism, associated with the gnostic dualist religious currents begotten by Mani in the third century A.D., concerned itself with the duality of and struggle between Good and Evil. After contact with Christianity, Gnosticism assumed the religious elements of Judaism and Christianity, e.g. revelation per se, and in particular the revelation of Christ and the revelation contained in the Scriptures. In the womb of Christianity, Gnosticism stimulates numerous heresies (e.g. Valentinius of Phrebonis and his disciples). Manichaeism is presented as a continuation of Gnosticism, and the inheritors of both currents are the Pualines, Bogomils and Cathars. Gómez does not fully agree with this classification and seems to contradict it, as he earlier writes in Textos I:
Another famous Gnostic is Valentine, who studied Platonism and the secret wisdom of Egypt in Alexandria, and who attended Isidore’s lectures. He established two schools: the Eastern (Alexandria) and the Italian (Rome). The Eastern School interprets the Book of Genesis and the Evangelia, and develops the theory of the Eons which emanate in primordial pairs (Jesus is here one of the greatest Eons). There is a fundamental difference between the ‘good god’ (the Most High primordial Absolute71) and the Demiurge of the world. Equally, Man is represented dualistically. Within him co-exist two elements: the first, originating from the Evil Demiurge and his Angels (impulses are the bad spirits); the second originate from the ‘good god’. Redemption is necessary. It is made possible through the revelation of Jesus Christ. The Eastern School speaks of three types of Man:
À partir du moment où il nous fallut engendrer un monde pour l'homme « libéré » de ses attaches et de ses appartenances, il fallut bien dans le même temps engendrer cet homme lui-même. Si l'homme n'est plus cette créature qui se doit de rendre grâce à son Créateur, en poursuivant sans fin sa quête de vérité, alors il tend à devenir le créateur lui-même, celui d'un monde fait à son image, ou du moins à celle qu'il imagine être la sienne. 
Comme nous l'avons dit plus haut, la quête d'autonomie est une dialectique : nos communautés sont les soutiens nécessaires, les sources de nos espérances, les causes immobiles de nos engagements, tandis que ces derniers représentent des sauts dans l'inconnu qui sont autant d'espoirs vers une élévation de nos âmes. La liberté, lorsqu'elle n'est pas dévoyée, s'alimente de ce besoin irrésistible de dépasser les immobilismes inhérents à ce qui existe depuis fort longtemps, à ce que les hommes ont fondée depuis les temps immémoriaux. Mais elle ne peut le faire qu'en sachant très bien qu'il lui faut pourtant s'y appuyer, s'y inspirer afin de, non pas engendrer le même, mais quelque chose de toujours supérieur, quand bien même cela ne serait que faux-pas. 
La subsidiarité, en ce qu'elle définit le rôle « secondaire » de l'autorité tout en, paradoxalement, lui assurant son statut primordial, peut ainsi participer dans une Europe à reconstruire à un véritable renouveau spirituel qui ne saurait se confondre avec les malheureuses tentatives menées dans un monde postmoderne en proie aux délires spiritualistes de substitution. La quête de vérité est un acte qui libère et élève si elle s'accomplit dans le respect de l'ordre et de la réalité du monde humain au sein et en appuie duquel l'on cherche à être soi-même parmi les autres. Subsidiarité et spiritualité sont donc les aspects par lesquels peut s'affirmer la puissance d'un peuple au travers de ceux qui le composent, et de tout un continent, le nôtre eu égard à ses valeurs ancestrales.
o enfin dans la troisième partie, 
What do political scientists mean when they talk about “pyropolitics”? There are two sources to explore in order to understand what they mean; first, you’ll have the whole realm of political theology to investigate, including Donoso Cortés’ thoughts about liberalism, socialism and Catholicism (this last being perceived as Tradition as such) and of course you’ll have to study thoroughly the core idea of Carl Schmitt, having proved that all political ideas have a theological background; second, you’ll have to take into consideration Schmitt’s perception of world politics as a clash between raw elements such as Earth and Water. Real politics, called in his genuine German as “das Politische,” is necessarily Earth-bound, continental and the truly efficient political man is a kind of Roman geometer who organizes the territory coming under his jurisdiction, by simply measuring it.
ISIS’ pyropolitics has as a collateral effect to ridicule the “light-without-warmth” Enlightenment ideologies of the Eurocratic elites. Light alone blinds and doesn’t produce genuine solutions for new problems that were induced by the disguised foe’s hydro- and pyropolitics. A blinding political ideology determined by light alone — that is also bereft of any “warmth-giving” feelings of security — is obviously bound to fail. European states become gradually failed states because they keep to “light-only-ideologies,” being only weakly challenged by so-called “warmth-demanding” populist movements. Europe is now undergoing a double aggression under two threats: the one of “light-without-warmth” ideological systems – leading to what Ernst Jünger defined as “post-history” — and the one of imported pyropolitics from the Muslim world formerly set ablaze by several factors, among which the total destruction of Saddam’s Iraq is the most important. ISIS’s pyropolitics aims at setting ablaze the Western European countries held erroneously responsible for the complete collapse of Near- and Middle Eastern countries. ISIS’ pyropolitics is nevertheless a quite complex problem: the religious element in it rebels savagely against the “light-only” all determining Western and global dominant ideology and promotes a pyropolitical “warmth-based” alternative exactly like a European counterpart of it would also aim at replacing the old-fashioned and bleak “light-only” ideological nuisances by more open-hearted and warmer political systems. The neoliberal avatar of the “light-only” ideology should therefore be replaced by a “warmth-giving” solidarism, i.e., a socialism that should have lost all the “coldness” that was attributed to Soviet or French communism by Kostas Papaioannou, a voice of Communist internal criticism in the ’60s and ’70s in France.
