Emil Cioran: Un siècle d'écrivains

Emil Cioran

Documentaire "Un siècle d'écrivains"

Les Balkans menacés aussi par le GREXIT

Les Balkans menacés aussi par le GREXIT

Michel Lhomme
Ex: http://metamag.fr

Tournons un court instant le projecteur vers les Balkans et regardons ce qu'on y craint aujourd'hui plus que tout.

En effet, tout l'été, plusieurs pays des Balkans, ceux qui ont de forts liens financiers et commerciaux avec la Grèce sont en état d'alerte devant une contagion possible de la crise grecque, la sortie toujours possible d'Athènes de l'euro zone, sur leurs territoires. En mai dernier, la banque américaine Morgan Stanley avait ainsi anticipé de possibles problèmes de paiement pour la Bulgarie, la Roumanie et la Serbie du fait que de nombreuses banques grecques possèdent une participation en actions importante dans ces trois pays. Les banques centrales de Bulgarie et de Roumanie ont officiellement écarté depuis avoir un quelconque problème sur leurs avoirs, insistant même pour souligner que dans tous les cas, il s'agissait ou s'agira de banques nationales à participation grecque et non de banques purement grecques. Pourtant, 25 % du système financier bulgare est, par exemple, aux mains de quatre banques grecques : Alpha Bank, UBB, Pireaus Bank et Postbank et ces quatre banques grecques sont présentes dans tous les Balkans.  La crise bancaire internationale qui se dessine n'annonce donc rien de bon pour la région. Certains experts craignent que la panique n'ait des effets largement négatifs dans tous les Balkans, l'une des régions toujours les plus fragiles de l'Europe. Les relations économiques entre la Bulgarie et la Grèce sont étroites et ce, pas seulement dans le secteur financier mais aussi en ce qui concerne les infrastructures, l'industrie et le commerce bilatéral. 7 % des exportations bulgares vont vers la Grèce. Le Grexit affectera aussi forcément la Bulgarie à travers les 300 000 Bulgares qui travaillent en Grèce et qui comme tout immigré, enverront moins d'argent au pays ou alors des fonds totalement dévalués en drachmes.

Par rapport à la Grèce, la Roumanie n'est guère mieux lotie. 

Moins exposée que la Bulgarie, les autorités roumaines craignent aussi les effets collatéraux de la crise grecque comme une dévaluation de leur monnaie, le leu. Dans tous les cas, la Banque nationale roumaine avoue redouter, à court terme, de sérieuses difficultés monétaires et budgétaires. De plus, à Bucarest, la sortie de la Grèce de l'euro aura nécessairement un effet négatif sur l'entrée de la Roumanie dans l'euro zone. La Roumanie qui a reporté plusieurs fois cette entrée dans la monnaie unique européenne, la souhaite pourtant pour 2019 ou 2020.

Situation Serbe 

La Banque Centrale a assuré que l'exercice dans le pays des quatre banques grecques citées plus haut n'est pas en danger ni menacée. Entre 2005 et 2011, la Grèce fut d'ailleurs le troisième investisseur en Serbie avec un total de 1 300 millions d'euros qui généra 25 000 emplois. Mais depuis 2011, l'investissement grec s'est bien évidemment tari en raison de la faillite de l'Etat hellénique même si l'échange commercial entre les deux pays demeure toujours élevé avec le chiffre en 2014 de 427,12 millions d'euros.

La Hongrie mobilise son armée

La Hongrie a déjà entamé la construction d'une barrière, d'un mur le long de ses 175 km de frontière avec la Serbie afin de contenir l'afflux de migrants, principalement des réfugiés originaires de Syrie, qui tentent de rejoindre l'espace Schengen . Hier, la Bulgarie annonçait l'envoi de blindés et de militaires le long de sa frontière avec la Macédoine. L'Autriche s'est aussi résolu à mobiliser des militaires afin de soutenir l'action de l'État autrichien dans les camps de réfugiés et les centres d'accueil. 

Lundi, près de 2.000 migrants sont entrés dans l'Union européenne par la frontière serbo-hongroise. Un record pour une seule journée mais l'Europe est prospère et en paix, nous avait-on promis. Vous en souvenez-vous ?

The Italian reception of Cioran

Interview with Renzo Rubinelli: the Italian reception of Cioran

por Rodrigo Menezes

Ex: https://emcioranbr.wordpress.com

My aim is to carry out an exegesis of Cioran’s thought so as to evince how the issue of time is the basis of all his meditations.  To Cioran, time is destiny. The curse of existence is that of being “incarcerated” in the linearity of time, which stems from a paradisiacal, pre-temporal past, toward a destiny of death and decay. It is a tragic worldview of Greek origin embedded  in a Judeo-Christian conception of time, though deprived of éscathon. But can we be sure that Cioran dismisses each and every form of salvation?

Renzo Rubinelli

In this interview, Italian philosopher Renzo Rubinelli shares with us some of his intuitions on the works and life of Emil Cioran. Profound connaisseur of Cioran’s thought (to which he dedicated his bachelor’s degree in Philosophy), having moreover met the Romanian-French author in person, Rubinelli talks about fundamental themes such as Cioran’s view of Time as Destiny, his philosophical passions and obsessions, besides his own wanderings and encounters with that who would be defined, by Time magazine, as the “king of pessimists”.

Renzo Rubinelli was born in Verona and graduated from the Ca’ Foscari University in Venice, in 1988, with a degree in Philosophy.  His undergraduate thesis, Tempo e destino nel pensiero di E. M. Cioran (“Time and destiny in E. M. Cioran’s thought”) was directed by Italian philosopher Emanuele Severino and was published by Italian publishing house Aracne, in 2014. Rubinelli has contributed to Nuova Italia Editrice, participated in several conferences on Cioran and published countless articles in academic and nonacademic reviews such as Il Sole 24 Ore, L’Arena di Verona, Il Giornale di Vicenza, Bresciaoggi, Il Gazzettino, Verona Fedele and the Romanian philosophical review Alkemie. Rubinelli also works as a manager for Retail e Profumeria and runs the Azienda agricola Rubinelli Vajol, specialized in the production of Amarone (a typical dry wine from the region of Valpolicella). He lives in Valpolicella, near Verona.

EMCioranBR: Mr. Rubinelli, first and foremost I would like to thank you for granting us this interview. It is a privilege for us to read about your rapports with Cioran – his thought and works, the man himself… Our first question: how did you discover Cioran?

R.R.: First of all, I would like to thank you for this interview, Rodrigo. We have not personally met, but I must say I appreciate the effort you make out of pure passion, in favor of the promotion of Cioran’s thought in Brazil and worldwide. It is not a big deal, but since you ask I feel pressed to exhume some old memories. The first time I laid my eyes on a book by Cioran, thus getting to know of his existence, was at university, in San Sebastiano, Venice, in the great hall of the Institute of Philosophical Studies. It was 1986, I believe. A researcher, whose name was Moro, as far as I can remember, was coming down the stairs (he was giving a course on McLuhan), and he held a copy of Il demiurgo cattivo (The new gods, as translated by Richard Howard), which had recently been published by Adelphi. The title did not not actually appeal to me, and I must say that I found it strange for a McLuhan specialist to be interested in a book with such an old-fashioned title. Months later I asked Professor Severino about the possibility of undertaking, under his direction, a thesis about the subject of Destiny. He promptly accepted it and provided me with a list of authors: Rensi, Untersteiner, Spengler, Nietzsche. Then I came to read in a magazine an article on Squartamento (Drawn and quartered) written by Severino himself, and which contained the following quote from Mahabharata: “The knot of destiny cannot be untied. Nothing in this world is the result of our own acts”, claimed Cioran. “Here is my author”, I thought to myself. I thus suggested to dedicate my research to Cioran and the subject of Destiny, which Severino enthusiastically approved of. Thus began a journey of study and of life, which ended up leading me to meet the author himself, his Parisian and Romanian family, his homeland.

EMCioranBR: Could you tell us a little about the Italian reception of Cioran’s works? It is known that Cioran has many well-known readers in Italy, where his books are published, as you have mentioned, by Roberto Calasso’s Adelphi. Franco Volpi, for instance, was one of his readers. There is a comment in his book Il nichilismo (“Nihilism”) in which Volpi regards Cioran as the representative of a “gnostic fashion of nihilism”. Can it be said that there has been established in Italy a tradition of Cioran studies – even though a recent one, since we are dealing with a rather up-to-date author? Who are the main Italian commentators of Cioran? What are the main works dedicated to his life and works ?

R.R.: Cioran’s first book to be published in Italy was Squartamento (Drawn and quartered) launched by Adelphi in 1981, even though some other titles had already been published in the previous decade by right-wing publishing houses, even if they had not had much repercussion. It was precisely thanks to Adelphi, and to Ceronetti’s wonderful introduction, that the name of Cioran became well-known to the Italian readers. Roberto Calasso is a great cultural player, but he is a rather arrogant person and, I must say, ungallant as well. My encounters with Cioran and Severino, two giants of thought, allowed me to understand how the true greatness is always accompanied by genuine humbleness a gentleness. Virtues which Calasso, in my opinion, lacks – and I say so based on the personal experience I have had with him in more than one occasion. Unfortunately, Volpi left us too early due to a banal accident while riding his bicycle on the Venetian hills (northeast of Italy), not far away from where I live. His intelligence illuminated us for a long a time. In 2002, he wrote a piece on Friedgard Thoma‘s book, Per nulla al mondo, releasing himself once and for all from the choir of censors, who had soon made their apparition. I enjoy recalling this marvellous passage: “Under the influence of passion, Cioran reveals himself. He jeopardizes everything in order to win the game, reveals innermost dimensions of his psyche, surprising features of his character… Attracted by the challenge of the eternal feminine, he allows secret depths of his thought to come to surface: a denuded thought before the feminine look which penetrates him…”
“Gnostic nihilism” is without a doubt an appropriate definition for Cioran. But what is “nihilism”, after all? The term suits Cioran first and foremost from a theoretical standpoint, as I shall explain later on. The emphasis should lie on the adjective “gnostic” more than anything else. The gnostic idea of Caduta nel tempo (The fall into time) feeds all of Cioran’s works from beginning to end, without exception.
There are in Italy many brave young minds who dedicate themselves to Cioran’s thought: Rotiroti, Carloni, Pozzi, Bulboaca, Vanini, Di Gennaro, Cicortas, Scapolo, Chelariu. Their works are all extremely valuable, but if you want to know my preferences, I would mention the works of Carloni, Rotiroti and Bulboaca.

EMCioranBR: You are the author of a book about Cioran: Tempo e destino nel pensiero di E. M. Cioran (Aracne Editrice, 2004). According to Mihaela-Genţiana Stănişor, it moves between Emanuele Severino’s eternity and Cioran’s nihilism. It holds a beautiful title which, by the way, seems to synthesize the essence of Cioran’s thought, besides echoing the title to one of Cioran’s own books, the collection of essays of his youth period published as Solitude et destin. What does existence mean to Cioran? What is Man according to him, and Man’s rapport with time? Would you say his is a tragic thought or rather a metaphysical nihilism?

R.R.: My book undertakes a theoretical exegesis of Cioran’s thought so as to evince how the problem of Time is the basis for all his meditation. The connective “and” of the title becomes the supporting verb for the thesis I intend to sustain: Time is Destiny. The curse of existence is that of being “incarcerated” in the linearity of time, which stems from a paradisiacal, pre-temporal past, toward a destiny of death and decay. It is, to sum up, a tragic worldview of Greek origin embedded in a Judeo-Christian conception, though deprived of all éscathon. But can we be sure that Cioran dismisses each and every form of salvation? There are two polarities which communicate in my book: Severino’s absolute eternity and Cioran’s explicit nihilism. From Severino’s point of view, one might as well define Cioran’s thought as the becoming aware of nihilism inherent to the Western conception of Time. And in Cioran’s mystical temptation, on the other hand, one may find a sentimental perception of Being which seems to point to the need, the urge, the hope, so to speak, for an overcoming of Western hermeneutics of Becoming and for an ulterior word that is not Negation. The book starts with an account of my three encounters with Aurel, Cioran’s brother, in the years of 1987, 1991 and 1995, and of my two encounters with Emil, in 1988 and 1989. The book also includes all the letters which Cioran wrote to me, plus countless photographs. After the first part, there comes a bio-bibliographical inquiry on his Romanian years, a pioneer work of exhumation at a time when there were no reliable sources on the matter.

EMCioranBR: Cioran made friends with people from different nationalities. Could it be said that he was no less fascinated with Italy than he was with Spain? Leopardi, for example, is one of the poets he cherished most. What are your views on the elective affinities between Cioran and Italy?

R.R.: I would not go as far as to say that Cioran’s fascination with Italy equaled that which he held with Spain. Cioran loved Spain in a visceral way, while Italy did not interest him so much. Except for Leopardi, obviously, of whom he had framed and hung, on a wall in his apartment, the manuscript of the poem “L’infinito”. And he loved Venice as well…

EMCioranBr: You have personally met Cioran. Could you share your impressions on him? There seems to exist a certain myth Cioran: the depressive man, the suicidal, the enraged misanthropist, the solitary madman and God only knows what else… What was your impression of the actual man of flesh and blood? What could you say about the relation between the author and his works?

R.R.: I have always refuted the common-places, the clichés ascribed to the character of Cioran. None of that is true: misanthropist, madman, depressive, suicidal, furious, funambulist– all of which are intolerable words, tipically empty labels of badly written newspapers, which have been employed to the present day to describe Cioran. Reading his books, I have had the unmistakable feeling of an authentic gentleman, a man like you and me, who happened to have an exceptional gift, that is to say, the extraordinary ability to drive toward the Essential with a crystal-clear style. Thus, I wanted to meet him in person, with the feeling that he would be available and willing to receive me. And thus it happened. He was quite an easy-going man, comitted, someone who partook in other people’s miseries, great or small.
It all started in the summer of ’87. I wanted to visit the countries in Eastern Europe, those which were indeed oltrecortina. Almost no one would dare to go there. Before setting off to Romania I talked to Professor [Mario Andrea] Rigoni, Cioran’s translator and friend, asking him to tell Cioran about my travel plans and to ask whether he had any wishes concerning his family in Romania. I promptly received my mission assignment from Paris: to send his brother two kilos of coffee. Well, I spent three memorable days with Aurel, who introduced me to all the sights of their childhood and shared so many things with me. I also got to meet Constantin Noica, who even wrote me his own suggestions regarding my thesis on Cioran (one can find the two manuscript pages in my book). Then, months later, I showed Cioran the photographs of all those places from his childhood, and we looked at them together in his mansard on Rue de l’Odéon. Simone Boué and Friedgard Thoma were also there. Cioran’s reactions before the images were explosive: he became euphoric, thrilled as a child, even ecstatic, I must say. That was a delightful afternoon. But he seemed different in the next meeting. It was summer, Simone was in Dieppe and Cioran was in Paris all by himself. I wanted to introduce them to a friend of mine who had recently sustained a thesis on his thought, it was a historical-political approach: I meccanismi dell’utopia in E. M. Cioran (“The mechanisms of utopia in E. M. Cioran”). Evidently, he became interested, otherwise he would not have invited my friend. Cioran even wrote him a beautiful letter, which proved that he was indeed interested. He then received us and served us some delicious sandwiches which he had provided especially for us. He seemed more fatigued and aged than in the previous encounter. The heat of July and the absence of his companion made the atmosphere less lively than in the first time. This time the conversation was held in German and my girlfriend would translate everything.

EMCioranBR: In Brazil, Cioran is not studied at universities so much. The Philosophy departments seem rather aloof when it comes to the inclusion of his thought as an object of study, probably due to the non-traditional, hybrid, marginal character of his works (halfway between philosophical and literary discourses). As if his works held no philosophical relevance, no value at all in terms of philosophical reflection. Would you say the same goes in Italy?

R.R.: “Cioran is a philosopher who refutes philosophy”, that’s what I affirm energetically in my book, in harmony with that which Constantin Noica (whom I met in Paltiniş, in 1987) had wrote in a letter to me. Indeed, it is impossible to understand Cioran not having in mind the problem of Time, and that is a philosophical concept par excellence. All these aspects that I only mention here are explained thouroughly in my book.

EMCioranBR: Do you have a favorite book by Cioran, or more than one? Any favorite aphorisms as well, or maybe any that comes to mind?

R. R.: My favorite book is without a doubt the Quaderni 1957-1972 (Notebooks). Secondly, I would say it’s  L’inconveniente di essere nati (The temptation to exist), and, thirdly, La caduta nel tempo (The fall into time). But I also find the others just as beautiful, in such a way that it is impossible to get sick with reading them. My favorite aphorism remains the one with which, it has been 27 years, I finished my thesis, and which is contained in Drawn and quartered. This is the one:

Abruptly, a need to testify to the recognition not only of beings but of objects, to a stone because it is a stone… How alive everything becomes! As if for eternity. Suddenly, nonexistence seems inconceivable. That such impulses appear, can appear, shows that the last word may not reside in Negation.

EMCioranBR: Why read Cioran?

R.R.: Cioran is a school of synthesis, of limpidity, of sobriety, of autheticity, of essentiality. But also to feel the proximity of a friend, of someone like us, sincere and endowed with the great gift of irony. With Cioran one can laugh tastefully, especially while reading his Notebooks.

EMCioranBR: Mr. Rubinelli, I once again thank you for granting us such an enriching interview. I hope and wish that the exchanges between Italy and Brazil may be deeepened in the future. Any closing words?

R.R.: To finish, I would like to quote two aphorisms which are close to one another in Cioran’s Notebooks:

25 [December 1965]. Christmas. Happiness as I conceive it: to stroll in the fields, to do nothing but admire, to consume myself in pure perception.

And a little before:

“To lose oneself in God” – I do not know of any expression more beautiful than that.

“Cioran, la naissance et le Zen”

“Cioran, la naissance et le Zen”

par Massimo Carloni
Ex: https://emcioranbr.wordpress.com

Article paru dans Alkemie Revue semestrielle de littérature et philosophie, numéro 9 / Juin 2012 (thème: L’être)

Abstract: This article suggests approaching the problem of the birth in Cioran. By interpreting the fall from Heaven as the exile, Cioran aims at subtracting the narrative of the Genesis from the moral dialectic innocence/fault towards God, to conjugate it with the profound intuitions on the consciousness of the Zen Buddhism.

L’esprit humain n’est pas la pensée, mais le vide et la paix
qui forment le fond et la source de la pensée.
Houeï-nêng

Être homme signifie précisément être conscient. Être détaché de soi-même, en fuite perpétuelle de ce qu’on est, pour saisir ce qu’on n’est pas.

Bien avant d’être le sujet d’un livre ou d’un article, la naissance a été pour Cioran surtout une obsession, dont il ne s’est jamais libéré. S’acharner contre sa propre venue au monde… Comment une telle folie serait-elle concevable ? Pourquoi donc se vouer à une cause déjà perdue d’avance ? À quoi bon se tourmenter avec l’Insoluble ? En effet, au moment même où nous discutons de la naissance, il est déjà trop tard : « Ne pas naître est sans contredit la meilleure formule qui soit. Elle n’est malheureusement à la portée de personne »[1]. Le forfait, à vrai dire, est désormais accompli, cependant s’arrêter sur cet événement capital n’est pas une occupation oisive, au contraire, car elle pourrait bien se révéler une expérience libératrice.

En glissant sur le problème de la naissance, le Christianisme perdit ab initio l’essentiel de la Genèse transmis par la tradition. Le Bouddhisme, au contraire, en fit l’un des points fondamentaux de sa doctrine. Quant à Cioran, son interprétation magistrale du récit de la Genèse, vise à  le soustraire à la dialectique morale innocence/culpabilité envers Dieu, pour le conjuguer avec les profondes intuitions du bouddhisme Zen.[2]

1. L’exil de la conscience

Au-delà du langage mythique, la chute originaire du Paradis raconte le drame de la conscience, la tentation du savoir qui se révèlera être fatale à l’homme. Effectivement, botaniste exécrable, l’homme opta pour le faux arbre: il préféra l’arbre de la Connaissance à celui de la Vie. On lit alors dans la Bible : « ses yeux se sont ouverts ». Royaume de l’évidence inarticulée, « le Paradis était l’endroit où l’on savait tout mais où l’on n’expliquait rien. L’univers d’avant le péché, d’avant le commentaire… »[3], glose Cioran. L’avènement de la conscience établit donc une fracture, une discontinuité dans l’économie de l’être. L’individu naît donc comme une entité séparée psychiquement de son milieu. Cioran rappelle distinctement l’épisode de son enfance qui marqua en lui le réveil de la conscience, par laquelle il entendit, pour la première fois, le poids d’être au monde.

Tout à coup, je me trouvai seul devant… Je sentis, en cet après-midi de mon enfance, qu’un événement très grave venait de se produire. Ce fut mon premier éveil, le premier indice, le signe avant-coureur de la conscience. Jusqu’alors je n’avais été qu’un être. À partir de ce moment, j’étais plus et moins que cela. Chaque moi commence par une fêlure et une révélation.[4]

En nommant les êtres vivants et les choses, l’homme crée une opposition entre soi et le monde. En vertu d’un savoir purement abstrait et par la médiation logique de l’idée, il s’imagine pouvoir reconstituer l’unité originaire du réel, en gouvernant ainsi le devenir. En vain. Car il ne fera qu’agrandir de plus en plus le gouffre qui le sépare du sein de la Nature. « Au plus intime de lui-même, l’homme aspire à rejoindre la condition qu’il avait avant la conscience. L’histoire n’est que le détour qu’il emprunte pour y parvenir. »[5]

Naturellement intentionnelle, la conscience est toujours conscience-de-quelque-chose. En établissant la distinction originaire entre soi-même et l’autre, la conscience structure l’expérience en un sens dualiste (sujet vs objet), conformément à la logique discursive de l’intellect. De cette façon l’ontologie de la substantia, qui classifie les organismes en vertu de leur différence essentielle, se superpose à l’interdépendance primordiale (relatio) de tous les phénomènes, où ceux-ci sont le produit momentané d’un réseau de conditionnements réciproques entre éléments dépourvus de nature propre. Ce faisant l’homme, ce « transfuge de l’être »[6], accomplit un saut en dehors du flux vital où il était immédiatement plongé, hors de l’inconscience d’un éternel présent qui le tenait à l’abri, sinon de la mort – l’arbre de la Vie lui était quand même interdit – au moins de la mortalité.