JB: Yes, I think that’s a good way in. Spengler is a cosmologist of history. He’s a botanist of history, in a way. He sees human cultures and their attendant civilizations very much like geological strata or the morphology of plant life in that they have a natural cycle, even a diurnal, seasonal one. They have a brief flowering and they have a spring, they have a summer, they have an autumnal phase, and then they have a winter of the soul, and then they die. They literally atrophy and die. His belief in the death of great cultures, that cultures could be seen to come to an end, or they can lie silent for enormously long periods prior to some renaissance or kickstart, is deeply troubling to the modern mind which is addicted to the idea of progress and progressivism whatever its standpoint.
RS: Before we talk a little bit more about Germany in his time, actually, I think it would be good to lay out some of the basic terms of Spengler’s history. He talked about a series of great or high cultures and these included the Magian culture, which I guess is the Semitic culture, and the Apollonian of Classical culture, and then Western-American culture, which he described as quintessentially Faustian in nature.
RS: So, Jonathan, what kind of ideas did Spengler have for the future and did he see the rise of a new civilization?
Exactement. Je vois dans le populisme, du moins dans celui qui est exprimé par le peuple, une réaction face à sa propre décomposition sociale. Nous courons aujourd’hui vers l’abîme et le peuple, en bon animal politique, rue dans les brancards. C’est cet instinct de conservation désespéré que l’on nomme “populisme”. Ce qu’il faut bien comprendre, c’est qu’un peuple n’est pas uniquement un être politique ou un être social, c’est aussi une relation vivante entre les individus qui le composent. C’est une sociabilité qui naît de la similitude. Cette importance de la similitude comme condition de la sociabilité est aujourd’hui l’objet d’un refoulement collectif. On ne cherche plus à être semblable et à imiter, on veut être différent et inimitable.
Comme j’ai récemment contribué à un livre intitulé « Comprendre le conservatisme », je me suis intéressé à d’autres contributions que la mienne. C’est ainsi que j’ai été amené à me plonger dans un livre de Roger Scruton, Fools, Frauds and Firebrands. Ouvrage formidable qui retrace les délires des intellectuels proches de mai 68. Formidable parce qu’il m’a fait mesurer dans quel asile d’aliénés j’ai été plongé durant mes études à l’université de Genève, période où, précisément, on parlait de Foucault, Deleuze, Derrida, et autres membres de cette tribu montée sur un bateau qui n’était même pas ivre, sa coque raclant laborieusement des restes de marxisme et de freudisme. Je vois encore un « camarade » m’expliquant, les yeux brillants, à quelles hauteurs sublimes il avait accédé grâce à un livre de Louis Althusser, Lire le capital (de Marx). Fasciné je m’étais promis d’accéder aussi à ces hauteurs mais n’y parvins jamais. Ou plutôt, comme Zarathoustra redescendant de la montagne où il avait cru pouvoir contempler Dieu, je découvris qu’il n’y avait rien derrière le discours cryptique, amphibologique, dément, d’Althusser qui devait d’ailleurs étrangler sa femme en 1980.
Le prophète ou, pour mieux dire, le faux prophète, fait miroiter la perspective de rejoindre une grande totalité sans avoir à passer par la mort. On peut dire que la modernité a été fascinée par cette perspective. Comment ne pas être emporté par la nostalgie de devenir phénix ?
Robert Redeker : Pourquoi ces livres ? D’abord, il y a l’urgence d’établir le droit d’inventaire philosophique de la période historique que nous venons de vivre depuis le XVIIIe siècle et qui paraît se clore – c’est la période que l’on appelle “la Modernité”, qui a été marquée par une religion inédite, celle du progrès. Ce livre pourrait se découper ainsi : le progrès, sa naissance, sa vie, son déclin, sa mort. Il s’agit du progrès entendu comme idéologie, c’est-à-dire comme grille métaphysique de lecture du monde, et comme valeur identifiée au Bien. Ensuite, j’ai voulu continuer à penser les mutations de l’homme et du monde dans une lignée que je trace depuis mes premiers livres (Le déshumain ; Nouvelles Figures de l’Homme ; L’emprise sportive) et d’autres plus récents (Egobody). Enfin, le monde en charpie dans lequel nous vivons, et la “
La majuscule au “P” de “Progrès” dit tout. Le Progrès ainsi saisi a le statut d’une entité métaphysique planant sur l’histoire et dirigeant sa marche. Il prend la place de Dieu comme directeur de l’histoire – un Dieu dépersonnalisé, désindividualisé, n’existant pas, réduit à un concept exsangue. Cette conception du progrès fut beaucoup plus qu’une idée philosophique (celle de Kant, Condorcet, Hegel, Comte, Marx), ce fut une opinion populaire, répandue dans les masses, en ce sens-là elle fit l’objet d’une croyance collective. Elle fut distribuée comme l’hostie des curés par des milliers de hussards noirs de la République tout au long de la IIIe République. On – surtout à gauche – croyait au progrès comme on avait cru en Dieu. Tous – Kant aussi bien que, quoique confusément, les masses – attribuaient une valeur métaphysique aux évolutions de la technique, de l’industrie, du droit, de la politique. Ma critique n’est pas celle du progrès des connaissances, de l’évolution des techniques et des améliorations de l’existence humaine, ce qui serait aussi absurde que grotesque, mais du sens abusivement conféré à ces évolutions, de leur transformation en fétiche et idole. Je ne développe pas une technophobie encore moins un irrationalisme. On peut plutôt comprendre ma démarche comme une critique de l’idolâtrie.
Cette croyance au progrès nous a rendu criminels et aveugles, criminels par aveuglement (le progrès est alors l’opium et l’ivresse de l’histoire) et dévastateurs pour la nature. Par sa faute nous avons confondu le ménagement du monde – le monde que l’on tient comme on fait le ménage, avec amour et précaution, “ménager” – et l’exploitation du monde, sa dévastation. Les utopies politiques ont conduit au crime, le capitalisme à la dévastation. Or, le capitalisme n’a pas besoin de la croyance métaphysique dans le progrès pour aller de l’avant. Il se peut se contenter d’ériger l’innovation, le mouvement, “le bougisme”, comme dit 
Comme programme, le transhumanisme est une utopie post-progressiste qui ne conserve de ce progressisme que le fétichisme de la science et de la technique. La dimension morale, historique et métaphysique du progressisme est jetée par-dessus bord. De fait, le transhumanisme est un scientisme et un technicisme de la plus consternante naïveté. Il n’est que l’un des produits de la décomposition du cadavre du progrès, une sorte de jus de cadavre du progrès. Mais il est aussi une réalité sociale sous la forme d’un fantasme qui hante la médecine, le show-business, le sport. Peu à peu l’homme “naturel” est remplacé par un homme d’un type nouveau, indéfiniment réparable, dont les organes sont des pièces détachées remplaçables, dont le corps est entièrement composé de prothèses. Une figure du sport comme Oscar Pistorius peut être prise pour l’emblème de cette transformation anthropologique. Nommons egobody 
À partir de là advient la société acculturée, hédoniste, massifiée, et donc ochlocratique ; l’homo festivus succède à l’homo sapiens sapiens. Le démos n’existe plus pour la simple et bonne raison que le peuple ne se reconnaît plus après la longue et savante aliénation de lui-même. Il doit faire corps avec les pulsions qu’on lui inculque, corps avec l’Entreprise qui ne voit en lui qu’un consommable comme n’importe quel autre dont elle nécessite les services à un instant T ; bref, il doit s’oublier dans les grands ensembles qu’on lui impose aussi bien comme cadre de vie maximaliste qu’intimiste. Quand le retour des lubies liées à la Patrie ou à la Culture resurgissent inopinément par la force majeure, elles sont immédiatement avilies ; on leur fait dire leur exact contraire, on fait passer le festivisme pour une résistance culturelle contre la barbarie avec tout l’art de nous faire prendre des vessies pour des lanternes en comptant sur le concours bienveillant de la manufacture du consentement, parce que justement « les flatteurs sont à l’honneur », toujours plus agréables aux oreilles des foules que ces donneurs de leçons ataviques venant d’un autre temps. La docilité de l’homme moderne face aux décrets des démagogues est précisément l’un des points centraux de l’ochlocratie. Sénèque disait de la vie heureuse ne peut se traduire par un quelconque vote majoritaire, tout simplement parce qu’« il n’en va pas si bien avec les affaires humaines que ce qui est le meilleur plaise au plus grand nombre : une preuve du pire, c’est la foule ». La société de consommation en est l’application moderne parfaite, puisqu’elle ne tolère ni vie privée, ni intimité, ni pensée personnelle. Elle se donne dans le voyeurisme le plus grossier, mais aussi le plus violent, puisque ceux qui refusent de s’y soumettre sont aussitôt suspicieux aux yeux de la fatuité des masses. Le corps en est objectivisé, puisque devenu objet de consommation et de jouissance immédiate, dont les innombrables concours de beauté procèdent sans la moindre honte. Celui qui, par malheur, prend le temps de la contemplation et de l’épanouissement intellectuel et spirituel est aussitôt jugé « bizarre », déprécié, comme un fort au pays des faibles. Il s’attire le ressentiment de tous, parce qu’il leur rappelle leur propre médiocrité.