Auparavant il mourait sans doute, mais la mort, accomplissement dans l’indistinction primitive, n’avait pas pour lui le sens qu’elle a acquis depuis, ni n’était chargée des attributs de l’irréparable. Dès que, séparé du Créateur et du crée, il devint individu, c’est-à-dire fracture et fissure de l’être, et que, assumant son nom jusqu’à la provocation, il sut qu’il était mortel, son orgueil s’en agrandit, non moins que son désarroi.[7]

Il en découle une fuite en avant désespérée, à corps perdu, vers l’extérieur, vers l’histoire, pour exorciser cette peur de mourir qui fait corps avec son premier instant. La conscience d’être hic et nunc et la conscience de sa propre mortalité se soutiennent réciproquement, ce sont le recto et le verso de de la même médaille. Le cercle vicieux dans lequel l’homme est tombé depuis Adam, est déterminé par la prétention de se sauver consciemment de la catastrophe de la conscience, en se sauvant à la manière de Munchausen, qui tire sur ses propres cheveux. Une telle ambition équivaut à « refaire l’Éden avec les moyens de la chute »[8]. Si « naître c’est s’attacher »[9], intentionnellement ou non, à notre moi et aux choses du monde, pour en sortir il faut parcourir à reculons le chemin, « faire éclater les catégories où l’esprit est confiné »[10], rétablir la condition originaire antérieure à la dichotomie sujet-objet. Autrement dit, il faut renaître sous l’arbre de la Vie.

L’inconscience est le secret, le « principe de vie » de la vie. Elle est l’unique recours contre le moi, contre le mal d’être individualisé, contre l’effet débilitant de l’état de conscience, état si redoutable, si dur à affronter, qu’il devrait être réservé aux athlètes seulement.[11]

2. Le visage originaire avant la naissance

L’état d’inconscience évoqué par Cioran n’a rien à voir avec l’inconscient de la psychanalyse. Pour Cioran il s’agit donc de révéler les convergences surprenantes de cette inconscience avec ce que le bouddhisme Zen, dans ses différents courants, définit parfois comme : Nature-Bouddha, non-esprit (Wu-hsin), non-pensée (Wu-nien), « visage originaire avant la naissance » (pien-lai mien-mu), non-né (fusho).[12] Cioran même décrit la délivrance comme « état de non-pensée »[13] et il envisage d’écrire un essai à propos de cette condition.[14]

Cette concordance n’est pas le fruit du hasard. À partir des années 1960 – comme en témoignent les Cahiers – Cioran montre un intérêt croissant pour l’interprétation pragmatique du bouddhisme élaborée par le Zen. La virulence anti-métaphysique, typique de la tradition chinoise et japonaise, se marie à merveille avec son anti-intellectualisme viscéral.

Conversant avec un chinois de Hong-Kong, Cioran partage avec lui la méfiance vers la philosophie occidentale « qu’il trouve verbeuse, superficielle, extérieure, car dépourvue de réalité, de pratique ».[15] À un moment donné Cioran arrivera à définir Mozart et le Japon comme « les résultats les plus exquis de la Création ».[16] Charmé par la délicatesse nippone, il recopiera une page entière du livre de Gusty Herrigel sur l’Ikebana, ou « l’art d’arranger les fleurs ».[17] Pendant l’hiver 1967, Cioran ressentira une pitié authentique pour les fleurs de son balcon, exposées au froid intense, au point de les emmener avec soin dans sa  mansarde pour les protéger.[18]

Chez Cioran, le refus de la conscience n’est rien d’autre que « la nostalgie de ce temps d’avant le temps »[19] où le bonheur consistait dans un « regard sans réflexion ».[20] Parce qu’elle perturbe la spontanéité du geste, l’activité consciente fausse la vie. Préfigurant un but à atteindre, l’esprit se scinde en spectateur et en acteur, et se place à la fois dans et hors de l’action. Le geste s’accomplit donc dans un état de tension, d’effort conscient, car l’esprit est troublé par les conséquences possibles de son action à venir.

 Toute activité consciente gêne la vie. Spontanéité et lucidité sont incompatibles.
Tout acte essentiellement vital, dès que l’attention s’y applique, s’accomplit avec peine et laisse après soi une sensation d’insatisfaction.
L’esprit joue par rapport aux phénomènes de la vie le rôle d’un trouble-fête.
L’état d’inconscience est l’état naturel de la vie, c’est en lui qu’elle est chez elle, qu’elle prospère et qu’elle connaît le sommeil bienfaisant de la croissance. Dès qu’elle se réveille, dès qu’elle veille surtout, elle devient haletante et oppressée, et commence à s’étioler.[21]

Le Zen, dont l’esprit imprègne tous les arts japonais, reconduit l’homme à la réalité du hic et nunc, à l’« ainsité » (tathata)[22]. Afin de se syntoniser sur la longueur d’onde de la vie, il faut que le geste de l’artiste, comme du samouraï d’ailleurs, soit spontané, sans hésitations ; il faut que le geste surgisse du vide de la pensée, en oubliant aussi la technique apprise. Autrement dit, il faut que l’art soit à tel point intériorisée jusqu’à devenir connaissance du corps, en sorte que celui-ci puisse réagir à la situation de manière autonome et instantanée, en éludant la direction de la conscience. Seulement si la technique (waza), l’énergie vitale (Ki) et l’esprit (shin), sont fusionnés harmonieusement, sans que l’une prévale sur les autres, l’action résulte efficace et opportune. Comme une balle flottant dans une rivière, portée par le courant, l’esprit doit couler sans s’arrêter sur rien[23]. À ce propos D.T. Suzuki soutient que

La vie se dessine de soi sur la toile nommé le temps – et le temps ne se répète jamais, une fois passé il ne revient plus. Il en est de même pour l’acte : une fois accompli, il ne peut plus être défait. La vie est comme la peinture nommée sumi-e, qui est peinte d’un seul jet, sans hésitations, sans intervention de l’intellect, sans corrections. La vie n’est pas comme une peinture à l’huile qu’on peut effacer et retoucher jusqu’à ce que l’artiste en soit satisfait. Dans la peinture sumi-e chaque coup de pinceau qu’on passe une deuxième fois devient une tache, il n’a plus rien de vivant […] Et il en est de même pour la vie. Ce qu’elle est devenue par notre action nous ne pouvons plus le reprendre, ou mieux nous ne pouvons même plus effacer pas ce qui est passé à travers notre conscience simplement. Ainsi le Zen doit être cueilli pendant que la chose arrive, ni avant ni après : dans l’instant.[24]

Avec perspicacité, Cioran établit une corrélation directe entre l’immédiat et le réel, d’un côté, et la souffrance et la conscience de l’autre. Takuan Sōhō lui fait écho, lorsqu’il affirme que « Dans le bouddhisme nous détestons cet arrêt, cet hésitation de l’esprit sur l’une ou l’autre chose, que nous définissons comme étant la souffrance » [25]. L’excès d’auto-conscience fait de l’homme un système hautement instable, sensible aux moindres sollicitations du milieu, aussi bien extérieur qu’intérieur. Cela crée un état d’anxiété, d’oscillation entre contraires, qui retarde l’agir ou le rend gêné et inefficace. L’obsession du contrôle, le besoin spasmodique de sûreté et de certitudes préventives, sont autant de témoignages montrant que l’homme est sorti de la spontanéité de la vie, et qu’il vit dans un état d’agitation fiévreuse, incapable de concilier la réalité du vécu avec l’idée qu’il a élaboré a priori. Entre les espèces vivantes, l’homme est le plus souffrant, car il est parvenu au plus haut degré de conscience de soi.

Il vaut mieux être animal qu’homme, insecte qu’animal, plante qu’insecte, et ainsi de suite. Le salut ? Tout ce qui amoindrit le règne de la conscience et en compromet la suprématie.[26]

Alors, comme peut-on retrouver en soi-même cette « virginité ‘‘métaphysique’’ »[27], qui permet de percevoir les éléments comme si on les voyait pour la première fois, « au lendemain de la Création »[28] et « avant la Connaissance »[29] ? Il faut avant tout discerner la vacuité intrinsèque des choses, des mots qui les désignent et, finalement, de la conscience du moi empirique. Autrement dit, il faut démolir complètement la conception ordinaire de la réalité, en même temps que l’armature logique qui la soutient.

Les maîtres Zen étaient harcelés par leurs élèves, à propos de questions sur l’essence dernière du bouddhisme. Pour arrêter chez les novices le flux de la pensée discursive, les maîtres Zen adoptèrent une série de stratégies, soit verbales soit physiques, telles que : le kōan, le paradoxe, la contradiction, le cri, le coup de bâton, le gifle, l’indication directe… Cette pars destruens du Zen vise à provoquer un choc psychologique, un court-circuit intellectuel, jusqu’à ce que « le langage soit réduit au silence et la pensée n’ait aucune voie à suivre » .[30] Il faut tuer dans l’œuf chaque tentative de fuite de la réalité vers le symbolique. Interroger le maître, c’est encore croire à la connaissance objective, doctrinale, séparée de l’ignorance ; c’est détourner l’attention de soi-même, c’est sacrifier sur l’autel d’un absolu métaphysique l’instant éternel qu’on vit. De ce point de vue, le kōan peut être considéré comme un paradigme de la vie elle-même, dont la complexité ne demande pas une compréhension simplement intellectuelle, mais toujours existentielle, vécue complètement dans l’instant.

Pour éviter tout cela, le Zen invite à expérimenter le Néant, c’est-à-dire le stade où on arrive à reconnaître que « les montagnes ne sont plus des montagnes »[31] (A n’est pas A), où les choses, en perdant leur essence et leurs déterminations, glissent vers le vide. Suzuki à ce propos soutient que « le Zen est une philosophie de négations absolues qui sont en même temps affirmation absolues » .[32] Cioran aussi répondit dans ces termes à une question sur son côté nihiliste

Je suis sûrement un négateur, mais ma négation n’est pas une négation abstraite, donc un exercice ; c’est une négation qui est viscérale, donc affirmation malgré tout, c’est une explosion ; est-ce qu’une gifle est une négation ? Donner une gifle n’est-ce pas… c’est une affirmation, mais ce que je fais ce sont des négations qui sont des gifles, donc ce sont des affirmations.[33]

Ce que les critiques occidentaux interprètent de manière expéditive, chez Cioran, comme étant du nihilisme, du pessimisme, est en réalité une tentative extrême pour emmener le lecteur – et peut-être lui-même – en face de son propre néant, afin que l’esprit, vidé de tout contenu, puisse retourner à la surface des choses, en se réveillant à la perception pure de toute réflexion. « Le véritable bonheur, c’est l’état de conscience sans référence à rien, sans objet, où la conscience jouit de l’immense absence qui la remplit. »[34).

3. La châtaigne et le satori

Que Cioran le sache ou non, quand il soutient que « connaître véritablement, c’est connaître l’essentiel, s’y engager, y pénétrer par le regard et non par l’analyse ni par la parole », il nous fournit une définition du satori, ou connaissance intuitive, non duale, transcendante, qui recueille instantanément la nature de la réalité. Sur ce point, D. T. Suzuki précise :

Le satori peut être défini comme une pénétration intuitive de la nature des choses, par opposition à leur compréhension analytique ou logique. Pratiquement, il comporte le déploiement devant nous d’un nouveau monde, jamais perçu auparavant à cause de la confusion de notre esprit orienté de façon dualiste. On peut dire de plus que, par le satori, tout ce qui nous entoure nous apparaît selon une perspective insoupçonnée.[35]

Regarder sa nature originaire n’est jamais le résultat d’une pratique méditative, et encore moins le contenu d’une connaissance transmissible. Une fois que notre esprit est engorgé de notions conceptuelles, il se trouve bloqué par le Grand Doute ; dès lors, un événement quelconque, même le plus insignifiant, est à même d’éveiller la conscience.

C’est d’ailleurs ce que connut Hsiang-yen (? -898), élève de Kuei-shan. Le maître lui demanda quel était son visage originaire d’avant la naissance, mais Hsiang-yen ne répondit pas. Dans l’espoir de trouver la réponse à son kōan, il compulsa en vain tous ses livres. Alors, dans un accès de colère, il brûla tous les textes, bien qu’il continuât à se tourmenter au sujet de ce problème insoluble. Un jour, pendant qu’il arrachait les mauvaises herbes du terrain, il heurta une pierre laquelle, par ricochet, frappa à son tour une canne de bambou : c’est ainsi que Hsiang-yen obtint son satori.[36] Même Cioran expérimente un état d’âme identique, lorsqu’il écrit :

Comme je me promenais à une heure tardive dans cette allée bordée d’arbres, une châtaigne tomba à mes pieds. Le bruit qu’elle fit en éclatant, l’écho qu’il suscita en moi, et un saisissement hors de proportion avec cet incident infime, me plongèrent dans le miracle, dans l’ébriété du définitif, comme s’il n’y avait plus de questions, rien que des réponses. J’étais ivre de mille évidences inattendues, dont je ne savais que faire…
C’est ainsi que je faillis avoir mon satori. Mais je crus préférable de continuer ma promenade[37].

Au-delà du mot adopté et de l’ironie finale, il n’y a pas de doute que l’expérience rappelle une expression clé de l’esthétique japonaise, ce mono no aware qui désigne un certain « pathos (aware) des choses (mono) », c’est-à-dire le sentiment ressenti par l’observateur face à la beauté éphémère des phénomènes, lorsque il est pénétré par la brève durée d’une telle splendeur, destinée à s’évanouir de même que celui qui la contemple est voué à disparaître.[38] Ce n’est pas par hasard que, entre les sens du mot aware, on peut trouver celui de compassion, dans le sens étymologique de cum-patire, de souffrir ensemble, qui rapproche l’homme du reste de la nature, liés par un même destin fugace. En reprenant dans les Cahiers l’épisode de la châtaigne, Cioran souligne justement cette vérité métaphorique

Tout à l’heure, en faisant ma promenade nocturne, avenue de l’Observatoire, une châtaigne tombe à mes pieds. « Elle a fait son temps, elle a parcouru sa carrière », me suis-je dit. Et c’est vrai : c’est de la même façon qu’un être achève sa destinée. On mûrit, et puis on se détache de l’« arbre » [39]

Il est symptomatique qu’ailleurs, pour désigner ce clair obscur de l’âme, Cioran utilise une expression typique de l’esthétique japonaise, employée lorsqu’on perçoit « le ah ! des choses »[40]. Ce soupir évocateur, en saisissant la nature impermanente de la vie, indique un sentiment inexplicable de plaisir subtil, imprégné d’amertume, devant chaque merveille qu’on sait périssable. Si d’un côté telle disposition dévoile le côté mélancolique de l’existence, d’un autre côté, il en émane un certain charme du monde qui, en dernière analyse, ne mène pas à la résignation, mais confère un sursaut de vitalité à l’âme de l’observateur.[41]

Le spectacle de ces feuilles si empressées à tomber, j’ai beau l’observer depuis tant d’automnes, je n’en éprouve pas moins chaque fois une surprise où «le froid dans le dos » l’emporterait de loin sans l’irruption, au dernier moment, d’une allégresse dont je n’ai pas encore démêlé l’origine.[42]

Ce sentiment, par les traits morbides de la Vergänglichkeit, ou de la caducité universelle, revient dans toute une série d’impressions notées dans les Cahiers. En maintes occasions Cioran montre qu’il a éprouvé l’expérience du vide mental, de dépouillement intérieur, qui aboutit à une perception absolue de la réalité. De même que le peintre zen se fait creux pour accueillir l’événement qu’il va représenter, pour devenir lui même la chose contemplée, de même, Cioran propose de se rendre totalement passif comme un « objet qui regarde »[43] : « l’idée, chère à la peinture chinoise, de peindre une forêt ‘‘telle que la verraient les arbres’’… ».[44] Du reste, c’est seulement ainsi qu’il est possible de « remonter avant le concept, [d’]écrire à même les sens ».[45] Autrement dit, il faut « Écarter la pensée, se borner à la perception. Redécouvrir le regard et les objets, d’avant la Connaissance ».[46] Le 25 décembre 1965, il note :

Le bonheur tel que je l’entends : marcher à la campagne et regarder sans plus, m’épuiser dans la pure perception.[47]

La contemplation permet de retrouver la dimension éternelle du présent, non contaminée par les fantômes du passé et par les anxiétés de l’avenir. Être entièrement dans un fragment de temps, totalement absorbé par le « hic et nunc » que nous sommes en train de vivre, car, en dehors de l’instant opportun, tout est illusion.

Autrefois un moine demanda à Chao-chou (778-897), un des plus grands maîtres Zen : « Dis-moi, quel est le sens de la venue du Premier Patriarche de l’Ouest ? »[48] Chao-chou répondit : « Le cyprès dans la cour ! » [49]  Or, si pour le sens commun la réponse semble totalement insensée, en revanche, dans l’optique Zen, elle ne l’est pas. Chao-chou soustrait le moine à la métaphysique aride de la pensée discursive, pour le reconduire à la poésie vivante de la réalité. À ce moment-là le cyprès recèle en lui-même le monde entier, bien plus que la réponse doctrinale attendue par le moine. Chao-chou et le moine, dans leur perception immédiate, sont le cyprès. L’être, dans sa nature indifférenciée, se révèle comme VOIR le cyprès. Cioran n’est pas loin de la spiritualité Zen lorsqu’il affirme :

Marcher dans une forêt entre deux haies de fougères transfigurées par l’automne, c’est cela un triomphe. Que sont à côtés suffrages et ovations ? [50]

Ailleurs Cioran parle du vent en tant qu’ « agent métaphysique »[51], révélateur donc de réalités inattendues : écouter le vent « dispense de la poésie, est poésie ».[52] L’insomnie et les réveils brusques au cœur de la nuit, le comblèrent souvent de visions ineffables, d’une béatitude paradisiaque.

Insomnie à la campagne. Une fois, vers 5 heures du matin, je me suis levé pour contempler le jardin. Vision d’Éden, lumière surnaturelle. Au loin, quatre peupliers s’étiraient vers Dieu.[53]

Durant l’été 1966, à Ibiza, après une énième veillée nocturne, c’est encore la beauté déchirante du paysage qui déjoue les sombres résolutions suicidaires.

Ibiza, 31 juillet 1966. Cette nuit, réveillé tout à fait vers 3 heures. Impossible de rester davantage au lit. Je suis allé me promener au bord de la mer, sous l’impulsion de pensées on ne peut plus sombres. Si j’allais me jeter du haut de la falaise ? […] Pendant que je faisais toute sorte de réflexions amères, je regardai ces pins, ces rochers, ces vagues « visités » par la lune, et sentis soudain à quel point j’étais rivé à ce bel univers maudit.[54]

Un autre aspect qui rapproche Cioran du Zen, réside dans une prise de conscience : la vie authentique est propre au cioban, au rustique qui vit au contact de la nature et qui gagne sa vie par le travail manuel[55]. Les années d’enfance, passées en tant qu’« enfant de la nature »[56], « Maître de la création »[57] dans la campagne transylvanienne, ont certainement été comme un imprinting pour Cioran, cependant même le Cioran adulte expérimente en maintes occasions ce qu’il appelle « le salut par les bras ».[58] Il va jusqu’à sanctifier la fatigue physique, car, en abolissant la conscience, elle empêche l’inertie mentale qui aboutit au cafard.[59] Finalement, il caresse un rêve :

 avoir une «propriété », à une centaine de kilomètres de Paris, où je pourrais travailler de mes mains pendant deux ou trois heures tous les jours. Bêcher, réparer, démolir, construire, n’importe quoi, pourvu que je sois absorbé par un objet quelconque – un objet que je manie. Depuis des années déjà, je mets ce genre d’activité au-dessus de toutes les autres ; c’est elle seule qui me comble, qui ne me laisse pas insatisfait et amer, alors que le travail intellectuel, pour lequel je n’ai plus de goût (bien que je lise toujours beaucoup, mais sans grand profit), me déçoit parce qu’il réveille en moi tout ce que je voudrais oublier, et qu’il se réduit désormais à une rencontre stérile avec des problèmes que j’ai abordés indéfiniment sans les résoudre.[60]

D’après le Zen, l’esprit quotidien est la Voie (chinois : Tao, japonais : Do). Donc, soutient Lin-tsi, il n’y a rien de spécial à faire (wu-shih) : « allez à la selle, pissez, habillez-vous, mangez, et allongez-vous lorsque vous êtes fatigués. Les fous peuvent rire de moi, mais les sages savent ce que je veux dire ». [61] Les maîtres Zen, sans différences de rang, s’occupaient des champs, du ménage, préparaient les repas, de telle sorte qu’aucun travail manuel n’était pour eux humiliant. Pendant ces activités, ils donnaient leçons pratiques aux disciples ou bien ils répondaient à leurs interlocuteurs de manière tranchante…

 

Chao-chou était occupé à nettoyer lorsque survint le ministre d’État Liu, qui, en le voyant si occupé, lui demanda : « Comment se fait-il qu’un grand sage, comme vous, balaye la poussière ? » « La poussière vient d’ailleurs », répondit promptement Chao-chou. Une fois reconquise l’esprit originaire, alors chaque chose, même la plus prosaïque, s’illumine d’immensité : « Faculté miraculeuse et merveilleuse activité ! / Je tire l’eau du puits et fends le bois ! ».[62]

3. Tuer le Bouddha

Afin de voir le visage originaire qui précède la naissance, il nous faut encore surmonter un dernier obstacle, peut-être le plus ardu, puisqu’il s’agit de la sainte figure de l’Éveillé, le Bouddha même. S’il est vrai que, comme l’écrit le dernier Cioran, « Tant qu’il y aura encore un seul un dieu debout, la tâche de l’homme ne sera pas finie »[63], alors le Zen a accompli sa mission depuis longtemps. Il y a mille deux cents ans, Lin-tsi exhorta ses disciples à ne rien chercher en dehors de soi-même, ni le Dharma, ni le Bouddha, ni aucune pratique ou illumination. Il ne faut seulement avoir une infinie confiance dans ce qu’on vit à chaque instant, le reste est une fuite illusoire de l’esprit qu’il faut éviter à tout prix. C’est comme si nous avions une autre tête au-dessus de celle-là que nous portons déjà.

Disciples de la Voie, si vous voulez percevoir le Dharma en sa réalité, simplement ne vous faites pas tromper par les opinions illusoires des autres. Peu importe ce que vous rencontriez, soit au-dedans soit au dehors, tuez-le immédiatement : en rencontrant un bouddha tuez le bouddha, en rencontrant un patriarche tuez le patriarche, en rencontrant un saint tuez le saint, en rencontrant vos parents tuez vos parents, en rencontrant un proche tuez votre proche, et vous atteindrez l’émancipation. En ne vous attachant pas aux choses, vous les traversez librement.[64]

Cioran talonne Lin-tsi sur cette voie, lorsqu’ il affirme qu’ « être rivé à quelqu’un, fût-ce par admiration, équivaut à une mort spirituelle. Pour se sauver, il faut le tuer, comme il est dit qu’il faut tuer le Bouddha. Être iconoclaste est la seule manière de se rendre digne d’un dieu ».[65] Moines qui crachent sur l’image du Bouddha[66] ou qui en brûlent la statue de bois pour se réchauffer, l’utilisation des écritures sacrées comme papier hygiénique, etc. : là où les autres confessions ne voient que sacrilèges, le zen voit des actes vénérables. Une telle fureur iconoclaste se révèle plus nécessaire que jamais, puisque implique une pratique de la vacuité universelle. L’invitation de Lin-tsi à nous allonger, sans attachement, sur la réalité des phénomènes, détruit à la racine n’importe quelle séparation entre sacré et profane, entre nirvāna et samsāra, entre illumination et ignorance. Cioran l’a bien compris, lorsqu’il nous exhorte à « Aller plus loin encore que le Bouddha, s’élever au-dessus du nirvâna, apprendre à s’en passer…, n’être plus arrêté par rien, même par l’idée de délivrance, la tenir pour une simple halte, une gêne, une éclipse… ».[67]

L’élégance suprême et paradoxale du Zen, ce qui le rend supérieur à n’importe quelle autre expérience spirituelle, c’est sa capacité, après avoir tout démoli, à se démolir lui-même, tranquillement. Une fois « plongé » dans la littérature Zen, et après en avoir assimilé la leçon, Cioran flaire le danger et comprend que le moment est venu de s’en détacher. L’expérience de la vacuité doit provenir de soi-même, de ses sensations : « Sur le satori, on ne lit pas ; on l’attend, on l’espère ».[68]

« Les montagnes sont de nouveau des montagnes, les eaux de nouveau des eaux  »… à quoi bon s’efforcer d’obtenir quelque chose ?

Le spectacle de la mer est plus enrichissant que l’enseignement du Bouddha.[69]

NOTES:

[1] Cioran, De l’inconvénient d’être né, in Œuvres, Paris, Gallimard, coll. « Quarto », 1995, p. 1400. Toutes les références  aux œuvres de Cioran sont extraites de cette édition, alors que les œuvres d’autres auteurs sont tirées d’éditions italiennes, sauf exception notifiée le cas échéant. Les traductions sont de l’Auteur (T.d.A.).

[2] D.T. Suzuki avait déjà tenté un premier parallèle entre la Genèse et le bouddhisme : « L’idée judéo-chrétienne de l’Innocence est l’interprétation morale de la doctrine bouddhiste de la Vacuité, qui est métaphysique ; alors que l’idée judéo-chrétienne de la Connaissance correspond, du point de vue épistémologique, à la notion bouddhique de l’Ignorance, encore que l’Ignorance soit superficiellement le contraire de la Connaissance », in D.T. Suzuki, « Sagesse et vacuité », Hermès, n° 2 « Le vide. Expérience spirituelle en Occident et en Orient », Paris, 1981, p. 172.  

[3] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1372.

[4] Ibid., p. 1399.

[5] Ibid, p. 1346.

[6] La Chute dans le temps, p. 1076.

[7] Ibid, p. 1073.

[8] Histoire et utopie, p. 128.

[9] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1283.

[10] Cahiers. 1957-1972, Paris, Gallimard, coll. « Blanche », 1997, p. 139.

[11] Ibid., p. 156.

[12] Houeï-nêng (638-713), le sixième patriarche fondateur de l’école Ch’an du sud, se demande : « Qu’est-ce qu’est le wu-nien, l’absence de pensée ? Voir toutes les choses, pourtant maintenir notre esprit pur de chaque tache et de chaque attachement – celle-ci est l’absence de pensée » cit. in D.T. Suzuki, La dottrina Zen del vuoto mentale, Astrolabio-Ubaldini, Roma, p. 105. (T.d.A.). Takuan Sōhō (1573-1645), maître japonais de l’école Rinzai-shu, écrit : « En réalité, le vrai Soi est le soi qui existait avant la division entre ciel et terre, et avant encore la naissance du père et de la mère. Ce soi est mon soi intérieur, les oiseaux et les animaux, les plantes et les arbres et tous les phénomènes. C’est exactement ce que nous appelons la nature du Bouddha », cit. in Takuan Sōhō, La mente senza catene, Rome, Edizioni Mediterranee, 2010, p. 109 (T.d.A.). Le non-né ou non-produit est un terme forgé par le maître japonais Bankei (1622-1693) pour indiquer l’esprit bouddhique, antérieur à la scission opérée par la conscience.

[13] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 728.

[14] « J’ai l’intention d’écrire un essai sur cet état que j’aime entre tous, et qui est celui de savoir qu’on ne pense pas. La pure contemplation du vide. » Ibid., p. 300.

[15]Ibid., p. 298. À cette occasion, Cioran décrit ainsi son interlocuteur : « Extrêmement intelligent et insaisissable. Son mépris total pour les Occidentaux. J’ai eu nettement l’impression qu’il m’était supérieur, sentiment que je n’ai pas souvent avec les gens d’ici. »

[16] Ibid., p. 364.

[17] Ibid., p. 366.

[18] Ibid., p. 457.

[19] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1281.

[20] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 94.

[21] Ibid., p. 119.

[22] Littéralement « ce qui est ainsi », ou bien, voir les choses telles qu’elles sont. Dans l’interview avec Christian Bussy, réalisée à Paris le 19 février 1973 pour la télévision belge, Cioran argumente : « Je crois effectivement que voir les choses telles qu’elles sont rend la vie presque intolérable. En ce sens que j’ai remarqué que tous les gens qui agissent ne peuvent agir que parce qu’ils ne voient pas les choses telles qu’elles sont. Et moi, parce que je crois avoir vu, disons, en partie les choses comme elles sont, je n’ai pas pu agir. Je suis toujours resté en marge des actes. Alors, est-ce qu’il souhaitable pour les hommes de voir les choses telles qu’elles sont, je ne sais pas. Je crois que les gens en sont généralement incapables. Alors, il est vrai que seul un monstre peut voir les choses telles qu’elles sont. Puisque le monstre, il est sorti de l’humanité ». Le texte nous a été fourni par Christian Bussy, que nous remercions.

[23] Cf. Takuan Sōhō, Op. cit., p. 31.

[24] D.T. Suzuki, Saggi sul buddismo Zen, Rome, Edizioni Mediterranee, 1992, vol. I, p. 282. La peinture à l’encre noire (sumi-e) se produit sur du papier de riz, rêche, mince et assez absorbant, cela ne permet pas d’avoir des mouvements de pinceau hésitants, car il en résulterait des taches: il faut que le peintre agisse soudainement et avec netteté, sans revirements, comme s’il maniait une épée.

[25] Takuan Sōhō, Op. cit., p. 31.

[26] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1289.

[27] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 437.

[28] Ibid., p. 295.

[29] Ibid., pp. 437 et 674.

[30] Izutsu, La filosofia del buddismo zen, Rome, Astrolabio-Ubaldini, 1984, p. 40 (T.d.A.). Le kōan, (en chinois : kung-an), est un terme Zen qui désigne une sorte de problème ou casse-tête, intentionnellement illogique, donné par le maître comme sujet de méditation pour l’élève. Celui-ci, en se tourmentant à cause de cette énigme insoluble, se trouvera bientôt face à une barrière insurmontable, sans issue, jusqu’ il se mette à désespérer de chaque solution logique et discursive possible. Devant l’évidence du vide, la conscience abdique, et se met au niveau de compréhension qu’implique tout être concret, en tant que corps et en tant qu’esprit. Il en résulte la production de la seule réponse possible, qui coïncide avec le retour à la réalité, au flux inconscient de la vie qui depuis toujours nous soutient.

[31] Suivant un célèbre kōan : « Avant qu’une personne n’étudie le Zen, les montagnes sont les montagnes, les eaux sont les eaux. Après un premier aperçu de la vérité du Zen, les montagnes ne sont plus les montagnes, les eaux ne sont plus les eaux. Après l’éveil, les montagnes sont de nouveau des montagnes, les eaux de nouveau des eaux »

[32] Suzuki, La dottrina zen del vuoto mentale, op. cit., p. 91. « La phrase la plus célèbre de Tu-shan était ‘‘Trente coups quand tu peux dire un mot, trente coups quand tu ne peux pas dire un mot !’’ ‘‘Dire un mot’’ c’est une expression presque technique du Zen et signifie n’importe quelle chose démontrée soit par les mots, soit par les gestes, au sujet du fait central du Zen. Dans ce cas ‘‘donner un coup’’ signifie que toutes ces démonstrations ne sont d’aucune utilité. » Ibid.

[33] Interview de Christian Bussy à Cioran, réalisée à Paris le 19 février 1973.

[34] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 642.

[35] D. T. Suzuki, Saggi sul buddismo Zen, Rome, Edizioni Mediterranee, 1992, vol. I, p. 216.

[36] Cf. Leonardo Vittorio Arena, Storia del buddismo Ch’an, Milan, Mondatori, 1998, pp. 190-191.

[37] E.M. Cioran, « Hantise de la naissance », La Nouvelle Revue Française, n° 217, Paris, janvier 1971, p. 15. Il est caractéristique que dans la première version de cet aphorisme, Cioran utilise justement le mot Zen satori, tandis que dans la version suivante publiée dans De l’inconvénient d’être né, il la remplace par le terme de dérivation mystique « suprême ».

[38] L’amour traditionnel pour les fleurs de cerisier est un exemple typique de mono no aware dans le Japon contemporain. Esthétiquement, ces fleurs ne sont pas plus belles que celles du poirier ou du pommier, cependant ils sont les plus appréciés par les japonais pour leur caractère transitoire. En effet, ces fleurs commencent à tomber habituellement une semaine après leur épanouissement. Les fleurs de cerisier font objet d’un véritable culte au Japon, rituellement, toutes les années une foule énorme  envahit les champs pour en admirer la floraison.

[39] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 748.

[40] Cioran, Écartèlement, p. 103 : « On ne peut être content de soi que lorsqu’on se rappelle ces instants où, selon un mot japonais, on a perçu le ah ! des choses. » Cette exclamation reprend l’Entretien avec Léo Gillet : « Ça, on peut le sentir, mais on ne peut pas l’exprimer en paroles, sauf dire : ‘‘Ah ! indéfiniment […] on ne peut pas formuler abstraitement une chose qui doit être vraiment sentie’’ », in Cioran, Entretiens, Paris, Gallimard coll. « Arcades », 1995, p. 94.

[41] Cf. Leonardo Vittorio Arena, Lo spirito del Giappone, Milan, BUR, 2008, pp. 376-377.

[42] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 996.

[43] Ibid., p. 170.

[44] Ibid., p. 568.

[45] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1288.

[46] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 674.

[47] Ibid., p. 323. À ce propos, selon Izutsu : « Le Zen demande vigoureusement que même une telle quantité de conscience du moi soit effacée de l’esprit, de même que finalement tout soit réduit au seul acte de VOIR pur et simple. Le mot ‘‘non-esprit’’, déjà mentionné, se réfère précisément à l’acte pur du VOIR, dans l’état d’une réalisation immédiate et directe », La filosofia del buddismo zen, p. 30.

[48] C’est-à-dire : « quelle est la vérité fondamentale du Zen ? ».

[49] Cfr. Izutsu, La filosofia del buddismo zen, op. cit., p. 160.

[50] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1383.

[51] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 298.

[52] Cioran, Cahier de Talamanca – Ibiza (31 juillet-25 août 1966), Paris, Mercure de France, 2000, p. 30.

[53] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 298.

[54] Cahier de Talamanca, op. cit., p. 13.

[55] Cioban : berger en roumain. Dans la lettre à Arşavir Acterian du 11 juillet 1972, il avoue : « … je serais plus dans le vrai aujourd’hui si j’avais fait une carrière de cioban dans mon village natal plutôt que de me trémousser dans cette métropole de saltimbanques », in Emil Cioran, Scrisori cãtre cei de-acasă, Bucarest, Humanitas, 1995, p. 215 (T.d.A.).

[56] Cahiers, op. cit., p. 101.

[57] Ibid., p. 137.

[58] Ibid., p. 298.

[59] Ibid., p. 101.

[60] Ibid.,  p. 851.

[61] La Raccolta di Lin-chi (Rinzai Roku),  trad. par Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Rome, Astrolabio-Ubaldini, 1985, p. 30.

[62] Verset du poète zen P’ang-yun, cité in Alan W. Watts, The Way of Zen, trad. it, La via dello Zen, Feltrinelli, Milano,  2000, p. 145 (T.d.A.).

[63] Cioran, Aveux et anathèmes, p. 1724.

[64] La Raccolta di Lin-chi, op. cit., p. 46.

[65] Cahiers, op. cit.,  p. 994.

[66] Cioran cite l’anecdote dans ses Cahiers, op. cit., p. 869.

[67] De l’inconvénient d’être né, p. 1396.

[68] Cahiers, op. cit.,  p. 306.

[69].Lettre à Arşavir Acterian du 13 juillet 1986, Cioran, Scrisori cãtre cei de-acasă, op. cit., p. 241(T.d.A.).

Plans for the Ukrainization of Moldova

Ex: http://www.valdaiclub.com

ISHCHENKO, Rostislav

The possible “unfreezing” of the Transnistrian conflict would mainly benefit the US and could create new problems for Russia, Rostislav Ishchenko says.

After talks with his Romanian counterpart, Ukrainian President Petro Poroshenko said they had agreed to “unfreeze” the conflict in Transnistria. But the statement was false. The Romanians did not confirm it. Needless to say, it was intended primarily for domestic Ukrainian consumption: Poroshenko wanted to show to his supporters that he not only wiped out the “Altai armored militia” but can also thumb his nose at Russia on the diplomatic front. Nevertheless, the incident was revealing.

First, the Ukrainian president’s understanding of Moldovan sovereignty is amusing. Note that according to Poroshenko, Ukraine and Romania can decide on their own to unfreeze an internal Moldovan conflict, frozen by Chisinau, which, incidentally, has pledged to solve the problem solely through negotiations. In other words, Ukraine seeks both to annul international agreements signed by Moldova and to resolve Chisinau’s internal political problems. And enlisting Romania’s support doesn’t change anything in this respect.

This is a disturbing sign. Of course, it could be ignored, chalked up to the stupidity and ineptitude of the Ukrainian leadership, but we have already seen the losses that this stupidity and ineptitude have led to in Ukraine.

Second, the Moldovan leadership, which sees the Kiev regime as being of the same “pro-Western blood,” too often tries to curry favor with Kiev with reckless moves – for example, by denying Russian journalists and politicians entry to Moldova based on blacklists drawn up by the Ukrainian Security Service or by trying to obstruct economic ties and transport links between Russia and Transnistria. In short, by provoking a conflict to please Kiev.
Third, the attempt to resurrect the conflict in Transnistria fully fits into the US policy of creating problems for Russia wherever possible, forcing Moscow to spread its forces, attention and resources thin on the ground so that it ultimately becomes overstretched and is unable to pursue an independent foreign policy.

In other words, even though Romania is obviously unprepared to get involved in this conflict at this time, while Moldova has not even been consulted, a provocation against Transnistria, both in the form of a complete economic and transport blockade and in the form of direct military aggression, is quite possible. Furthermore, the Chisinau leadership has in recent weeks intensified its media and political attacks against Russia and Transnistria.

By the way, Kiev was the first to mass troops on the border with Transnistria back in April-June 2014. Were it not for the heroic resistance of Donbass, it’s plausible that Transnistria would have already come under attack.

Implications for Moldova

We won’t waste any time on analyzing the possible consequences of a new conflict zone for Russia. Certainly, a conflict is not good for Russia. And not only because it has no direct overland or sea links with Transnistria, but also because Moscow will once again be accused of aggression and an attempt to restore the Soviet Union by force. Instead, let’s consider the threats of an unfrozen conflict for Moldova.

First, over the years, Transnistria has created a stable administrative system and powerful armed forces that, in a confrontation with the Moldovan army, can not only defend themselves but also attack. Of course, their strategic situation is tough. Their rear is blocked by Ukrainian troops. Nevertheless, it borders the Odessa region, where opposition to the Kiev regime is strong. If a front were to emerge 20 or 30 km from Odessa, these resistance forces could disrupt the rear of the Kiev troops.

This is especially relevant now that Igor Kolomoisky has come into conflict with Poroshenko and withdrawn his punitive battalions from Odessa, which controlled the city in Kiev’s interests. For all intents and purposes, he is provoking an anti-Kiev uprising in Odessa so as to tie Poroshenko’s hands with the “Odessa people’s republic” and force him to abandon his attacks on the Dnepropetrovsk governor.

Second, the situation in Transnistria is a replay of the situation in Abkhazia and South Ossetia in August 2008. Russian peacekeepers are deployed there under international agreements, whose mandate is to prevent military contact between the sides. So an attack on Transnistria would be an attack on Russian peacekeepers. That is to say, it would be an act of aggression not only against Transnistria but also against Russia, with all the ensuing consequences.

The consequences are well known from the Georgian precedent. Not only did the Georgian army cease to exist as an organized force within days, Russia also recognized Abkhazia and South Ossetia as independent states, and Russian military bases were opened on their soil.

Third, Moldova is encumbered with the Gagauz problem, which intensified recently over Chisinau’s attempt to effectively rescind Gagauz autonomy. This attempt met with strong resistance, which all but led to a clash between law enforcement controlled by Chisinau and Komrat. It can be assumed that if the Transnistrian conflict is “unfrozen” the Gagauz people will be galvanized into action, as was the case in the early 1990s, during the first armed confrontation over Transnistria.

Fourth, the legitimacy of the Chisinau government is justifiably questioned, not least due to the unfairness and lack of transparency in the recent elections, in which the incumbent authorities were able to retain control of parliament only through the crude and no-holds-barred use of its administrative clout.

The opposition in Moldova is strong and pro-Russian, and commands the support of significant segments of the population. In other words, this conflict will automatically lead to serious internal destabilization in Moldova, putting it on the verge of civil war.

Finally, fifth, there is also the Romanian problem. Bucharest has never abandoned the idea of integrating Moldova into the Romanian state. Ever since the early 1990s, the Romanians have repeatedly indicated that they are prepared to give up Transnistria.

A conflict with Transnistria, provoking Russia’s participation in this conflict and internal destabilization in Moldova, would give the pro-Romanian forces in Chisinau cause to ask Bucharest for political, diplomatic and military assistance without which the Chisinau government simply could not survive. Nor would Kiev be able to provide meaningful assistance.

A Kiev-Washington project

So, the “unfreezing” of the Transnistrian conflict would imminently lead to the Ukrainization of Moldova. The story would follow the same script as in Ukraine after the February 2014 coup.

First, there would be civil war, which presents greater danger for Moldova as it is much smaller than Ukraine, meaning that Chisinau would be unable to stay above the fray for an entire year. This would be followed by the loss of sovereignty and the country’s division into a Romanian part and the Transnistrian republic, which, in the course of a brief conflict, could even expand its borders.

This outcome is good for the US, as it would create a new problem for Russia. In part, in the short term, it is also good for Kiev, as it would temporarily divert some of Russia’s resources to resolve this conflict. However, in the medium term, Kiev risks seeing not only the Transnistrian Moldovan republic in the south but also an allied Odessa people’s republic.

Such an outcome could suit Moldova’s pro-Romanian parties and politicians, since they will be able to leave for Romania with a chunk of territory and become Romanian politicians.

However, this outcome is beneficial neither for the Moldovan state nor for the overwhelming majority of the Moldovan people because it does them no good except to destroy the remains of the economy and quite possibly also hundreds or even thousands of lives in the course of a civil conflict, which will be almost immediately compounded by multilateral interference from the outside.

So there is hope that the Kiev-Washington project for the Ukrainization of Moldova by “unfreezing” the Transnistrian conflict will remain on the drawing boards.

Yet, there is the danger that the situation will spiral out of control, which should not be underestimated. Moldova’s reasonable forces should take preventive measures to ensure that Chisinau returns to a sensible policy.

Rostislav Ishchenko, President of the Center for System Analysis and Forecasting.
This article was originally published in Russian on www.ria.ru

Report on the Jean Parvulesco Symposium Bucarest 2015

Report on the Jean Parvulesco Symposium Bucarest 2015

Ex: http://www.openrevolt.info

A symposium on the French writer Jean Parvulesco led by Vlad Sauciuc and the Romanian branch office of the TV news channel Russia Today was held in the Hotel Crystal Palace of Bucharest on February 28th and 29th 2015.

From his Moscow apartment relayed via Skype, Alexander Dugin joined the symposium to share the memories of his friend Jean Parvulesco, whom he met in the late 1980s at the occasion of his first contacts with representatives of the French New Right. Alexander Dugin recognized the fact that the real identity of Jean Parvulesco will always remain a mystery, but added that if we were to try to define his true identity, he would think of a manifestation of the Celtic bard Talesin entrusted with a secret mission (undoubtedly in reference to Jean Parvulesco description of Julius Evola as a secret agent of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II). In his second conference, Alexander Dugin explained the core concepts of Jean Parvulesco’s geopolitical ideas, especially that of the eschatological Endkampf that would conclude centuries of occult warfare between the the Altantist order and the Eurasist order beyond the scene of world politics.

Natalia Melentiyeva, Alexander Dugin’s wife, joined the conference and, as a philosophy professor, introduced the key concepts of Neoplatonism, the true philosophia perennis common to most esoteric hermeneutics of the three monotheistic religions, in order to show how the philosophy of Plato and Plotinus can help deciphering the main themes of Jean Parvulesco’s novels. She also explain how each culture can be said to have its specific logos, which explains why each nation or ethnic ground needs to define its own Fourth Political Theory.

Jean Parvulsco’s son, Constantin Parvulsco, shed light on the mysteries of Jean Parvulesco early life: escape from the communist regime in Romania swimming across the Danube river, labor camp in Yugoslavia, escape and rescue from a mysterious virgin in Medjugorje, student life in Paris with the artistic avant-garde, armed struggle in Spain and Africa, mystical experiences, meetings with Ezra Pound, Julius Evola, Martin Heidegger, Mircea Eliade or Dominique de Roux, late literary career and militant involvement with the French New Right as well as various secret societies.

Stanislas Parvulesco, Jean Parvulesco’s grandson talked about the links between Eurasianism and South America with an inspiring speech on the resistance against globalization, and neo-liberal capitalism, with references to Peron and Chavez, as well as to the struggle of native American tribes to maintain their traditions.

As an expert on René Guénon and his Traditionalist school, Claudio Mutti talked about Jean Parvulesco’s friendship with other well-known Romanian figures, such as Jean Vâlsan, Vasile Lovinescu, Mirchea Eliade or Emil Cioran. His second speech was dedicated on Romanian sacred geography, with abundant references to Vasile Lovinescu’s book on the Hyperborean Dacia.

With his flamboyant style, Laurent James gave a very interesting speech on the influence of the French writer Dominique de Roux on Jean Parvulesco, followed by the recitation of a beautify people on Romania written by Dominique de Roux and most probably inspired or even written by Jean Parvulesco. Laurent’s second speech was fascinating compilation of Roman Catholic prophesies focused on Petrus Romanus, the last pope, who may herald the end of the papacy and a return of the Latin Church to Orthodoxy.

Finally, Alex Wyeth gave a first speech focused on Jean Parvulesco’s meetings with Julius Evola in 1968 to show that Jean Parvulesco could be seen as a true disciple of Julius Evola through three core themes that can serve as keys to decipher Jean Parvulesco’s cryptic novels, namely Tantrism (reinterpreted in a Western hermetic or Catholic frame), the Holy “Eurasianist” Empire and the Order of differentiated men leading the ultimate underground battle against the princes and principalities of dissolution. His second speech gave an example of the occult geopolitical influence of secret societies and their link to Eurasianism through the example of Martinism in Russia.

Many other fascinating topics have been discussed shedding light on Jean Parvulesco’s life and work from many different angles.

Beside conferences, the speakers have been received with the legendary hospitality of their Romanian friends, meeting fascinating people as diverse as representatives of Romanian parliament as well as the Russian embassy, Hesychasts inspired by René Guénon, National Bolshevik activists, legionaries of the Romanian Iron Guard, scholars and members of esoteric orders united by the mysterious figure of Jean Parvulesco as well as by the core principles of Eurasianism and Alexander Dugin’s Fourth Political Theory.

Alex Wyeth March 6, 2015 for OpenRevolt.info

Cioran, le mystique des Carpathes

Cioran, le mystique des Carpathes

 

par Jean-François Gauthier

 

La sécheresse et l'inexactitude du bois qui brûle. Ainsi pourrait-on qualifier la manière d'Emil Cioran, dont l'édition des Œuvres (Gallimard, coll. Quarto, 1995) rappelle opportunément qu'il fut, avec Beckett et Valéry, l'un des plus flamboyants stylistes de la langue française au XXe siècle, et, avec Maurice Blanchot, l'un des plus solitaires, tant dans sa vie personnelle que dans celle des Lettres. Les solitaires attirent par une fascination de couleuvre, le premier des pièges qu'ils tendent à leur lecteur, et qui fait croire en une force. Mais, moins qu'un héros, Cioran fut plus fragile que quiconque dans son fanatisme de l'inessentiel. De cette fragilité même il a fait vertu : quand il emmène vers la plongée des vertiges qu'il sait, comme nul autre, construire à la croisée de toutes les précarités, c'est pour laisser à quiconque attend de le suivre et pour répudier toute vérité autre que l'expérience même de ce vertige.

 

Né en 1911 d'un père prêtre orthodoxe, puis collégien en Transylvanie, étudiant à Bucarest, diplômé de philosophie avec un mémoire sur Bergson, Cioran entame son œuvre d'écrivain à 21 an, en roumain, avec Sur les cimes du désespoir. Reliquat romantique que cette évocation des cimes, mais une entrée fracassée dans l'expérience de l'écriture ; en-deçà de la philosophie et du jeu des concepts, il éprouve que seule l'esthétique peut imposer la perception des plus fortes contradictions de l'existence, dont cette première : « Le monde aurait dû être n'importe quoi, sauf ce qu'il est ». Le désespoir, qu'il cultive une seconde fois en roumain avec Le livre des Leurres (1936), ne se confond pas chez lui avec l'imbécillité diététique d'une déficience telle que le malheur, cette sorte de théâtre prolongé en aspiration fidéiste, avec, en revers, une promesse de bonheur du monde, dégoûtée ou non, acceptée ou refusée, affirmée ou niée. Cioran agit d'emblée le désespoir en son acception la plus exacte, l'acte de ne pas espérer. Si le monde n'est, en nous, qu'image, celle fabriquée par une chimie organique où la sensibilité a sa part, force est de constater que l'espérance et son contraire, avec leurs métaphysiques calculées, ne résultent elles-mêmes que d'une imagination déviée de sa course. Plus que sens ou non-sens, être ou non-être, la vie en son pressentiment le plus intime relève de son acte propre. Lui donner sens ou non-sens a priori serait lui refuser de se bâtir elle-même, la contraindre dans l'écheveau de significations préalables où s'instille sa perte.

 

Par son renoncement hypnotique à l'égard de tout ce qui séduit l'intellect ou la sensibilité, et par la forme artistique — qui seul subsiste de son aventure, personnelle, corporelle, et comme hallucinée — donnée à un détachement durement conquis et sans cesse remis à plat dans ses représentations, Cioran est entré de plain-pied dans la catégorie des inactuels. II a couru le risque de se statufier vivant, au plus près de l'extrême, d'une inacceptable conciliation avec ses propres vérités. Des larmes et des saints (1938) puis Le Crépuscule des pensées (1940) réinvestissent le paradoxe des deux premiers livres, et l'écrivain y côtoie les tentations du narcissisme. « Le monde est un non-lieu universel », écrit-il. Est-ce si assuré ? Ce monde, en effet, y réclame son lieu d'aventure, il y charge sa propre quête. Le Bréviaire des vaincus, écrit en roumain à Paris entre 1941 et 1944, publié en français quarante ans plus tard, comprend le risque du faux-pas : « Ma faute : j'ai détroussé le réel. J'ai mordu dans toutes les pommes des espérances humaines (...). Dévoré par le péché de nouveauté, j'aurais bien retourné le ciel comme un gant ». Cioran perçoit combien le comble du rien exige une présence, ou alors, il n'est plus D'où cette prudente résolution du Bréviaire : « Entre l'âme du vide et le cœur du néant ! ».

 

Difficile tactique à l'égard de soi-même sur le chemin du dépouillement : Cioran délaisse sa langue maternelle et entreprend d'écrire en français. Il s'y invente l'obligation d'un ramassement, la multiplication de raccourcis dont la fascination exercée sur le lecteur tient à sa manière rigoureuse de refuser ce qu'elle affirme, d'acquiescer à ce qu'elle manque et de se déprendre de ce qu'elle vise. La vie comme coup du sort, l'inaptitude de la volonté, un regard morgue sur les leurres du bonheur et du malheur, tous les thèmes d'un stoïcisme dépouillé des revendications de l'imposture, Cioran va les pousser comme des fleurs d'opium rejetées vers l'avant d'une écriture sobre, sans fin révoquée dans sa tentation d'avoir sais ou possédé, ou fixé une illumination. De la vieille maxime d’Épictète conseillant à la raison triomphante d'en rabattre dans ses prétentions et de mieux distinguer ce qui dépend de nous et ce qui n'en dépend pas, il retiendra la seconde injonction, qui lui fait plier toute son énergie à se convaincre que rien ne dépend de lui, sauf l'illusion de ne dépendre de rien. Emil Cioran, ou le maximalisme de l'infortune.

 

Comment se donner matière à vivre ? Le Précis de décomposition, premier livre écrit en français, publié en 1949, fixe quelques règles : se défaire de l'histoire, des vérités, des doutes, pratiquer l'envers des choses, l'ironie, la distance habitée, ne pas se venger du néant en l'érigeant en loi et conserver, par la-dessus, la politesse de vivre malgré un dénouement « prévu, effroyable et vain ». Rien, évidemment, dans tout cela, qui rassurerait une troupe sociale, ardente au salut du monde ou au bonheur des hommes. De ce versant antipolitique de son œuvre, Cioran n'a cure ; ou plutôt est-ce là son souci constant, de se défaire d'un tel souci  Réduit à une logique, le Précis montrerait une addition d'impasses et de contradictions ; mais lu dans son mouvement même, haché, désarchitecturé, il déploie une expérience mystique provocante qui tente de maintenir l'acte de vivre en-deçà de toutes les consolations que lui proposent les arts ou les croyances. La vie commune en société s'ébroue certes à l'inverse et fabrique toutes sortes d'idées propres à rassurer. Au jugement de Cioran, elle a tort. À refuser l'insatisfaction, on trouve facilement matière à croire ; mais à croire en quoi que ce soit, on se défausse de l'immédiateté de la vie, on masque la brutalité de ce qui n'est jamais advenu : soi-même, pour l'endiguer dans l'erreur et retourner vers l'ennui. Contre la seule ligne de la logique, étouffante de certitudes toujours contredites par l'expérience, la cohérence de la sagesse impose d'autres dimensions d'examen : il faut qu'en chaque acte ou pensée soit impliquée la totalité de ce qu'ils accomplissent, et surtout, négativement, la globalité de ce qu'ils manquent, de ce qui reste hors de portée. De là cette écriture si particulière à Cioran, où concourent tous les moyens de la rhétorique : l'affirmation  brève, le syllogisme détourné, la harangue, le précepte, la citation qui cheville sans démontrer, la négation des vérités ordinaires, le retournement des croyances religieuses, l'aménagement des contraires, l'exaltation des contradictoires. Ce mouvement toujours tremblé emmène de l'intellect au sensible, puis du sensible à l'intellect, dessinant un abîme entre ce que la raison dévoie de l'expérience en se faisant maxime, et ce que l'expérience ignore d'elle­ même en échouant à instituer la raison de ses raisons. Ce qui est à saisir, la ponctualité instantanée de l'existence, cela échappe au langage, mais dans le mouvement même où l'instant qui passe ourdit l'impératif de s'exprimer, auquel on n'échappe pas. Autant dire que ce qui fait vivre est « au-delà de tout, au-delà de l'être lui-même », selon la leçon de Grégoire de Nazianze. S'il n'en a pas gardé le Dieu, Cioran a conservé de son éducation orthodoxe un dépôt sensible, une part de théologie négative qui exacerbe chez lui la désignation de ce qui cause l'étrange agitation d'exister : l'impossible clôture de soi sur soi, de soi sur le monde, du monde sur lui-même. De quoi se déduit la seule vérité possible : que toute vérité, toute espérance, toute croyance relèvent d'une imposture comparable à celle d'un tranquillisant pharmaceutique ; le seul apprentissage possible du monde et de la vie, de l'existence même et de son sens, se passe de toute érudition, qu'elle soit biologique, philosophique ou littéraire ; c'est "un savoir sans connaissances" qui nous met en présence permanente de notre radicale destructibilité, laquelle contredit l'indestructible envie de vivre que promènent tous ceux qui ne se suicident pas.

 

C'est le privilège des poètes de s'adosser ainsi à l'incompréhensible pour relancer sans cesse, en travers de leur propre route, le défi de ne pas s'y perdre, et celui d'y faire apparaître une clairière, fût-ce pour l'embraser aussitôt d'un feu dévastateur. Cioran ne s'est senti chez lui ni dans sa société, ni dans la culture usuelle. À Maistre et à l'Hindouisme, à Chestov, aux moralistes français, à Pascal et à Nietzsche, à tous ceux qui, éconduits de la mémoire ordinaire, ne furent pas tenus par l'époque pour des maîtres à méditer, il demanda  des conseils pour vivre un peu. Il a brandi avec une sérénité intransigeante non point l'orgueil d’être soi-même dans une société morte, ni l'exaspération, jusqu'au tournis, de la fascination du vide, mais la simple revendication d'échouer dans la rédaction  de tout dernier mot possible. Autant dire que sa seule loi fut de n'en avoir jamais fini avec la répudiation du verbe, avec les facilités tressées par toute société entre tout homme et l'illusion balkanique d'avoir raison devant l'histoire, face à un salut dévitalisé qui n'existe jamais.

 

L'ambiguïté de l’œuvre de Cioran, affinée dans les volumes ultérieurs, des Syllogismes de l'amertume (1952) aux Aveux et anathèmes (1987) en passant par De l'inconvénient d'être né (1973), tient à son contenu même, à son obstination souterraine au tête-à-tête renversé en exercice de métaphysique. S'il se fait moraliste, c'est pour soustraire l'étude des mœurs à la tentation des psychologues dont la science éteint les ténèbres et l'amertume qui tourmentent toute existence. Savoir vivre se passe, chez lui, de savoir-vivre en bonne compagnie : l'esprit rumine l'épreuve solitaire avec plus de violence que la pratique sociale des semblables. Il faut, disait-il de Pascal — et il en faisait la matière de sa propre expérience —, payer pour la moindre des affirmations ou des négations qu'on s'autorise, et non simplement se rémunérer à la monnaie des certitudes commodes de l'aigreur. Là où le cynisme consiste en une dénégation sans scrupules de la condition  humaine, Cioran remue jusqu'au désabusement, se compromet dans l'irritation, sabote les systèmes et renverse leur ruine en une pleine acceptation du laconisme d'un monde incurable. Emil Cioran aura réussi une œuvre dont l'unité paradoxale consiste en une constante versatilité. Toutes les pistes explorées, qu'elle fussent artistiques, philosophiques ou littéraires, l'anathème, la malédiction et la virulence, l'espérance, l'apaisement ou la consolation, il en aura monté et démonté les beautés, les leurres et les impasses. Il ne cesse de changer de sujet ou d'objet pour retourner le même terreau : les mots ne sont utiles qu'à dissoudre les vérités qu'ils permettent d'arranger. Nul autre que lui n'a mené aussi loin cette difficile expérience. Le livre,dans la tradition occidentale, est le livre du maître. Les écrits du pyromane Cioran, quant à eux, ne délivrent aucune assurance magistrale ; ce sont des recueils d'exercices ne valant que pour ceux, sans se contenter de les lire, qui les appliquent à la déprise de soi, qui les tiennent pour autant d'occasions offertes de se pencher sur son propre cas et de devenir son propre maitre en calcination. Sous la réserve exigeante d'y pourvoir effectivement. Car les incendies allumés par Cioran ne se propagent pas aux bibliothèques ; ils s'attaquent aux traces que les bibliothèques ont laissées en nous, qui furent, en leur temps, bien nécessaires à l'affermissement de soi, et dont il faut savoir se défaire lors de cures régulières, sauf à se résigner à l'esclavage des systèmes et des pensées rassurantes.

 

► Jean-François Gautier, Antaïos n°12, 1997.

Gibt es im Schwarzen Meer Elefanten?

F. William Engdahl

Nein, ich spreche nicht von den rosa Elefanten, die einem manchmal erscheinen können, wenn man ein bisschen zu tief ins Glas geschaut hat. Im Jargon der Ölindustrie sind Elefanten neu entdeckte Ölfelder mit mehr als 100 Millionen Barrel förderbarem Rohöl. Manche Geologen westlicher Ölgesellschaften behaupten, solche »Elefanten« seien mittlerweile ausgerottet, und das wiederum sei ein Zeichen dafür, dass die Ölreserven der Welt weitgehend erschöpft seien. Die Realität zeigt jedoch immer deutlicher das Gegenteil.

Der renommierte niederländische Erdöl-Ökonom Peter Odell hat einmal gesagt, das Öl gehe uns nicht aus, sondern uns fließe ständig neues Öl entgegen … wo immer wir danach suchten. Jetzt gibt es offenbar im Schwarzen Meer reihenweise Elefanten mit Milliarden Barrel Rohöl.

Rumänien, das oft als der kranke Mann in der EU betrachtet wird, hat kürzlich entdeckt, dass es vielleicht gar nicht so arm ist wie gedacht. 2011 erhielt das Geologie-Büro Purvin & Gertz den Auftrag, potenzielle Ölfelder vor der Küste zu erkunden. Damals entdeckten Israel, Zypern und andere Länder gerade riesige Öl- und Gasfelder im östlichen Mittelmeer.

Die Tests ergaben für Rumänien gute geophysikalische Aussichten in den Gewässern vor der Küste. 2012 gaben der US-Ölkonzern ExxonMobil und die rumänische Ölgesellschaf OMV Petrom die Ergebnisse für Domino-1, Rumäniens erste Aufschlussbohrung in 930 Metern Tiefe, bekannt. Bestätigt wurde ein Erdgaslager von rund drei Billionen Kubikfuß (Tcf, nach dem englischen »trillion cubic feet«), der größte Erdgasfund in der Geschichte des Unternehmens.

Durch mögliche Territorialstreitigkeiten mit Bulgarien wurde die weitere Entwicklung in dem Gebiet gebremst. Aufmerksamkeit erregte allerdings, dass Domino-1 nur eine von fünf geologisch ähnlichen Strukturen vor der rumänischen Schwarzmeerküste ist.

Mehr lesen:

http://info.kopp-verlag.de/hintergruende/geostrategie/f-william-engdahl/gibt-es-im-schwarzen-meer-elefanten-.html

La campagne électorale roumaine ou la valse des pantins

La campagne électorale roumaine ou la valse des pantins

par Claude Karnoouh

Ex: http://rebellion.hautetfort.com

La campagne électorale pour les élections présidentielles de Roumanie est porteuse de quelques enseignements intéressant pour jauger du niveau politique des candidats et de ceux parmi les intellectuels qui les soutiennent directement. Particulièrement insipide ou simplement vide quand on écoutait ou lisait les professions de foi des candidats avec des mots d’ordre indigne d’une campagne politique qui doit désigner un homme possédant plus que le pouvoir exécutif comme l’a démontré le sortant Monsieur Basescu. Entre injures, diffamations et affirmations infantiles sur le fait que l’un est plus roumain que l’autre ou que l’un ne parle point en l’air, mais agit (il n’a pas fait grand chose dans les faits), que l’un a trois maisons et l’autres six maisons, entre les critiques d’un moralisme douteux énoncés par des candidats qui eussent mieux fait de s’auto-analyser avant que de chercher des poux dans le tête de ses concurrents, on ne peut pas affirmer que le débat a volé très haut, même quand certains candidats ont été épaulés par de « brillants »  intellectuels ou de véritables et très bons acteurs, chacun par ailleurs étant en effet libre de ses affiliations y compris avec le diable !

Toutefois le thème de la géopolitique aurait mérite d’être abordé avec un peu plus de sérieux que des discours farcis de creuses promesses ou des distributions de sacs en plastic remplis de nourritures, voir, le bruit court, de sommes d’argent. Il s’agit d’un débat réel sur les alliances géopolitiques. Que ce soit Madame Macovei, ou Messieurs Iohannis, Ponta, Tàriceanu lorsque lorsqu’ils lancent des phrases comme fuyons les Russes, jetons-nous dans les bras des USA qui défendent la Roumanie, un rire sinistre me prend, non pas que la Russie n’a pas ses propres ambitions d’influences politiques, car ce serait naïfs que d’affirmer le contraire, et ne le suis point. Mais faire accroire le peuple que les USA, l’Allemagne, la France, la Grande-Bretagne, l’Italie vont défendre la Roumanie, c’est soit être un ignorant politique soit un agent compradore et prendre les citoyens pour des idiots, ce qu’ils sont souvent il est vrai. Mais idiots ou non les citoyens sont électeurs, et c’est une grave faute éthique que de leur mentir sciemment. En effet, depuis quand les grands pouvoirs défendent-ils les intérêts des petits États. Comme le disait Churchill dans ses mémoires, « Les États n’ont pas d’amis, ils n’ont que des intérêts. » Et donc comme auparavant, pendant l’occupation de la Roumanie par l’URSS, celle-ci défendait avant tout, et malgré ses discours sur la solidarité prolétarienne internationale, ses intérêts d’État bien avant les intérêts de la classe ouvrière roumaine, et grâce à un historien comme feu Constantiniu nous avons eu connaissance de la rage des Soviétiques lorsque les autorités communistes roumaines prirent leur autonomie géopolitique face aux stratégies de l’empire rouge comme l’illustra parfaitement le refus d’août 1968 d’intervenir avec les autres membres du pacte de Varsovie contre le Printemps de Prague ou de rompre les relations diplomatiques avec Israël tandis que les autres satellites les avaient clôt sous l’injonction de Moscou.

Aujourd’hui nous sommes confrontés à une situation inverse, sauf que le discours politique des élites politiques et de nombreux intellectuels est beaucoup plus trompeur qu’auparavant, en ce qu’elles affirment que les USA défendent les intérêts de la Roumanie. Depuis quand en effet de grandes puissance défendent-elles les intérêts d’autres puissances ? Est-ce que pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale le IIIe Reich allié de la Roumanie a-t-il défendu les intérêts de la Roumanie ou simplement les intérêts bien pensé ou mal de sa stratégie ? Les Grandes puissances auxquelles après le 23-24 août 1944 la Roumanie s’était alliée contre ce même Reich ont-elles défendus les intérêts de la Roumanie contre les velléités soviétiques d’inclure la Roumanie dans son espace vital ? Si mes souvenirs de lecture sont bons, il y avait même en 1945 des articles dans la presse étasunienne qui rapportait la condamnation par d’éminents politiciens étasuniens des critiques émises par les partis roumains de droites ou de centre-droit à l’encontre des comportements déjà impériaux des Soviétiques à Bucarest ! Comment dès lors croire que les États-Unis en 2014 auraient changé de stratégie ? N’ont-ils pas abandonné le Sud-Vietnam à son triste sort quand la guerre n’avait plus d’intérêt pour eux et qu’une majorité de la population des États-Unis s’y opposait de plus en plus ? Cette grande puissance, et c’est son droit de grande puissance, défend ici et là dans le monde ses intérêts face à ses concurrents, la Russie postcommuniste, la Chine, l’Inde, l’Iran, les BRICS d’Amérique latine. Et dans ce grand jeu géopolitique elle a, pour le moment, besoin de la Roumanie à la fois pour y installer quelques bases militaires, mais, et ce n’est pas le moindre des enjeux pour en exploiter les matières premières au moindre coût et le marché au plus grand bénéfice. C’est cela qu’il aurait fallu dire aux citoyens afin qu’ils déterminent leurs choix politiques en connaissance de cause, car une autre politique serait possible, non pas sauter dans les bras de Russes, mais développer une habile politique de balance entre les deux pouvoirs, ce que les politiciens roumains de l’Entre-deux-guerres avaient entrepris entre l’Allemagne nazi d’une part et la France et la Grande-Bretagne de l’autre, mais l’effondrement militaire en juin 1940 de ces deux dernières rompit ce délicat équilibre, jetant le pays dans les bras de l’Allemagne par manque de courage des élites de refuser ses diktats, entre autre celui de Vienne. En effet exploiter les dissensions entre les grandes puissances au mieux des intérêts vitaux (politiques et économiques) de la Roumanie voilà qui pourrait protéger partiellement la Roumanie de n’être pas une simple colonie de Washington et de Bruxelles comme cela s’est mis fermement en place pendant l’époque Basescu, 2004-2014.

Dans le contexte des propagandes électorales nourries de telles illusions du whisful thinking et de tels mensonges, quel que soit l’heureux élu il ne sera jamais autre chose qu’une sorte de marionnette déléguée au maintien de l’ordre pour satisfaire à des intérêts dont nous savons par expérience qu’ils sont toujours contraires à ceux du pays en sa totalité.

Claude Karnoouh

Citoyen européen, Bucarest 1 novembre 2014

Corneliu Zelea Codreanu and the Legion of the Archangel Michael

 

Corneliu Zelea Codreanu and the Legion of the Archangel Michael

 

by Christophe Dolbeau

 

 

                                               The legionary will rather judge man by his soul…

 

                                                                                              C. Z. Codreanu

 

             A few decades ago, Paris most influential daily, Le Monde, gave some reverberation to a statement from the local antiracist league (LICA) which protested against the coming meeting of « former Romanian fascists » around Archbishop Valerian Trifa who was one of their (alleged) leaders in America. Later on, in 1984, the same Valerian Trifa was back on the front pages as the media gave notice of his deportation from the US to Portugal (he was to die in Estoril in 1987). An American citizen since 1957, the prelate had chosen to forfeit his nationality in 1982 after the notorious Office of Special Investigation had taken proceedings against him, with much encouragement from the pro-communist orthodox patriarchate of Bucharest. In Horizons Rouges (1), general Ion Pacepa, the former head of Romanian intelligence, has since related in detail how the case was made up with fake photographs and manufactured evidence… In 1988, the famous historian and philosopher Mircea Eliade (1907-1986) became in turn an object for sorrowful remarks when his posthumous memoirs made it clear that he had also had « reprehensible sympathies » in his youth… (2).

 

            From these anecdotes, it results that both the clergyman’s and the scholar’s indelible mistake was simply that several decades ago they belonged to the Iron Guard. A great popular movement that overthrew the political scene in Romania, the Iron Guard constituted a peculiar and most controversial phenomenon which keeps a place apart in the history of fascism and still attracts the attention.

 

« Romanian awake ! » (3)

 

            The story began 87 years ago, on Friday June 24, 1927, when together with four   friends (Ion Moţa, Ilia Gârneaţă, Corneliu Georgescu and Radu Mironovici), Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, a young doctor of law from Moldavia, laid the foundation of the Legion of the Archangel Michael (Legiunea Arhanghelului Mihail). At that time, Codreanu, aged 28, was already a popular public figure in his country : according to Odette Arnaud (4), « physically he has all the features and traits of the local peasants : he is slim and muscular, sparing of words and gestures, and his bearing is stately. There is no doubt : he commands respect and attention ». Very similar is the description drawn by Jérôme and Jean Tharaud (5) : « In front of me », they write, « a man who is still young ; he is dressed in a rough homespun, his hair are wavy, he has got a high forehead, a blue and cold eyesight, classic features and his gestures are quiet and measured ». To this portrait, Bertrand de Jouvenel (6) adds a few details : « Never did I meet a character », he says, « who introduces himself with so little ostentation and makes such a strong impression. Imagine a very tall and lean man whose face would be a pattern of classical beauty if it were not for deep sockets where a pair of piercing eyes glint ».

 

            Born September 13, 1899, Corneliu Zelea Codreanu attended the Manastirea Dealului military school where he acquired his first patriotic convictions. Galvanized by his father’s red hot patriotism and even though he hadn’t finished school, he did not dither and volunteered to the front during the war (1916). Soon after registering as a law student at Jassy University, he joined the Guard of the National Conscience (1919) ; in May 1922, he founded the Christian Students Association and in March 1923, he joined a fiercely anti-Jewish party called the Christian National Defence League (Liga Aparirii Nationale Crestine)-(7). Eventually, in May 1925, he was prosecuted for the murder of a police commissioner (Constantin Manciu) and triumphantly acquitted (8). His action seemed so justifiable (self-defence)-(9) that 19.300 attorneys had volunteered to plead his cause and the day after he was acquitted, thousands of Romanians cheered at the train which brought the young man back to Jassy. A former French lecturer in this town, Emmanuel Beau de Loménie, throws an interesting light on the case : « Those who speak about the death of the commissioner neglect to say that the man in question was ruling by a system of oriental terror. Whenever he arrested some young anti-Jewish demonstrators, one of his favourite games consisted in hanging them head downwards and whipping their feet with a bullwhip until they fainted » (10).

 

            At that time and for most of his followers, Codreanu was already « a rock among the waves, a road opener, a sword drawn between two worlds » ; he was also the embodiment of new virtues : « thought, fortitude, action, bravery and life » (11).

 

A religious inspiration

 

            Based on the belief in God, the faith in a mission, mutual love and a fraternal sharing of emotion through choir-singing, the Legion of the Archangel was very different from a political party as we usually conceive it nowadays. « It is not a political movement », says V. P. Garcineanu, « but a spiritual revolution » (12). In Défense de l’Occident (13), Paul Guiraud shares a common sentiment : « This movement », he writes, « has got something unique : it aims at the spiritual and moral recovery of man, at the creation of a new man. This man won’t have anything in common with his democratic predecessor who was both individualistic and weak-minded ». This spiritual reference catches also the attention of Robert Brasillach (14) in Notre Avant-Guerre where he mentions the Legion : « To his legionaries », the young columnist writes, « Corneliu Codreanu directed a rough and variegated poetry ; he appealed to sacrifice, honour, discipline and called for that sort of collective impulse which people usually experience through religion and which he called national ecumenicity » (15). For C. Papanace and W. Hagen (W. Höttl), it was these high moral standards that distinguished the Legion from all other nationalist movements in Europe. According to C. Papanace, « fascism cares about the attire (i.e. the state organization), national-socialism about the body (i.e. racial eugenics) while the Legion attends to the soul (which means its strengthening through the practice of Christian virtues and its preparation with a view to its final salvation) » (16). For W. Hagen, the Legion « had nothing in common with the various copies of fascism and national-socialism that existed in other countries. The difference laid in its Christian religiosity and its mysticism » (17). An intense nationalism combined to a passionate faith made of the Legion an unusual phenomenon which some legionaries saw as the early beginnings of a vast spiritual awakening of the world : « With legionarism », Garcineanu says, « Romanians have created a unique phenomenon in Europe : a movement which possesses a religious structure associated to an ideological corpus that proceeds from Christian theology (…) This is a central fact because in the collective quest for God, it means that all other nations will have to follow us » (18).

 

Anti-Semitism

 

            For the leader of the Legion, Romania’s troubles were primarily due to the Jews. Almost a century later and in view of the wave of anti-Semitic crimes which occured during WWII, this extreme judeophobia seems altogether inadmissible. One should of course replace it in the context of the thirties and remember some enlightening statistics : according to a census of that time, which we borrow from F. Duprat (19), Jews were 10,8% in Bucovina, 7,2% in Bessarabia (and almost 60% of Chisinau’s inhabitants), 6,5% in Moldavia (with a total population of 102.000, Jassy was housing 65.000 Jews) and no less than 140.000 of them lived in the capital-city (which had a total population of 700.000). According to professor Ernst Nolte (20), « between the boyards and the serves, the Jews had formed an intermediate stratum. In some universities and several academic professions and although they did not make up more than 5% of the total population, they outnumbered Romanians. Seventy percent of the journalists and eighty percent of the textile engineers were of Jewish stock. In 1934, almost 50% of the students were non-Romanians (…) Unlike their coreligionists from Austria-Hungary, local Jews did not feel disposed to being assimilated, especially as the prorogation of their former community-status allowed them to secure considerable business advantages ».

 

            In Romania as everywhere else in Europe, Jews aroused the hostility of nationalist circles. It was not exactly a novelty : already in 1866 a bloody riot had broken out in Bucharest when French MP Adolphe Crémieux (21) had offered Romania a loan of 25 million francs in return for the emancipation of Jews. In a stormy atmosphere, members of Parliament had hence been forced to turn down the offer. Considering this past record, the anti-Semitism of the Legion was not so exceptional : after all Iorga’s and Cuza’s National Democratic Party, Marshal Averescu’s People’s Party and Octavian Goga’s National Christian Party (22) had taken the same stand… Besides one should notice that contrary to widely spread clichés, Codreanu never refered to any biological or religious anti-Semitism to justify his anti-Jewish trend. As in the days when Romania was fighting against Turks, Phanariots or Russians, the Legion only confined to an exclusive conception of Romanian national identity. There again one must look back on the crisis of 1866 and remember the words of geographer Ernest Desjardins who wrote : « I can affirm that no religious prejudice ever plaid any part in the government’s decisions nor in the hostility which natives display towards the Jews » (23). Former legionary Faust Bradesco says approximately the same : « Just as it was in the 19th century », he writes, « Legion’s anti-Semitism is nothing but national self-defence (…) Never did the Legion cause any physical harm to the Jews ; it took no notice of race and never damaged any synagogue » (24). Incidentally it appears that Codreanu’s official aims were rather peaceful : wasn’t his major ambition to free Romanians from their inferiority complex and compete with the Jews on their own ground ? An intention he quickly materialized by creating a « legionary trading battalion », cooperative stores, communal canteens, sewing shops, a « legionary market » and a « legionary workers’ corps ».

 

A noble ideal

 

            To bring national decline to an end and restore the ancient Dacian, the Legion was supposed to be « a school and an army more than a political party » (25). This essential interest for man, as opposed to the corruptible and cosmopolitan politico, was the cornerstone of the movement : « …A new man will rise », Codreanu foretold, « with the qualities of a hero. The Legion will be the cradle of the very best offspring our race can beget : our legionary school will nurture the proudest, noblest, frankest, wisest, purest, bravest and most industrious sons Romania ever had, the noblest souls she ever dreamt up » (26). In this slow process of national revival, woman – mother, daughter, sister or partner – was not forgotten : « In this fight for the better and for the renewal of the Romanian soul », Ion Banea writes (27), « a strong, beautiful and great role is allotted to women (…) We are today in a period of change and struggle. From this battle of honour the woman of our time cannot be absent. We want the woman of our age to be a fighter ; we want her to be a comrade. The times demand it ».

 

            Both in his writings and public speeches, Codreanu harked back again and again to these themes, tirelessly claiming for the restoration of moral requirements which were so stern and austere that F. Bradesco called them « anti-machiavellian » : « All talents », said Codreanu, « brains, education and breeding, are useless to a man who is committed to infamy. Teach your children not to use it either against a friend or even against their worst ennemy (…) In their fight against traitors of all sorts, tell them not to resort to the same disgraceful means. Should they eventually win, they would just exchange roles with their foes. Infamy would stay unchallenged (…) Basically il would carry on ruling the world. Only the light, which flashes out from the hero’s noble and loyal soul, will dispel the shades with which infamy darkened the world » (28).

 

Stringent ethics

 

            To ponder and practice these principles, legionaries were incorporated into a rather elaborate structure. In addition to the headquarters (the Green House or Casa Verde) it included the « brotherhoods of the Cross » (for children and teenagers), the « citadels » (for women and girls) and above all the « nests » where men could find « a moral milieu propitious to the birth and development of the hero ». In this frame, legionaries could complete their moulding by facing three kinds of ordeals : at first came small personal sacrifices (of time, money and energies), then missions that required heart (to cope with injustice, legal pettifogging and police brutality) and finally situations that necessitated an absolute faith so as to master misgiving, impatience and disillusion. « Only means to contend with human cowardice, hyper-materialism and an unquenchable craving for domination », Faust Bradesco says, « these ordeals allow man to fulfill himself as a person and to grow better as a member of the society » (29). All along that spiritual path, the legionary could be awarded congratulations, mentions, diplomas, ranks (e.g. instructor, vice-commander or commander) and medals (the White Cross for bravery and the Green Cross for deeds of valour). The movement possessed a few special units but globally it was based on a pyramidal organization (with a corresponding hierarchy) : above the « nest », there were the garrison, the district, the department (county) and the region. At the top and next to the Captain, the movement was headed by the Legion Senate (an assembly of wise men, older than 50) and the Council of Commanders (30).

 

            As an echo to the « collective state of mind » and the « national ecumenicity » which Codreanu often refered to and also as a symbol of unity, the Legion wore a uniform (a green shirt). Concurrently the Captain had set forth a series of eight points – moral purity, unselfishness, enthusiasm, faith, the stimulation of the moral forces of the Nation, justice, vitality and New Romania as a final goal – to which every new member personally adhered by taking an oath and solemnly receiving a small bag of Romanian earth. So as to ensure an harmonious development to the movement, this creed was of course associated to the consentaneous principles of order and discipline (31) without which no political action could ever suceed.

 

            Soon the Capitanul (a traditional title of Captain given to great defenders of the Nation) started to lead imposing rides through the country, with hundreds of horsemen wearing white tunics stamped with a Cross. He also opened large working-sites (« The work-camp », Garcineanu writes, « possesses the same beneficial influences upon the Romanian soul as the nest. Only it realizes them in larger proportions. The spiritual effort is deeper, the accomplished results greater, the legionaries in larger numbers. The work-camp, by its scope, is the place and the only modality of anticipating the great legionary life of tmorrow »). Everywhere in Romania, the ascendancy of the Captain grew bigger and bigger (32) : « I have been able to verify », says Odette Arnaud, « that in both Bucharest and Jassy, 80% of the students learn the Cărticica (the breviary of the Legion) by heart (…) I witnessed a pilgrimage of highlanders. They came to kiss the Captain’s hands after walking nearly a hundred leagues, barefoot, with a stick in one hand » (33). Apparently insensible to this new popularity, the leader of the Legion kept cool and collected : according to Beau de Loménie, « he kept perfectly unaffected, good-tempered and genuinely unassuming » (34).

 

            In June 1930, the Legion of the Archangel St Michael became the Iron Guard (Garda de Fier), a name which it was to keep in spite of several bans (June 11, 1931 ; March 1932 ; December 10, 1933). As an emblem it took a square of iron bars (or gard in Romanian language).

 

The Iron Guard

 

            Faithful to the mission assigned to the Legion, Codreanu provided the Iron Guard with a consistent political doctrine which he set out in his book Pentru Legionari (For the Legionaries). He first advocated a ruthless fight against communism which had been successfully implanted by Jewish immigrants from Poland and Russia (between 1914 and 1938, the Jewish population of Romania had grown from 300.000 to 790.000). As a matter of fact, the Captain did not beat around the bush : « When I speak of anti-communist action », he wrote, « I do not mean anti-worker action : when I speak of communists I mean the Jews » (35).

 

            Although King Carol and his suite never ceased making trouble for him, he then stated that he remained a faithful monarchist and rejected any form of republican government. Quite as clearly he condemned democracy as a system which jeopardizes national unity, changes thousands of foreigners into Romanian citizens and proves together erratic, timorous and invariably compliant to great capitalism (36).

 

            Thoroughly scrutinizing the life of the Nation, the chief of the Iron Guard singled out « natural principles of death » and « natural laws of life ». Persuaded that the masses never had any spontaneous intuition of the latter, he suggested that in the future the people should be guided by an elite, that’s to say by « a type of native individuals who possess some special skills ». How will this elite be recruited ? Neither by the ballot-box nor by heredity but by the natural laws of « social selection ». As to the qualities required, the Captain mentioned pureness, working capacity, valour, a strong will to overcome, an ascetic life, faith in God and love. « One should remember », Codreanu said (November 11, 1937), « that the idea of an elite is intrinsically linked to the ideas of sacrifice, poverty and severe life. Whenever the idea of sacrifice is given up, the elite vanishes ».

 

            From a legionary point of view (as expressed by Codreanu himself), the individual is « subordinated to the national community over which the Nation predominates » (37). The Nation includes « all living Romanians as well as the souls of our dead, the graves of our ancestors and all those who will be born Romanian » (38). The Nation owns a physical and a biological patrimony, a material heritage and – as it is also for the Spaniard José Antonio Primo de Rivera (39) – a spiritual legacy which embraces « the way the Nation conceives God, life and the world, as well as the honour and the civilization of the Nation » (40). For the Captain, « the spiritual legacy is the most important » (41). As for the final goal of the Nation, it is the Resurrection (according to the Apocalypse which legionaries often refered to) : « The Nation is a community that will live in the hereafter. Nations are spiritual realities : they not only live here below but also in the reign of God » (42).

 

The Guard into action

 

            Concurrently to the great strides it organized inside Romania, the Iron Guard began looking forward to an international recognition : in December 1934, Ion Moţa (Codreanu’s brother in law) attended the international fascist meeting of Montreux (Switzlerland), showing thence that the Guard felt more attracted to Rome than Berlin. A couple of years later, when the Spanish War broke out, Codreanu stood up for the nationalists and sent them a symbolic deputation of seven volunteers (Ion Moţa, Father Ion Dumitrescu-Borşa, Prince Alecu Cantacuzeno, Bănică Dobre, Gheorghe Clime, Nicolae Totu and Vasile Marin) led by former general Gheorghe Cantacuzino-Grănicerul. These men left Bucharest on November 26, 1936, they met Francisco Franco and general Moscardo, and joined the Tercio (43). All of them being reserve officers, they were quickly posted (as simple rank and file) to the VIth Bandera and immediately took part in the battle at Las Rozas, Pozuelo and Majadahonda where Ion Mota and Vasile Marin got prematurely killed by an ennemy shell on January 13, 1937 (44).

 

            Within Romania, the conflict with the oligarchy became all the more relentless as the Guard grew more and more representative (from 5 MPs in July 1932, the movement, momentarily renamed Totul Pentru Ţară or Everything for the Country, won up to 60 seats at the elections of December 1937). Persecuted by a regime which went so far as to resort to gangs of thugs and set up a state of emergency in some areas, the Guard will suffer 5.000 deaths between 1927 and 1941. Yet it did not plunge the country into a civil war as it could have done it… It seems therefore particularly undue to picture the Guard as an essentially terrorist organization (which implies that it systematically resorted to violence as a legitimate mean to assume power). Actually when it was involved in violence, it nearly always took the form of limited and targetted actions, conceived as « punishments », whose perpetrators spontaneously surrendered to Justice.

 

            Three of these actions aroused a world wide interest : the execution of Prime Minister Ion Gheorghe Duca by the Nicadorii (at Sinaïa on December 29, 1933), that of Mihai Stelescu by the Decemvirii (on July 16, 1936) and that of Prime Minister Armand Călinescu by the Rasbunatorii (at Cotroceni on September 21, 1939). In the first case, the aim was to punish the man who had quashed the electoral campaign of the Guard and who was responsible for 11.000 arrests, 300 wounded and 6 dead… In the second case, the legionaries wanted to punish a former commander, one of the most brilliant, who had conspired against the Captain’s life, betrayed his oath and become the darling of the Jewish press. Happening at the right moment, this betrayal had had an appalling impact. According to F. Bradesco, « an uneasy feeling was growing among legionaries and a sense of shame was hanging over the Commanders’ Corps » (45). It was therefore decided to strike a spectacular blow (especially cruel, this action proved durably prejudicial. As a matter of fact, Stelescu was killed inside Brancobenesc Hospital where he had just been operated. According to the Tharaud brothers, the murderers shot 38 bullets at him and finished him off with an axe ; writer Virgil Gheorghiu says that they fired 200 bullets and then chopped the body with hatchets !). In the third case, the aim was to avenge the Captain by striking the main promoter of what legionaries usually called Prigoana cea mare or « the Great Persecution ».

 

            As far as terrorism is concerned, one should pay special attention to the case of that Călinescu who prided himself with being the fiercest ennemy of the Iron Guard. Totally subservient to King Carol and the business circles of Bucharest (especially to the king’s mistress Magda Wolf-Lupescu)-(46), he had been displaying a constant hate for the Guard since 1932. Appointed to the governement in December 1937, under foreign pressure and on the eve of new elections, he engaged at once in muzzling the Guard with the most radical means : people were arrested, the police closed some country-roads, meetings were banned, activists placed under forced residence, some of them assaulted, and several areas quarantined. Unfair as they might be, these measures did not prevent the Guard to come third at the poll with 16,09% of the votes. Then, at king’s palace and among power-holders, some disreputable people imagined to get rid of the Guard and its leader for good. Owing to his ferocious zeal, Călinescu was chosen to be the main tool of the plot. At first and after making sure that Patriarch Miron Cristea agreed, the king set up a dictature (February 12, 1938), suspended the Constitution, put off the elections, banned all political parties and declared a state of emergency. Suspecting a snare, Codreanu did not do anything to resist the coup : on his own initiative he dissolved his organization, freed the legionaries from their obligations and advised everyone to keep quiet and patient. When a referendum was called (February 28, 1938) to approve the new Constitution, he deliberately did not ask to vote against it so as not to offer any excuse to further repression. The main result of these tactics was of course to infuriate Călinescu whose provocations redoubled : more legal proceedings poured in, thousands of legionary civil servants were dismissed and all premises and companies of the Iron Guard were arbitrarily closed down. To the minister’s great disappointment this strong pressure proved unavailing as it did not meet the slightest sign of rebellion…

 

            In the end and as the Guard offered no resistance whatever, Călinescu was compelled to find a trivial pretext to engage in the second phase of his anti-legionary operation. On account of a private letter Codreanu had sent to professor Nicolae Iorga, king’s councellor, the latter was encouraged to lodge a complaint for outrage (March 30, 1938) and the Captain was immediately indicted. Arrested on April 17 together with several thousands legionaries (whose possible reaction made the government feel much anxious), Codreanu appeared before a military court (April 19) which sentenced him to a 6 month imprisonment (a maximal punishment for such an alleged offence) ! Incarcerated in Jilava, the leader of the Guard was henceforward at the mercy of his worst enemies. Isolated and seriously ill (from TB), his spirits were low : « Once again my mother is alone », he wrote, « Her son-in-law has died in Spain, leaving a widow and a couple of orphans. I am in jail. Four other children are already in prison or on the verge of being arrested. One of them has also got four children who stay without a crust of bread to eat. Before the holidays, my father went to Bucharest to draw his pension and he never returned. He was arrested, led to an unknown place and no one knows about his fate » (47).

 

            At this stage, it seemed that the government had reached its objective : the Iron Guard was paralyzed, its most active supporters were disqualified and its leader in gaol. Still Călinescu wanted to complete his work. With this aim in view, he initiated new proceedings (May 8, 1938) against Codreanu in order to have him sentenced for treason and armed rebellion. Appearing before Bucharest military court (May 23) after a quick investigation and whereas his lawyers had only had three days to prepare the plea, the Captain miraculously escaped the death penalty (just established on May 24…) but he however got ten years of hard labour (May 27, 1938) !

 

            The denial of justice was enormous, the masquerade patent, yet Călinescu’s employers were not satisfied. Neither the king nor his hidden abettors felt reassured as they perfectly knew that many legionary groups were still secretly at work (in 1937 there were 34.000 « nests »), that some commanders had escaped police raids and that their chief was still alive. Once more the Home Secretary set to work, more than ever determined to do in the Captain and his men. Throughout summer, the police went on arresting people so as to weaken the Guard a little more ; precautions were even taken in the army to prevent any outburst of temper from sympathizers. Eventually, in November, everything was ready and Călinescu gave the green light. In the night from November 29 to November 30, 1938, Codreanu and 13 other legionaries (the Nicadorii and the Decemvirii) were taken out from Râmnicu-Sarat jail and handed over to major Dinulescu and a company of gendarmes. The police vans took the road to Bucharest, they stopped on the edge of Tâncăbeşti Forest and there, the 14 prisoners were coldly strangled by their custodians who also riddled them with bullets to simulate an escape bid. Afterwards, the corpses were brought to Jilava, sprayed with sulfuric acid and burried in several tons of concrete (48) ; then, general Ioan Bengliu gave each killer a bonus of 20.000 lei.

 

            Călinescu had but a short while to jubilize. As expected he was not long to pay for his crime with his life (49) : on September 21, 1939, a group of avengers shot him dead in Cotroceni. As for the tragic death of Codreanu, at the age of 39, it highlights the message which the Captain used to address to his young supporters : « Fight but never be vile. Leave to others the ways of infamy. Better fall with honour than win uncreditably » (50).

 

War, Resistance and Exile

 

            The punishment inflicted to Călinescu (51) led to a stinging counterstroke : the executioners were immediately shot on the spot without any trial. Whereupon general Argeşanu gave the order to kill all legionary officers who happened to be incarcerated at the moment as well as five ordinary legionaries in each county (that is to say between 300 to 400 dead in 24 hours !)-(52). In spite of these repeated blows, the Iron Guard survived ; under the leadership of a new chief, Horia Sima (1907-1993), it even entered the governement in September 1940 (Horia Sima, Prince Sturdza, prof. Brăileanu, legionaries Nicolau and Iasinschi were appointed ministers). Thenceforth the settling of accounts began : on November 27, 1940, former minister Victor Iamandi, generals Gheorghe Argeşanu, Ioan Bengliu and Gabriel Marinescu were summarily executed in Jilava together with senior police officers Moruzov and Stefanescu (53) ; on the same day Nicolae Iorga, the man who had told the king to get rid of Codreanu, was assassinated in Strejnicu (54). On the other hand and contrary to the usual stereotypes, the legionary movement did not start any pogrom. According to the Black Book (Cartea Neagra) which Matatias Carp published in 1946 with a foreword by Chief Rabbi Alexandru Safran, « during the legionary government (from September 6, 1940, to January 24, 1941) casualties were as follows : 4 Jews killed in Bucharest in November ; 11 Jews killed in Ploeşti in the night of November 27 ; 1 Jew killed in Hârşova (Constanta) on January 17, 1941, and 120 Jews killed between January 21 and January 24, 1941, during the rebellion » (volume 1, p. 25). No doubt this balance of 136 victims is terrible (55) but as a comparison one should remember that up to 265.000 Jews died under Marshal Antonescu’s anti-legionary regime… [Is it necessary to add that the Legion took absolutely no part in the alleged pogroms of Jassy (June 27, 1941), Edinets (July 6, 1941), Cernăuţi (July 9, 1941), Chisinau (August 1, 1941) and Odessa (October 1941-January 1942) ? As explained below, the movement was dissolved and prohibited in January 1941. The pogroms if they ever happened were the sole responsability of Antonescu and his acolytes].

 

            The Iron Guard did not stay at the head of the state for long. On January 21, 1941 and by means of a large police operation backed by German Wehrmacht (general E. O. Hansen), Marshal Ion Antonescu tried to extirpate the legionaries for good (at least 800 of them were killed and 8000 arrested). Under German protection, the surviving commanders had no alternative but to flee to Germany where Himmler had them confined in Buchenwald, Dachau, Berkenbruck and Sachsenhausen (56). According to Walter Hagen (57), « the crushing of the legionary movement deprived the regime of any popular support. It became a “dead system“, very similar to the dictatorial government of Carol II. When danger came, nobody lifted a finger to defend it ». Arrested (August 23, 1944) and handed over to the Soviets by order of King Michael and Iuliu Maniu, the Conducător (Antonescu) ended his life facing a communist firing squad.

 

            Released on August 24, 1944, the day after Romania’s volte-face, the legionaries from Germany set up (December 10, 1944) a « Romanian National Government » (with Horia Sima, Prince Sturdza, general Chirnoagă) which settled in Vienna and later in Bad Gastein and Altaussee. They also formed a small anti-communist army which went to fight along river Oder. This Romanian unit was made of two Waffen-SS regiments (5.000 men) whose commanding officer was general Platon Chirnoagă (1894-1974). « In the circumstances », Horia Sima says (58), « the Iron Guard had no choice but to carry on the fight (…) Therefore I issued a proclamation to the country which was immediately broadcast. Then I began organizing the resistance with the scanty means we still had at our disposal ».

 

            As in most East European countries, the resistance began with a very poor equipment, in a territory which the Red Army had just ravaged and where all sorts of communist gangs were wreaking havoc (from March 6, 1945, these thugs became the senior executives of the new political police)-(59). At that time no support was to be expected from either the king or his friends (540.000 Romanian soldiers were now fighting against Germany together with the Soviets). Though he had just been awarded the Order of the Victory, King Michael (born 1921) was no more than a mere hostage in the hands of Vichinsky, P. Groza, Gheorghiu-Dej, V. Luca, Ana Pauker or Emil Bodnăraş, and he had no choice but to drain the cup to its dregs. On December 30, 1947 he nevertheless resolved to abdicate and leave the country. In spite of draconian measures of repression (arrests, mass deportations, shootings), guerillas sprang up in Oltenia, Banat, Transylvania and along the Carpathian Mountains ; led by former legionaries, these groups went on fighting until 1955-1956 almost without any help from abroad (60). Beyond their own ideas, this hard-line attitude was a question of life and death for the former members of the Iron Guard. Actually under a new law passed in May 1948, they were irrevocably destined for the hardest punishments, which meant that they would end up in some infamous death camps (such as Black Sea Canal, Cavnic, Peninsula, Aiud) and suffer the « unmaskings » or brainwashings to which all intellectuals were submitted at Piteşti, Gherla and Jilava special prisons (61).

 

            For the expatriates the fight went on as well (62) but in a less hostile environment. Well established in the Romanian emigration (in Germany, France, Spain, Brazil and the USA) they launched several publications, did their best to inform the Western public (63) and took an active part in various assemblies of captive nations. According to the declaration they issued in 1977 (50th aniversary of the Legion) their positions ensued from their former commitments. The Iron Guard in exile demanded that international communism should be eradicated, it rejected the UNO and the Helsinki Agreement, proposed to build a united Europe with a common spiritual denominator and to support East European resistance movements ; it also rejected any idea of « world government » and flatly repelled the concept of « spheres of influence ». Vis-à-vis the inner situation of Romania, it denied Ceauşescu any legitimacy, reaffirmed Romanian rights on Bucovina, Bessarabia and the Hertza region (annexed by the USSR), rejected collectivism and demanded religious freedom.

 

            As Corneliu Zelea Codreanu had predicted : « Legionaries do not die. Standing upright, steadfast and immortal, they victoriously gaze at the seething of ineffectual hates » (64). In 1989, after 45 years of communist rule, the survivors of the Guard had not changed : they were still faithful to their oath and sticked to their creed (social fraternity, distributive justice, inner perfection and creative revolution). After the fall of Ceauşescu, those who lived in Romania (mostly octogenarians) kept cautious and contented themselves with supporting the traditional right-wing parties. For them, the country was not yet fully safe : the late dictator’s henchmen were still powerful and the new democracy unsteady. Wasn’t it amazing to see the Romanians, totally messed up, cheer up King Michael (in February 1997), the very man who had abandoned them to Stalin and given up a good third of the country ? Writing about the ethnic quarrels which broke out in Transylvania, some journalists suggested that a new Iron Guard stood behind the nationalist movement Vatra Românească and the Association for a United Romania (65). Probably meant for the omnipotent western antifascist lobby, the allegation was immediately taken up by Petre Roman (March 21, 1990) ; it came at the right moment for a most controversial regime whose repressive policy it greatly contributed to justify. Obviously this was grossly overstated and at any rate much premature. Today, Romania is very different from what it used to be in the thirties or the fourties (66) and the Iron Guard is not a simple political party which disappears and reappears according to circumstances. It has a metaphysical dimension which cannot be so easily restored in a country that has been submitted for nearly 50 years to atheism, materialism and utilitarianism. If the legionary movement is ever to revive, it will be under the spur of a new elite (as Codreanu meant it)-(67) and it will need years to develop !

 

 

                                                                                                          Christophe Dolbeau

 

 

Notes

 

(1) Horizons Rouges, Paris, Presses de la Cité, 1988, pp. 217-221.

 

(2) For the same reason, criticisms were also directed at philosopher and poet Émile Cioran (1911-1995). In a letter dated March 4, 1975, the Romanian-French academician Eugène Ionesco (1909-1994) writes : « Towards the end of the inter-war years, most Romanians, especially young people and intellectuals, were members or sympathizers of the Romanian fascist party called the Iron Guard » – quoted by J. Miloe in La Riposte, Paris, Compagnie Française d’Impression, 1976, p. 309.

 

(3) Title of a famous poem by the Transylvanian Andreiu Muresianu (1816-1863).

 

(4) La Revue Hebdomadaire, March 2, 1935.

 

(5) L’Envoyé de l’Archange, Paris, Plon, 1939, p. 2. Both Jérôme (1874-1953) and Jean (1877-1952) Tharaud were novelists who belonged to the French Academy.

 

(6) The son of a Jewish mother, Bertrand de Jouvenel (1903-1987) was a famous fascist journalist who later became a much respected economist.

 

(7) The banner of the League was black and there was a white circle with a swastika in the middle. The League was presided over by professor Alexandru C. Cuza (1857-1947).

 

(8) According to Codreanu, « All the gentlemen of the jury wore a tricolour cockade with a swastika » – in La Garde de Fer, Grenoble, Omul Nou, 1972, p. 231. See https://archive.org/details/ForMyLegionariesTheIronGuard

 

(9) On October 25, 1924 C. Z. Codreanu was defending a young student at the tribunal of Jassy. All of a sudden and during the hearing, commissioner Manciu and a dozen policemen burst into the court room and rushed to Codreanu who seized his gun and fired to protect himself – See La Garde de Fer, p. 210.

 

(10) La Revue Hebdomadaire, December 17, 1938, vol. XII, p. 346.

 

(11) Ion Banea, Lines for our Generation, Madrid, Libertatea, 1987, p. 13-14.

 

(12) V. Puiu Gârcineanu, From the Legionary World, Madrid, Libertatea, 1987, p. 1.

 

(13) N° 81 (April-May 1969), p. 9-10.

 

(14) Born in 1909 in the South of France, Robert Brasillach was a promising poet but also a bestselling novelist and a brilliant journalist ; sentenced to death in January 1945 for « collaboration with the nazis », he was executed on February 6, 1945.

 

(15) Notre Avant-Guerre, Paris, Plon, 1973, p. 304.

 

(16) Introduction to the Livret du Chef de Nid (Handbook of the Nest Leader), Pământul Strămoşesc, 1978, s.l., p. VI.

 

(17) Le Front Secret, Paris, Les Iles d’Or, 1952, p. 234.

 

(18) V. Puiu Gârcineanu, op. cit., p. 14. The Christian inspiration of the movement attracted a great number of clergymen ; approximately 3.000 priests (out of 10.000) belonged to the Legion. In 1945, out of 12 bishops in the Synod, 7 were former legionaries.

 

(19) Revue d’Histoire du Fascisme, N° 2 (September-October 1972), p. 132.

 

(20) Les Mouvements Fascistes, Paris, Calmann-Lévy, 1991, p. 237.

 

(21) Adolphe Crémieux (1796-1880) was a Jew and a freemason ; from 1863 to 1880, he was the president of the Alliance Israélite Universelle (World Jewish Alliance).

 

(22) The symbol of the National Christian Party was the swastika.

 

(23) See Les Juifs de Moldavie, Paris, Dentu, 1867.

 

(24) Les Trois Épreuves Légionnaires, Prométhée, 1973, s. l., p. 69. This opinion is shared by Prince Mihail Sturdza who states that Codreanu « would have immediately expelled from the Movement any fool who had so much as broken a window in a Jewish-owned shop » (The Suicide of Europe, p. 233) and by Father Vasile Boldeanu who assures that « there was no room for anti-Semitism in the legionary programme » (quoted in La Riposte, p. 194).These opinions are perhaps a bit too « optimistic » and in any case they seem to be contradicted by the long series of outrages which the Jewish community suffered at that time (taking into consideration that all the attacks were not always due to legionaries and that they often occured as retaliatons to previous assaults by Jewish thugs as in Oradea, December 1927).

 

(25) La Garde de Fer, p. 283.

 

(26) Ibid, p. 283.

 

(27) Ion Banea, op. cit., p. 10-11.

 

(28) La Garde de Fer, p. 277.

 

(29) Les Trois Épreuves Légionnaires, p. 158.

 

(30) See F. Bradesco, Le Nid – Unité de Base du Mouvement Légionnaire, Madrid, Carpatii, 1973.

 

(31) See C. Z. Codreanu, Le Livret du Chef de Nid, Pamântul Stramosesc, 1978, and F. Bradesco, Le Nid, pp. 111-135.

 

(32) The Legion-Iron Guard had grown from an obscure little group into a large movement whose membership included generals (Gheorghe Cantacuzeno, Ion Macridescu, Ion Tarnoschi), scholars (Traian Brăileanu, Ion Găvănescul, Eugen Chirnoagă, Corneliu Şumuleanu, Dragoş Protopopescu), distinguished philosophers (Nichifor Crainic, Nae Ionescu) and brilliant poets (Radu Gyr, Virgil Carianopol). The masses were also enthusiastic : when Codreanu got married (June 13, 1925), a crowd of 80.000 to 100.000 flooded to Focşani and at the funerals of Moţa and Marin (February 13, 1937), the cortège (with a hundred priests) stretched out over 6 miles. In 1937 and according to S. G. Payne, the Iron Guard had a membership of 272.000 (i.e. 1,5% of the Romanian population).

 

(33) La Revue Hebdomadaire, March 2, 1935.

 

(34) La Revue Hebdomadaire, December 17, 1938, p. 348.

 

(35) La Garde de Fer, p. 353. Before WWII there were approximately 300.000 factory workers in Romania and the local Communist Party had no more than 1000 members. Indubitably most communist leaders – Dr Litman Ghelerter, Ilie Moscovici, Marcel and Ana Pauker (Hannah Rabinsohn), Avram Bunaciu (Abraham Gutman), Walter Roman (Ernö Neuländer), Teohari Georgescu (Burah Techkovich), Gheorghe Apostol (Aaron Gerschwin), Miron Constantinescu (Mehr Kohn), Leonte Răutu (Lev Oigenstein), Remus Kofler, Simion Bughici (David), Iosif Chişinevschi (Iacob Roitman), Gheorghe Stoica (Moscu Cohn), Stefan Voicu (Aurel Rotenberg), etc – were Jews.

See : http://en.metapedia.org/wiki/List_of_communist_Jews_in_Romania

 

(36) Ibid, pp. 386-388.

 

(37) Ibid, p. 396.

 

(38) Ibid, p. 398.

 

(39) See Horia Sima, Dos Movimientos Nacionales, José antonio Primo de Rivera y Corneliu Codreanu, Madrid, Ediciones Europa, 1960.

 

(40) La Garde de Fer, p. 398.

 

(41) Ibid, p. 398.

 

(42) Ibid, p. 399.

 

(43) The Tercio is the Spanish Foreign Legion.

 

(44) José Luis de Mesa, Los otros internacionales, Madrid, Barbarroja, 1998, pp. 165-172, and Los legionarios rumanos Motza y marin caidos por Dios y España, Barcelona, Bausp, 1978. The mortal remnants of the two legionaries were repatriated by train and the funerals took place in Bucharest on February 13, 1937. Legionaries Clime, Cantacuzeno, Dobre and Totu came back safe and sound but they were assassinated by the Romanian secret police in September 1939 ; Father Dumitrescu (1899-1981) received a 16-year sentence in 1948.

 

(45) F. Bradesco, La Garde de Fer et le Terrorisme, Madrid, Carpatii, 1979, p. 97.

 

(46) Born in a Jewish family from Jassy, Helen Wolf (1895-1977) became the king’s mistress in 1925 ; she later married Carol II (the marriage took place in 1947 in Rio de Janeiro) and from then onwards she was called Helen of Hohenzollern…

 

(47) C. Z. Codreanu, Journal de Prison (Prison Diary), Puiseaux, Pardès, 1986, p. 18-19.

 

(48) On December 6, 1940, they were transfered to the Green House in the presence of 120.000 legionaries.

 

(49) Unanimously decided by the Legionary High Command in Berlin, the operation was carried out by a group of nine volunteers led by young attorney Miti Dumitrescu.

 

(50) C. Z. Codreanu, Le Livret du Chef de Nid, p. 7 (Basic rule N° 6 of the « nest »).

 

(51) In a circular-letter (N° 145) dated February 11, 1928, C. Z. Codreanu had explicitly asked his friends to avenge him in case of a murder – See F. Bradesco, La Garde de Fer et le Terrorisme, p. 190.

 

(52) The sinister balance of these reprisals is far from acurate : according to V. Gheorghiu, 242 legionaries were killed whereas Father Boldeanu speaks of 1300 victims. Be it as it may, in absence of legal proceedings this massacre was mere state-terrorism.

 

(53) In a letter dated April 5, 1936, C. Z. Codreanu gave his legionaries the following advice : « Don’t confuse justice and Christian forgiveness with the right and the duty of a people to punish those who betrayed and those who dared opposing the Nation’s destiny. Don’t forget that you have girded on the sword of the Nation. You carry it in the name of the Nation. And in the name of the Nation you shall punish, mercilessly and without any pardon » – La Garde de Fer, p. 443.

 

(54) The authors of this merciless retribution were executed in their turn on December 4, 1940 and July 28, 1941.

 

(55) Once more the balance is uncertain : regarding the events of January 1941, F. Bertin speaks of 400 victims, F. Duprat of 680 and Father Boldeanu goes up to 1352 (122 Jews, 430 legionaries and 800 undetermined). For their part, some representatives of the Jewish community (different from M. Carp and Rabbi Safran) put forward a total of 5.000 to 6.000.

 

(56) Treated as Ehrenhäftlinge or honorary prisoners, many legionaries were apparently not interned with the other inmates but granted better conditions. At Buchenwald for instance several of them stayed in Fichtenheim barracks which housed the camp garrison.

 

(57) W. Hagen, op. cit. , p. 244.

 

(58) Interview by G. Gondinet in Totalité N° 18-19 (summer 1984), p. 20.

 

(59) See Reuben H. Markham, La Roumanie sous le joug soviétique (Rumania under the Soviet yoke), Paris, Calmann-Lévy, 1949.

 

(60) However a few parachute landings were organized by political emigrants and foreign secret services : for instance 13 young paratroopers of the Resistance (Ion Buda, Aurel Corlan, Ion Cosma, Gheorghe Dincă, Ion Golea, Ion Iuhasz, Gavrilă Pop, Mircea Popovici, Ion Samoilă, Alexandru Tănase, Erich Tartler, Ion Tolan and Mihai Vasile Vlad) were sentenced to death and executed in October 1953. All former legionaries did not choose to resist and a minority prefered to adapt and collaborate : such was the case of Father Constantin Burducea who became minister of religious affairs (from March 6, 1945 to April 1946) and Nicolae Petrescu (the last general-secretary of the Iron Guard) who reappeared on the political scene between 1945 and 1948.

 

(61) See D. Bacu, The Anti-Humans, Englewood, Soldiers of the Cross, 1971 and G. Dumitresco, L’Holocauste des Âmes, Paris, Librairie Roumaine Antitotalitaire, 1998.

 

(62) In 1947, the Instructing Commission of the International Tribunal of Nuremberg exculpated the Legion, the Romanian National Government and the Romanian National Army ; yet the Iron Guard decided to dissolve in 1948.

 

(63) Sometimes more spectacular actions were organized as in Bern where, between February 14 and February 16, 1955, the Romanian embassy was raided by political emigrants Stan Codrescu, Dumitru Ochiu, Ion Chirilă and Puiu Beldeanu who killed colonel Aurel Setu, head of the Romanian secret service in Switzlerland.

 

(64) La Garde de Fer, p. 4.

 

(65) See for instance the scholar magazine Hérodote, N° 58-59, p. 300.

 

(66) Today Romania belongs to the EEC, it is a much secular country where communism is only a bad memory and where the Jewish community is reduced to barely 20.000 persons (for a global population of 21,5 million).

 

(67) In 1996 a small group of neo-legionaries from Timisoara began to publish a magazine called Gazeta de Vest. On January 15, 2000 the French daily Le Monde reported that on November 8, 1999 a religious service had been celebrated in Jassy, in memory of the Moldavian dead legionaries ; according to the Paris newspaper this service marked the official rebirth of the Legion. In 2014, the Noua Dreaptă (New Right) claims that it carries on the legacy of the Legion ; it is not a political party but a philosophical movement which does not stand for elections (see http://nouadreapta.org).

 

Bibliography

 

–        BACU D., The Anti-Humans, Englewood, Soldiers of the Cross, 1971.

 

–        BANEA I., Lines for our Generation, Madrid, Libertatea, 1987.

 

–        BERTIN F., L’Europe de Hitler, volume 3, Paris, Librairie Française, 1977.

 

–        BRADESCO F., Antimachiavélisme Légionnaire, Rio de Janeiro, Dacia, 1963 ; Le Nid, unité de base du Mouvement Légionnaire, Madrid, Carpatii, 1973 ; Les Trois Épreuves Légionnaires, Paris, Prométhée, 1973 ; La Garde de Fer et le Terrorisme, Madrid, Carpatii, 1979.

 

–        CABALLERO C. and LANDWEHR R., El Ejército Nacional Rumano. Romanian Volunteers of the Waffen SS 1944-45, Granada, García Hispán, 1997.

 

–        CODREANU C. Z., Le Livret du Chef de Nid, Pamântul Stramosesc, 1978, s. l. ; La Garde de Fer, Grenoble, Omul Nou, 1972 ; Journal de Prison, Puiseaux, Pardès, 1986.

 

–        DE MESA J. L., Los otros internacionales, Madrid, Barbarroja, 1998.

 

–        DESJARDINS E., Les Juifs de Moldavie, Paris, Dentu, 1867.

 

–        DUMITRESCO G., L’Holocauste des Âmes, Paris, Librairie Roumaine Antitotalitaire, 1998.

 

–        GARCINEANU V. P., From the Legionary World, Madrid, Libertatea, 1987.

 

–        GOLEA T., Romania beyond the limits of endurance, Miami Beach, Romanian Historical Studies, 1988.

 

–        GUERIN A., Les Commandos de la Guerre Froide, Paris, Julliard, 1969.

 

–        HAGEN W., Le Front Secret, Paris, Les Iles d’Or, 1952.

 

–        MARCKHAM R. H., La Roumanie sous le joug soviétique, Paris, Calmann-Lévy, 1949.

 

–        MILOE J., La Riposte, Paris, Compagnie Française d’Impression, 1976.

 

–        NOLTE E., Les Mouvements Fascistes, Paris, Calmann-Lévy, 1991.

 

–        PACEPA I., Horizons Rouges, Paris, Presses de la Cité, 1988.

 

–        SBURLATI C., Codreanu e la Guardia di Ferro, Roma, Volpe, 1977.

 

–        SIMA H., Destinées du Nationalisme, Paris, Prométhée, 1951 ; Dos Movimientos Nacionales, José Antonio Primo de Rivera y Corneliu Codreanu, Madrid, Ediciones Europa, 1960 ; Histoire du Mouvement Légionnaire, Rio de Janeiro, Dacia, 1972.

 

–        SIMA H. (D. CRETU and F. BRADESCO), Le Semi-Centenaire du Mouvement Légionnaire, Madrid, 1977.

 

–        STURDZA M., The Suicide of Europe, Boston-Los Angeles, Western Islands Publishers, 1968.

 

–        THARAUD J. and J., L’Envoyé de l’Archange, Paris, Plon, 1939.

 

–        XXX, Los legionarios rumanos Motza y Marin caídos por Dios y por España, Barcelona, Bausp, 1978.

 

 

–        La Revue Hebdomadaire, March 2, 1935 and December 17, 1938.

 

–        Nuova Antologia, February 1, 1938 (« Codreanu e il Legionarismo Romeno »)

 

–        Défense de l’Occident, N° 81 (April-May 1969)

 

–        Revue d’Histoire du Fascisme, N° 2 (September-October 1972).

 

–        Totalité, N° 18-19 (Summer 1984).

 

–        Le Choc du Mois, N° 28 (March 1990).

 

–        Hérodote, N° 58-59 (1990).

 

–        Quaderni di Testi Evoliani, N° 29.

 

French speaking readers will find a very complete set of texts about the ideology of the Iron Guard at http://vouloir.hautetfort.com/archive/2010/05/19/codreanu.html

                               

 

Cioran, le flâneur aux idées noires

Archives - 1995

Cioran, le flâneur aux idées noires

Par Didier Sénécal

Ex: http://www.lexpress.fr

Notre plus illustre moraliste s'est choisi sa vie. En adoptant la langue française comme une patrie, en décidant de ne jamais travailler, en veillant quand le monde dort...

Cioran est peut-être notre dernier écrivain légendaire. Grâce à son refus des projecteurs et à son indifférence aux honneurs, il a conservé une part de mystère - d'autant qu'il ne s'est jamais donné la peine de corriger les erreurs qui courent à son propos. Ainsi, les dictionnaires sont unanimes à le prénommer Emil Michel. La réalité est tout autre: comme Emil lui paraissait ridicule pour des oreilles françaises, il a adopté les initiales E.M., autrement dit les deux premières lettres de son prénom, en songeant au romancier anglais E.M. Forster. 

Emil Cioran, donc, est né en 1911 à Rasinari, village de Transylvanie, alors sous domination austro-hongroise. Son enfance est enchantée: il galope dans les collines en toute liberté et écoute les bergers dont les histoires proviennent de la nuit des temps. En 1921, ce bonheur prend fin brutalement. Son père, un prêtre orthodoxe, le conduit au lycée de Sibiu, la grande ville voisine où se côtoient Roumains, Hongrois et Allemands. Sept ans plus tard, il part étudier la philosophie à Bucarest. La rupture qui va déterminer toute son existence date de cette époque: le sommeil le fuit. Tenté un moment par le suicide, il préfère suivre le conseil de Nietzsche et transformer ses insomnies en un formidable moyen de connaissance: "On apprend plus dans une nuit blanche que dans une année de sommeil." Etudiant brillant, il écrit son premier livre, Sur les cimes du désespoir, à l'âge de vingt-deux ans. Beaucoup le considèrent comme un des espoirs de la jeune littérature roumaine, aux côtés d'Eugène Ionesco ou du déjà illustre Mircea Eliade. 

Après un séjour à Berlin, le voici professeur de philosophie au lycée de Brasov durant l'année scolaire 1936-1937. Expérience mouvementée, si l'on en juge par son surnom dans l'établissement: "le Dément". A l'en croire, le directeur "se saoule la gueule" le jour de son départ! Mais il doit laisser un sacré souvenir à ses élèves, car certains viendront encore lui rendre visite au bout de plusieurs décennies. C'est en tout cas une expérience unique: il n'exercera plus jamais la moindre activité professionnelle. 

En 1937, une bourse de l'Institut français de Bucarest lui permet d'aller préparer sa thèse à Paris. Non seulement il n'en écrit pas le premier mot, mais il est même incapable d'imaginer un titre... Les années suivantes sont consacrées à d'immenses lectures, à des randonnées à vélo dans les provinces françaises, à la poursuite de son ?uvre en roumain. Cioran vit comme il l'entend: pauvrement, mais sans contraintes, libre de déambuler des nuits entières dans les rues et d'approfondir ses obsessions. Pourtant, il se rend compte qu'il s'est engagé dans une impasse. Il vaudrait mieux, prétend-il, être un auteur d'opérettes que d'avoir écrit six livres dans une langue que personne ne comprend! 

Selon son propre témoignage, il aurait décidé d'adopter le français alors qu'il traduisait Mallarmé en roumain. D'autres épisodes ont sans doute joué un rôle important, en particulier un cours au Collège de France durant lequel un mathématicien étranger effectue une démonstration au tableau noir sans avoir besoin d'ouvrir la bouche. Cette mue linguistique est aussi capitale que l'abandon du russe par Nabokov au profit de l'anglais. Désormais, le français - et qui plus est, le français du XVIIIe siècle - va lui servir de "camisole de force"; la langue de Chamfort va corseter le lyrisme balkanique d'un désespéré qui ne jure que par Thérèse d'Avila et Dostoïevski. De là vient ce ton unique: cette invraisemblable synthèse entre la fièvre et la sagesse, entre le délire mystique et l'ironie des moralistes classiques. 

En 1947, Gallimard accepte la première mouture du Précis de décomposition. Cioran retravaille son manuscrit, qui est publié deux ans plus tard. Les critiques sont excellentes, mais le public ne suit pas. Et cette situation va se prolonger pendant près de trente ans. Il faut dire que Cioran est aux antipodes de Jean-Paul Sartre, qui fait alors la pluie et le beau temps, et qu'il éprouve une haine inexpiable envers le communisme. Les nouveaux maîtres roumains ont emprisonné son frère et certains de ses amis, et ses livres sont interdits de l'autre côté du rideau de fer. Cependant, plusieurs éléments lui donnent la force de surmonter les humiliations, les échecs, les volumes pilonnés. Ses amis, d'abord, qui se nomment Ionesco, Eliade, Beckett, Michaux ou Gabriel Marcel. Ses lecteurs, ensuite, très rares mais généralement fanatiques: "Les gens qui s'intéressent à moi ont forcément quelque chose de fêlé..." 

Et puis, peu à peu, le couvercle se soulève. En 1965, François Erval publie le Précis de décomposition en édition de poche. Une nouvelle génération découvre Les syllogismes de l'amertume et La tentation d'exister. Des traductions paraissent en Allemagne, aux Etats-Unis, en Espagne; les articles se multiplient; les chiffres de vente décollent enfin du plancher. 

Obscur ou fameux, Cioran demeure tel qu'en lui-même. Il continue à fuir les médias et à décliner les prix littéraires. Il brode inlassablement, dans un style d'une élégance glaciale, sur les thèmes qui le hantent depuis l'adolescence: le vertige du temps, la mort, "l'inconvénient d'être né", le mysticisme chrétien, l'essoufflement de la civilisation occidentale, Bouddha, Shakespeare, Bach. Sans doute considère-t-il cette célébrité tardive comme un malentendu; lorsqu'il plaint Borges, c'est à lui-même qu'il songe: "La consécration est la pire des punitions (...) A partir du moment où tout le monde le cite, on ne peut plus le citer, ou, si on le fait, on a l'impression de venir grossir la masse de ses ''admirateurs", de ses ennemis." 

Aveux et anathèmes est publié en 1987. C'est son dernier livre. Si les bruits qui courent en avril 1988 sur une éventuelle tentative de suicide sont infondés, en revanche, il est exact qu'il renonce définitivement à écrire. Atteint par une maladie grave, Cioran vit aujourd'hui dans un hôpital parisien. Cinquante-huit ans après avoir quitté la Roumanie pour jeter l'ancre au Quartier latin, il a toujours le statut d'apatride. 

Ce que je sais à soixante, je le savais aussi bien à vingt. Quarante ans d'un long, d'un superflu travail de vérification...
(De l'inconvénient d'être né) 

Ma vision de l'avenir est si précise que, si j'avais des enfants, je les étranglerais sur l'heure.
(De l'inconvénient d'être né) 

Cioran

La presencia de René Guénon en Mircea Eliade y Carl Schmitt

por Francisco García Bazán  (Universidad A.J.F. Kennedy-CONICET)

Ex: http://culturatransversal.wordpress.com/

Al final de mi libro en colaboración René Guénon y la tradición viviente (1985), apuntaba algunos rasgos sobre la influencia de René Guénon en una diversidad de estudiosos contemporáneos. Allí escribí:

«El mundo de habla española, por su parte, se abre velozmente en los últimos decenios a la gravitación guenoniana. Hemos de reconocer que la Argentina, en este sentido, no sólo ha jugado un papel preponderante, sino que incluso fue oportunamente una verdadera precursora de este florecimiento del pensamiento de Guénon [en la geografía hispana].

Ya en 1945 se publicó en Buenos Aires la Introducción general al estudio de las doctrinas hindúes y la crítica periodística porteña recibió favorablemente la novedad de [la presencia] de un credo de inspiración tradicionalista [en la cultura francesa]. A esta traducción siguieron en años sucesivos: El teosofismo (1954), con varias ediciones, La crisis del mundo moderno (1967), Símbolos fundamentales de la ciencia sagrada (1969 y El esoterismo de Dante (1976). Mucho más reciente, [por el contrario], es el interés de los españoles por nuestro autor. Pero aunque la traducción de la primera de las obras citadas es de la década del 40, la evidencia de una lectura y conocimiento del autor francés ya se reflejó con anterioridad en individuos y grupos de intelectuales argentinos.

Los primeros que demostraron interés por el pensamiento de R. Guénon en nuestro  país fueron pensadores del campo católico, hondamente preocupados por la esencia y el futuro de la nación. Se agruparon en Buenos Aires y Córdoba, en torno a las revistas Número y Sol y Luna, y Arx y Arkhé, respectivamente. Entre estos [escritores] por la influencia y uso que hicieron de las obras de Guénon sobresalen: César Pico, José María de Estrada y, muy probablemente, el poeta Leopoldo Marechal –todos ellos en Buenos Aires y vinculados a los Cursos de Cultura Católica-. En la Provincia mediterránea, Fray Mario Pinto y Rodolfo Martínez Espinosa, autor [este último] del primer artículo escrito en la Argentina sobre nuestro pensador [tradicional] y su corresponsal [con un intercambio de correspondencia entre los años 1929 y 1934], cuando Guénon residía en El Cairo. [Las dos cartas del autor franco-egipcio son del 24 de agosto de 1930 y del 23 de febrero de 1934. La última es una larga misiva de ocho carillas, en la que a las dudas expuestas por Martínez Espinosa responde Guénon condensando en ella la doctrina tradicional y anticipando incluso soluciones sobre las diversas vías espirituales, que posteriormente hará públicas. Estas cartas fueron primeramente publicadas por mí traducidas al castellano el domingo 13 de julio de 1980 en el Suplemento Literario de “La Nación”, cuando era dirigido por Jorge Emilio Gallardo, posteriormente fueron publicadas en edición bilingüe en el libro al que nos estamos refiriendo y poco después aparecieron en Francia en Les Dossier H René Guénon, dirigido por Pierre-Marie Sigaud, editado por L’Age d’Homme, Lausana, 1984, 286-289, gracias al contacto del que tomó la iniciativa André Coyné]…El ilustre filósofo de la ciencia, Armando Asti Vera, ofreció al público hispanohablante en 1969 una elegante y correcta primicia sobre la vida, obra y filosofía de Guénon de amplísima difusión. La casi totalidad de su obra escrita y de dirección docente llevan el sello indeleble del pensamiento guenoniano que frecuentaba desde su madura juventud» (pp. 171-172 y notas).

Lo dicho se refiere a nuestro país y medio cultural, pero en ese mismo libro, páginas más adelante, hacíamos referencia a la influencia de René Guénon en investigadores franceses, judíos e indios, sobre todo en el gran especialista en Shankara, T.M.P. Mahadevan, en cuya tesis sobre Gaudapâda. A Study in Early Advaita (University of Madras, 1975), el tradicionalista nacido en Blois está a menudo citado y es altamente reconocido por su profunda comprensión del Vedânta advaita o no dual. En esa ocasión, sin embargo, apenas nos habíamos referido a Mircea Eliade. Pero, posteriormente, y después de haber leído el artículo del profesor rumano, «Some Notes on Theosophia perennis» publicado en la revista de la Universidad de Chicago History of Religions (1979), pp. 167-176, nuestra opinión cambió y admitimos la influencia de Guénon en su obra como historiador de las religiones. Posteriormente hemos comprobado que un investigador particularmente calificado en el conocimiento de la vida y obra de Guénon, como lo es Jean-Pierre Laurant, de L’ École Pratique des Hautes Études. Section Sciences des Religions, escribe en el Diccionario Crítico del Esoterismo, dirigido por Jean Servier, publicado en 1998 por P.U.F. y recientemente traducido por la Ed. AKAL al castellano, en la entrada correspondiente a “René Guénon”, que firma: «También desempeñó [Guénon] un papel muy importante [lo subrayamos] en la formación del pensamiento de Mircea Eliade e influyó sobre el conjunto de la renovación de la historia de las religiones, hasta tal punto que Gaétan Picón lo integra dentro de su Panorama des idées contemporaines (1954). Su influjo [en esta dirección] se prolonga, hasta nuestros días, a través de una renovada reflexión sobre el simbolismo, la “Tradición” y las tradiciones en los trabajos de J. Borella en Francia, R. Martínez Espinosa y F. García Bazán en Argentina o, en Estados Unidos, en los de Joseph E. Brown sobre los indios» ( Vol. I, p. 754). [Permítaseme hacer la aclaración en paralelo que respecto del cultivo de los estudios sobre Guénon en nuestro medio y la recepción de su pensamiento, también Piero Di Vona, profesor de la Universidad de Nápoles y autor de un respetable libro sobre Evola e Guénon. Tradizione e civiltà (1985), en su ponencia sobre “René Guénon e il pensiero de destra”, presentada  en la Università degli Studi di Urbino, a fines de los 80’, ya reconocía asimismo en confrontación con el desarrollo de la teología de la liberación sudamericana, que  frente a ella: «Tutte queste osservazioni rivestono almeno per noi una grande importanza perché nell’attuale cultura sudamericana Guénon è oggetto di attento studio in ambienti qualificati. (Rimandiamo al libro di F. García Bazán, René Guénon y la tradición viviente, etc.)»].

Pero más recientemente todavía y con motivo de la publicación consecutiva de las Memorias de Eliade, la perspectiva sobre la irradiación guenoniana se ha ampliado y así hemos tenido la oportunidad de leer un erudito artículo del estudioso italiano Cristiano Grottanelli, bajo el acápite de «Mircea Eliade, Carl Schmitt, René Guénon, 1942», en la Revue de l’Histoire des Religions Tome 219, fascículo 3, julio-septiembre 2002, pp. 325-356, que arroja nuevas luces y sombras sobre la cuestión claramente anticipada en el título y que amplia el panorama con la mención del gran jurista y experto en derecho internacional, Carl Schmitt, tan apreciado en los comienzos de los años 30 por el régimen nacionalsocialista, como posteriormente repudiado tanto por la SS y el nazismo que representaban, como por sus vencedores aliados.

El período más difícil de determinar en la vida de Eliade es el que va de los años 1934, cuando ya ha residido tres años en la India (1929-1931) dirigido por el eminente profesor de filosofía hindú Surendranath Dasgupta, y ha cumplido prácticas de Yoga en Rishikesh, en el Himalaya, en Svargashram con Swami Shivananda. Vuelto a Bucarest ha publicado la novela Maitreyi de gran éxito de ventas (1934) y ha presentado hacia fines de año su tesis de doctorado sobre la filosofía y prácticas de liberación yóguicas como una perspectiva dentro del pensamiento indio, siendo nombrado asistente de Naë Ionesco, profesor de Lógica y Metafísica en la Universidad de Bucarest. Desde esa fecha hasta fines de 1944 en que fallece su esposa Nina Mares y en que al año siguiente (1945) establece relaciones culturales y esporádicamente docentes en París como exiliado con el apoyo de la colonia rumana y colegas y amigos como Georges Dumézil, su biografía es bastante movida y es también durante ese período en el que apoyado en su formación de indólogo incipiente, se cimentó asimismo su método e ideas como teórico de las religiones. Después que obtiene la adjuntía de cátedra a través de su titular Ionesco traba relación estrecha con los cuadros de la Legión del Arcángel San Miguel o Guardia de Hierro, formación política de extrema derecha y de ideología nacionalista, agrega sus actividades de escritor a sus responsabilidades universitarias regulares con el dictado de seminarios: “Sobre el problema del mal en la filosofía india”, “Sobre la Docta ignorancia de Nicolás de Cusa”, “Sobre el libro X de la Metafísica de Aristóteles”, “Las Upanishads y el budismo”, etc.; publica el libro Yoga. Ensayo sobre los orígenes de la mística india, con pie de imprenta París-Bucarest, por lo editores Paul Geuthner/Fundación Real Carol I y aparecen tres números de la revista de historia de las religiones con colaboradores internacionales y de muy buen nivel que dirige, Zalmoxis. En l940 es nombrado agregado cultural de la Embajada Real de Rumania en Londres y al año siguiente Consejero de la Embajada Real de Rumania en Lisboa, aquí reside hasta 1945, cuando concluida la segunda guerra europea, le sobreviene la condición de exiliado. Durante este período que estamos teniendo en cuenta de gran fecundidad intelectual y de estabilidad político-laboral, se da el acontecimiento que registra el autor en el II volumen de las Memorias, Las promesas del soltiscio:

«Nos detuvimos durante dos días en Berlín. Uno de los agregados de prensa, Goruneanu, me llevó hasta Dahlem, a la casa de Carl Schmitt. Éste acababa de concluir en ese tiempo su librito sobre la Tierra y el mar y quería hacerme algunas preguntas sobre Portugal y las civilizaciones marítimas. Le hablé de Camoens y en particular del simbolismo acuático –Goruneanu le había ofrecido el volumen segundo de Zalmoxis en donde habían aparecido las “Notas sobre el simbolismo acuático”-. En la perspectiva de Carl Schmitt, Moby Dick constituía la mayor creación del espíritu marítimo después de la Odisea. No parecía entusiasmado por Los Lusiadas, que había leído en una traducción alemana. Conversamos durante tres horas. Nos acompañó hasta el subterráneo y, mientras caminábamos, nos explicó por qué consideraba la aviación como un símbolo terrestre….».

El encuentro tuvo lugar en julio de  1942, según precisa Mac Linscott Rioketts en su extensa y bien documentada biografía de Eliade.

Ahora bien, Ernst Jünger, gran amigo de Schmitt, que por esas fechas era oficial del Ejército alemán, estaba en Berlín con permiso y fue llamado a París para hacerse cargo de sus obligaciones militares. El 12 de noviembre fue a visitar a Dahlem a su amigo Schmitt a modo de despedida, estando con él del 12 al 17. El 15 estaba Jünger en casa del amigo y escribe lo siguiente en su Diario:

«Lectura de la revista Zalmoxis, cuyo título procede de un Hércules escita citado por Heródoto. He leído dos ensayos de ella, uno dedicado a los ritos de la extracción y uso de la mandrágora y el otro trataba del Simbolismo acuático, y de las relaciones entre la luna, las mujeres y el mar. Ambos de Mircea Eliade, el director de la revista. C.S. me proporcionó informaciones detalladas sobre él y sobre su maestro René Guénon. Las relaciones etimológicas entre las conchas marinas y el órgano genital de la mujer son particularmente significativas, como se ve en la palabra latina conc[h]a y en la danesa Kudefisk, en donde kude tiene el mismo sentido que vulva.

La mentalidad que se dibuja en esta revista es muy prometedora; en lugar de una escritura lógica, se trata de una escritura figurada. Son estas las cosas que me hacen el efecto del caviar, de las huevas de peces, se siente la fecundidad en cada frase».

En vísperas de Navidad del mismo año Eliade recibió Tierra y mar de parte de Schmitt, y Goruneanu le informa que el número 3 de Zalmoxis que había enviado a Schmitt lo acompañaba a Jünger en su mochila. Y esta triple relación de personas, directa, en un caso, e indirecta en el otro – por medio de la revista Zalmoxis-, se repite en 1944 y posteriormente. El primer caso se concretó por un nuevo encuentro de Schmitt -quien consideraba a Guénon: “El hombre más interesante de su tiempo” según señala Eliade en Fragmentos de Diario- con éste en Lisboa. En la visita de 1942, conjetura Grottanelli, de acuerdo con los testimonios de una simpatía recíproca de ambos personajes sobre Guénon, conversarían sobre él posiblemente no sólo como maestro sino también como teórico de la Tradición. El segundo encuentro a que nos hemos referido de Jürgen y Eliade y que nos interesa menos en este trabajo, llevó a que un tiempo después Jünger y Eliade dirigieran la revista Antaios.

Pues bien, de la mutua admiración que Schmitt y Eliade confesaban a mediados del año 1942, en plena guerra europea, por Guénon, el caso de C. Schmitt es documentalmente más accesible y claro, puesto que éste en un notable y bien conocido libro de 1938, Der Leviathan in der Staatslehre des Thomas Hobbes. Sinn und Fehlschlag eines politisches Symbols (El Leviatán en la teoría del estado de Thomas Hobbes. Sentido y fracaso de un símbolo político), entendía la componente esotérica como central en su composición, ya que Hobbes, exaltado por él dos años antes como el “gran inventor de la época moderna”, aparecía ahora en una nueva dimensión como quien había utilizado por error un símbolo en su tesis de política, el del monstruo marino de ascendencia religioso-cultural judía, que lo superaba en sus intenciones y se le imponía por su misma fuerza simbólica interna, poniéndolo bajo su control y manejándolo como un aprendiz de brujo. Y ahí mismo en el libro, en la nota 28, Schmitt recordaba a René Guénon, quien en la Crisis del mundo moderno de 1927, afirmaba la noción paralela y clave para la interpretación simbólica de que: «La rapidez con la que toda la civilización medieval sucumbió al ataque del siglo XVII es inconcebible sin la hipótesis de una misteriosa voluntad directriz que queda en la sombra y de una idea preconcebida». La ambivalencia del símbolo que tanto señala a la permanencia oculta de la Tradición como a los ataques aparentemente invisibles que asimismo recibe de la antitradicón y de la contratradición, y que puede aplicarse como un modo de justificación de la teoría política del complot o la conjuración político-social basada en la metafísica de la historia, es lo que le interesaba hacer notar a Schmitt, quien había sufrido dos años antes siendo Presidente de la Asociación de Juristas Alemanes y Consejero de Estado un ataque contra él en la revista de los SS Das Schwarze Korps, viéndose obligado a renunciar a todas sus funciones públicas. El empleo de la capacidad velada del símbolo para mostrar y ocultar por su poder esotérico de comunicación, es lo que veía Schmitt en Leviatán, serpiente marina guardiana del tesoro a veces para la enseñanza semítica y en otros momentos monstruo destructivo que proviene del mar, en el caso concreto aplicado su dimensión oscura y demoledora a la civilización cristiana y occidental más que milenaria. En este sentido igualmente el personaje que el libro encubría como destructor era Himmler y no Hitler.

Pero resultaba que si en este momento el libro de Guénon citado es La crisis del mundo moderno, Schmitt conocía mucho más del autor francés lo que explica el entusiasmo por él, según registra Eliade, pues en correspondencia entrecruzada unos años después con Armin Moler quien prepara su tesis sobre el jurista, al que le envía una carta el 19 de octubre de 1948 y que es respondida por Schmitt el 4 de diciembre. En las cartas cruzadas tenemos los siguientes datos:

«A la noche, después de haber trabajado en la tesis, siempre leo sus escritos, incluso los que aún no conozco. Os lo he referido ya que después de la visita que le hecho en Plettemberg, todo me parece más claro, con la sola excepción del Leviatán. Esta obra me sigue desorientando, y no sólo allí en donde, como al final del segundo capítulo, se hace alusión a un tema absolutamente nuevo [...]. La aparición de Guénon me ha sorprendido. ¿Conoce usted los escritos de este hombre singular?  Siegfried Lang, uno de nuestros poetas más inspirados, me ha introducido hace algún tiempo en el estudio de su pensamiento».

Y esta es la contestación de C. Schmitt:

«Respecto del Leviatán, ya le he dicho que se trata de una obra totalmente esotérica; recuerde la “nota del autor” y las consideraciones del final del Prefacio, incluso si se trata de fórmulas evasivas. He leído mucho de Guénon, pero no la totalidad [de lo que ha escrito], lamentablemente. Nunca le he encontrado personalmente, pero he conocido a dos de sus amigos. Os interesará saber que el barón Julius Evola ha sido uno de sus fieles discípulos, pero no sé si Guénon vive todavía; según las últimas noticias que he recibido, pero que son de algunos años, vivía en el Cairo, con amigos musulmanes» (ver Grottanelli, 739).

Se advierte, por lo tanto, más allá del respeto intelectual y estimulante para la comprensión de los hechos histórico-políticos que Guénon inspiraba al jurista y filósofo político alemán, el uso aplicado que hacia del esoterismo, basado en el esoterismo riguroso de Guénon y Evola.

Está llegando el momento de dejar a C. Schmitt, porque estas jornadas están más centradas en Eliade y Guénon, pero para terminar con él, en confirmación de lo dicho vienen otras manifestaciones del autor, que la traducción española de la Ed. Trotta de Tierra y Mar ha incluido en una “Nota Final” debida a Franco Volpi. En ella se escribe, por medio de Nicolás Sombart, el hijo del famoso sociólogo e historiador de la economía, en referencia a Schmitt, que él se auto percibía como el guardián de un misterio, como un “iniciado”, al punto de que arcanum era una de las palabras que más repetía. Así Sombart cuenta esta anécdota en su relación con C. Schmitt, que:

«Un día [el mismo] Nicolaus preparaba una ponencia sobre la crítica teatral hebrea… Y consultado el profesor Schmitt, éste le repuso, no sabes en dónde te estás metiendo ¿Conoces la cuestión judía de C. Marx?, ¿Y a Disraeli?: Ni siquiera conoces a Disraeli y pretendes ocuparte de los judíos…Así puso en sus manos su novela Tancredo o la nueva cruzada, final de la trilogía que Benjamín Disraeli había publicado en 1847. Allí el gran político inglés, como buen esotérico, había encerrado en una obra literaria sus convicciones políticas más profundas. De este modo, en un pasaje borrado en la segunda edición de Tierra y mar lo llama Schmitt: “un iniciado, un sabio de Sión” y en Dahlen no tenía el jurista colgado un retrato de Hitler, sino de Disraeli. Y Schmitt asimismo le apunta a Nicolaus cual es la frase decisiva del libro, la que dice que: “El cristianismo es judaísmo para el pueblo”. Es la frase que da vuelta a dos mil años de historia. El conflicto entre judaísmo y catolicismo sobre la interpretación del sentido de la historia obsesionaba a Schmitt y la Modernidad era el campo de batalla del enfrentamiento…Los grandes pensadores hebreos del siglo XIX habían entendido que para llegar a la victoria en el plano de la historia universal necesitaban romper con el antiguo orden cristiano del mundo y acelerar la secularización y la disgregación de ese orden. El más temible teórico habría sido Disraeli, pues según su frase el cristianismo sería la estrategia urdida por los judíos para conquistar el sentido de la historia universal…La escatología estaba a punto de imponerse sobre el mesianismo…un orden universal en el que la “Nueva Jerusalén” colocada en el más acá es buscada por la élite judía…La Revolución Francesa aceleró el camino y la visión judía de dominio universal y la potencia marítima inglesa se fundieron en una simbiosis como un inmenso proyecto para la humanidad…El concepto de “retención” (katékhon) del cristianismo es ineficaz para poder guiar a la humanidad. Todo ello, remarca Schmitt, porque los judíos manejan el arte secreto de tratar con el Leviatán, saben domesticarlo para en el momento oportuno descuartizarlo. Era necesario descubrir las técnicas ocultas para penetrar en los arcana imperii y salir sin daños definitivos de la lucha, una lucha por el simbolismo y su tradición, frente a los intentos destructivos de sus dominadores profanos e inmanentes».

Resulta transparente que de esta convicción y familiaridad con los diversos niveles de sentido del símbolo y del contacto con el fondo subyacente que circula ocultamente en el tiempo histórico, había extraído Schmitt confianza y serenidad para profundizar la comprensión teórica y sobrellevar la existencia práctica. Así lo demostró al haber aceptado voluntariamente ser juzgado por el Tribunal de Núremberg, denunciado por un ex colega de la Universidad de Berlín docente ahora en una universidad estadounidense, Karl Loewenstein y legal adviser del Jurado. La defensa personal que llevó a cabo Schmitt le exige trazar una sutil, pero precisa frontera, entre su pensamiento y la ideología nacionalsocialista y de este modo afirma que de ninguna manera podría haber influido en la política de los grandes espacios del III Reich, ni a preparar la guerra de agresión con sus consecuencias criminales, ni a gravitar en cualquier tipo de decisiones de los funcionarios de alto rango. Por ejemplo, defendió que su concepto de Grossraum (gran espacio) se basaba en el derecho internacional y no en el sentido nacionalista que le dio el régimen. A la categoría moderna de estado, válida desde Hobbes a Hegel, él contrapone la de “gran espacio”, que no es simplemente “espacio terrestre”, sino también “espacio imperial”. Aquí es en donde se juega el nuevo ordenamiento político-jurídico del planeta. Esta categoría no depende de la concepción biológico-racista del “espacio vital” (Lebensraum) ni de la categoría nacionalista (völkisch) nacionalsocialistas, para entender su concepción del “gran espacio”; sino que mejor, este último concepto se aproxima más a la doctrina Monroe norteamericana del principio de no injerencia de una potencia extranjera en un gran espacio terrestre ajeno, organizado según un orden jurídico-político propio. Un gran espacio imperial se forma cuando un estado desarrolla una potencia que excede sus propios límites y tiende a agregar en torno a sí a otros estados y es esta conveniencia de formar grandes bloques continentales la que puede generar un nuevo escenario de organización internacional, rompiendo la impotencia de las Naciones Unidas de Ginebra y conteniendo el ascenso de una superpotencia individual. Justamente el pequeño libro Tierra y mar si de entrada parecía aportarle complicaciones, explicado en su doctrina, le trajo la definitiva absolución en mayo de 1947, con curiosos diálogos durante el interrogatorio como el siguiente: «”En aquel tiempo me sentía superior. Quería dar un sentido propio a la palabra nacionalsocialismo”. “Por tanto, ¿Hitler tenía un nacionalsocialismo y usted otro distinto?”. “Yo me sentía superior”. “¿Superior a Hitler?” “Desde el punto de vista intelectual, infinitamente”.

Mircea Eliade, sin embargo, más joven y perteneciente a un país de cultura minoritaria, Rumania, si bien padeció el exilio y los severos obstáculos de un intelectual emigrado en París, no tuvo que enfrentarse con tan grandes dificultades. Las bases guenonianas de la organización de sus ideas, aunque menos conocidas por estar escritas en rumano y hechas conocer en publicaciones locales y muy poco difundidas, igualmente están registradas. Escribe así por primera vez M. Eliade en la revista Azi en abril de 1932, refiriéndose a Guénon, en una cita que se refiere al Teosofismo: historia de una falsa religión:

«Remito al lector al libro de Guénon, quien es un ocultista muy importante y muy bien informado, con una mentalidad sólida y que, al menos, sabe de lo que habla [a diferencia de Elena Blavatsky]» (Grottanelli, p. 346).

En 1937 escribe un artículo sobre Ananda Coomaraswamy en la Revista Fundaitilior Regale, republicado en 1943, y allí expresa que «es de lamentar que los escritos de Guénon, como Oriente y Occidente (1924) y La crisis del mundo moderno (1927), no hayan tenido sino una difusión limitada, ya que ellos mostraban que el tradicionalismo religioso no tenía nada que temer en Europa a la influencia de la metafísica oriental, contrariamente a lo que pensaban algunos escritores católicos» (Grottanelli, 346). Es razonable deducir, sin embargo, pese a las lamentaciones de Eliade y si se piensa en Schmitt y Evola, que el libro de Guénon La crisis del mundo moderno había tenido al menos repercusión propia en la derecha europea, como también lo tuvo en la Argentina, como hemos dicho, poco después de ser publicado.

En otro artículo aparecido en Vremea el l° de mayo de 1938, nuevamente Eliade se queja de la falta de difusión de la obra de Guénon y que sea tan poco conocida como la de Evola y Coomaraswamy . Hace igualmente aquí un curioso elogio de la personalidad de René Guénon como testigo de la tradición, «que era capaz de mostrar un desprecio absoluto y olímpico por el mundo moderno en su conjunto. Un menosprecio sin cólera, sin irritación y sin melancolía. Un desdén que alejaba a este pensador de los hombres de  su tiempo y de su obsesión por la historia. Una actitud heroica, comparable, aunque preferible, a aquella de que hablaba André Malraux en su libro Le temps du mépris, que era el tema del ensayo de Eliade” (Grottanelli, 347).

Eliade en estos tiempos en los inicios de sus treinta años, cuando está forjando su personalidad de teórico e investigador considera a Guénon como un auténtico maestro en el campo de las ideas tradicionales, lo que incluso ratifica a su juicio la serena posición de desapego ante las corrientes de ideas modernas, aunque no emite el mismo juicio favorable en el campo de la investigación, como también lo ha expresado en el artículo dedicado a Coomaraswamy. A éste sí lo considera lingüística y filológicamente competente, mientras que para Guénon y Evola, en este campo, se le escapa la baja calificación de “dilettantes”. La evaluación en este último caso de M. Eliade es compleja, porque incluye aproximación y simpatía respecto de las ideas de fondo, pero alejamiento en el método de llegar a ellas, un fenómeno que vamos enseguida a comentar, pero antes debemos facilitar también otra ratificación que es de la misma época, y que se contiene en el libro Comentarii la legenda Mesterului Manole, que se refiere a las leyendas rumanas y balcánicas de los sacrificios de niños durante la construcción de edificios, en particular de monasterios y de puentes, que es publicado en Lisboa siete años después, en marzo de 1943, y en donde  el autor confirma en el prefacio:

«Esta obra se publica con una demora de al menos seis años. En uno de los cursos de historia y de filosofía de las religiones que habíamos profesado en la Facultad de Letras de Bucarest (1936-1937, en reemplazo del curso de metafísica del Prof. Nae Ionescu), tuvimos la oportunidad de exponer en sus grandes líneas, el contenido y los resultados de este libro. Una versión técnica de estas lecciones, provista de todo el aparato científico necesario, se preparó hace ya bastante tiempo – bajo el título de Manole et les rites de cosntruction – para la revista Zalmoxis. Pero las circunstancias, y sobre todo la larga residencia del editor en el extranjero, han impedido la aparición regular de Zalmoxis, de modo que antes de publicar la versión técnica, hemos considerado que no estaría desprovisto de interés publicar los presentes Comentarios». Y prosigue el prólogo aportando esclarecimientos críticos y justificativos del mayor interés:

«Evidentemente es indispensable reunir, clasificar e interpretar los documentos etnográficos, pero esto no puede revelar mucho sobre la espiritualidad arcaica. Es necesario ante todo un conocimiento satisfactorio de la historia de las religiones y de la teoría metafísica implícita en los ritos, los símbolos, las cosmogonías y los mitos. La mayor parte de la bibliografía internacional que trata del folclore y de la etnografía es valiosa en la medida en que presenta el material auténtico de la espiritualidad popular, pero deja mucho que desear cuando trata de explicar este material, por medio de “leyes” al uso, a la moda del tiempo de Taylor, Mannhardt o Frazer. No es este el lugar de entablar un examen crítico de los diferentes métodos de interpretación de los documentos de la espiritualidad arcaica. Cada uno de estos métodos ha tenido, en su tiempo, determinados méritos. Pero casi todos se han ajustado a la historia (correcta o incorrectamente comprendida) de este o aquel documento folclórico o etnográfico, con preferencia a tratar de descubrir el sentido espiritual que ha tenido y restaurar su consistencia íntima. La reacción contra estos métodos positivistas no ha tardado en hacerse sentir y es especialmente expresada por un Olivier Leroy, entre los etnólogos, por un René Guénon y un Julius Evola, entre los filósofos, por un Ananda Coomaraswamy entre los arqueólogos, etcétera. Ella ha ido tan lejos que a veces ha negado la evidencia de la historia e ignorado en su totalidad los hechos recogidos por los investigadores» (Grottanelli, 350-351).

Nuevamente en este texto transparente están reunidas por Eliade las dos puntas de su posición de aceptación y crítica en relación con Guénon y otros autores vecinos por las ideas: simbolismo e ideas tradicionales garantizadores de la universalidad de las creencias sagradas como fondo organizador, pero a partir de la investigación científica. El reunir y avecinar documentos no es erudición positivista ni vacía, sino que en el allegamiento surgen ante la mente sensible y perspicaz a los fenómenos aproximadamente las ideas y principios transcendentes que subyacen. Las hierofanías, como manifestaciones de lo sagrado, revelan uniones o integraciones mediadoras que ligan a los contrarios –lo profano y lo sagrado- con equilibrio, lo organizan en sistemas estructurales en el lenguaje del símbolo y del mito, y permiten al alma religiosa arcaica y actual ascender a los orígenes constitutivos. No hay una diferencia insalvable acerca del reconocimiento del fondo espiritual entre Eliade y Guénon, sí lo hay en cuanto al método de acceso. Firmeza de la tradición y de la iniciación en cuanto a Guénon, ingreso por el reconocimiento de los fenómenos sagrados reflejados en la conciencia que cada vez exigen mayor comprensión, para Mircea Eliade. Guénon aspira a romper con lo profano para tener acceso no reflejo, sino directo a lo sagrado; Eliade, se sumerge en la dialéctica de lo sagrado y lo profano que acompaña a la vida del cosmos y la sociedad. Lo primero da una existencia digna de iniciados; lo segundo, de hombres en el mundo vitalmente sacro, que eligen diferentes destinos.

Esta diferencia de posiciones explica las relaciones entre ambos autores, que parecen incluir fuertes contrastes. Guénon desde  1940 en adelante comenta libros y artículos de Mircea Eliade en la revista Études Traditionelle, reconociendo sus aciertos de exposición e interpretación por momentos, así como desautorizándole agriamente en otras, abrogándose la postura de señor indiscutido del campo tradicional que le compete (Técnicas del Yoga, el tomo II de Zalmoxis, «Le “dieu lieur” et le symbolisme des noeuds» -RHR y referencia positiva en “Ligaduras y nudos”É.T., marzo 1950-, Le mythe de l’éternel retour, y otros escritos incluidos en Compte Rendus), una especie de rictus del tradicionalista francés que también ha dado origen a lo que podemos considerar lo más alejado de su magisterio, la “ideología guenoniana”. Mircea Eliade, por su parte, cuando comienza a publicar su difundida obra de especialista en Historia de la religiones a partir del Tratado de historia de las religiones que le publica Payot en l947, en donde recoge materiales anteriormente redactados y otros nuevos, apenas tiene en cuenta en la bibliografía del último capítulo sobre “La estructura de los símbolos”, un escrito de Guénon, Le symbolisme de la croix. Ni siquiera aparece el magisterio expressis verbis del maestro Guénon en los capítulos V (“Las aguas y el simbolismo acuático”) del Tratado y el IV de Imágenes y símbolos (1955), que reedita el primitivo artículo del número 2 de Zalmoxis que tanto le había interesado a Ernst Jünger. Sin embargo, en  Le Voile d’Isis (Octubre de 1931) hay un artículo sobre Shet con una referencia a Behemot -en plural- del Libro de Job, como una designación general para todos los grandes cuadrúpedos, lo que es ampliado en el número de agosto-septiembre de 1938 en Études Traditionnelle en una colaboración sobre “Los misterios de la letra nun” (ambos artículos están recogidos más tarde por Michel Valsan –otro rumano- en Símbolos fundamentales de la ciencia sagrada) en donde Guénon se refiere al aspecto benéfico y maléfico de la ballena, con su doble significado de muerte y resurrección, y su vinculación con el Leviatán hebreo y Behemot, como “los hijos de la ballena”. Este trabajo está dentro de la línea de símbolos desarrollados por C. Schmitt en Tierra y mar –Behemot, Leviatán, Grifo- y puede haber sido conocido por el autor alemán.

Mircea Eliade, sin embargo, en su fecunda y subsiguiente producción hace silencio sobre Guénon. Recién en escritos de la década del setenta, el artículo que hemos citado antes sobre la “Theosophia oculta” se refiere a él con elogios y en Ocultismo, brujería y modas culturales, publicado por la Universidad de Chicago en la segunda mitad de los 70, le dedica dos referencias elogiosas a su postura intransigente y bien fundada frente al ocultismo acrítico y optimista de la segunda mitad del siglo XX y algo más de tres páginas para presentarlo como el renovador del esoterismo contemporáneo. Por otra parte, su interpretación de la doctrina cíclica del autor como pesimista y catastrófica en esas páginas demuestra no haber comprendido la concepción guenoniana de los ciclos cósmicos fundada en el Vedânta no dualista de Shankara que incluye ciclos internos espiralados contenidos en el ciclo mayor de un kalpa o “día de Brahman”, con sus manvantaras y yugas, identificando esta visión hindú con la mítico-greca de los pueblos arcaicos, una ligereza de interpretación que el mismo Guénon le había reprochado en la reseña que le dedicó al Mito del eterno retorno. Los silencios y lagunas de comprensión de Eliade sobre R. Guénon, al que reconocía como maestro y orientador en su juventud son sospechosos y el haberlo acantonado a ser “el representante más prominente del esoterismo moderno” sin rastros de su influencia docente sobre él mismo, tal vez despunte una solución en la opinión enseguida proferida en el escrito al que nos estamos refiriendo: «Durante su vida Guénon fue más bien un autor impopular. Tuvo admiradores fanáticos, pero muy pocos. Sólo después de su muerte, y en especial en los diez o doce años últimos, sus libros fueron reeditados y traducidos, difundiendo ampliamente sus ideas» (p. 107).

Casi contemporáneamente en los diálogos sostenidos con Claude-Henri Rocquet y que se han publicado en español bajo el título de La prueba del laberinto (1980) respondiendo a una pregunta del entrevistador, torna a hacer Eliade declaraciones sobre Guénon, pero en este caso resultan incluso más desconcertantes para el lector, por ser contradictorias con lo que hasta ahora se ha podido demostrar. Porque afirma primero el estudioso rumano: «Leí a René Guénon muy tarde y algunos de sus libros me han interesado mucho, concretamente L’Homme et son devenir selon le Vedanta, que me ha parecido bellísimo, inteligente y profundo». A continuación vienen expresadas algunas reservas del autor acerca de lo que no le agrada del escritor francés: su lado exageradamente polémico, un cierto tic de superioridad y un balance de repulsa de toda la cultura occidental -incluida la universitaria- y el respaldo persistente en un concepto complejo y carente de univocidad como es el que pretende sostener sobre la tradición. Este último análisis es bastante discutible, porque Eliade no demuestra poder facilitar un concepto rigurosamente diáfano de tradición, pero sobre todo, creemos que hay que llamar la atención sobre la aclaración de que «leyó a René Guénon muy tarde», puesto que los datos recopilados de su historia de juventud confirman lo contrario. Parece ser que el libro que era el estandarte de la cruzada en la que participaba con otros jóvenes intelectuales en los años treinta en Bucarest, La crisis del mundo moderno, era un obstáculo difícil de salvar para un exitoso profesor que se movía con facilidad en el ambiente universitario estadounidense.

Conclusiones sobre René Guénon y su influencia sobre Eliade y Schmitt.

La atmósfera cultural de la posguerra en París en la que un estudioso rumano de las religiones próximo a los cuarenta años o ya entrados en ellos, hubo de abrirse camino en la Sorbona y los círculos de investigación que la rodeaban, debieron gravitar pesadamente sobre el refugiado político Mircea Eliade. Se sabe de los problemas que tuvo Guénon para que le fuera admitida como tesis universitaria la Introducción general a las doctrinas hindúes, la que finalmente le fue rechazada, y su reacción de abandono del medio universitario. Si el refugiado Eliade, no obstante el apoyo que le prodigaron especialistas franceses como H.Ch. Puech, G. Dumézil, M. Masson-Oursel, L. Renou y otros, tuvo muy serias dificultades para insertarse en el entorno universitario parisino e incluso que en ciertos momentos las dificultades provinieron de la presión política con que lo asediaba el aparato de la inteligencia policial de su país de origen, el silenciar los contactos doctrinales con Guénon cuando era integrante de la Guardia de Hierro durante parte de los años 30 y los primeros del cuarenta, miembro activo de sus avatares políticos y publicaba en sus órganos de prensa y, además, la previsión de no irritar a sus benefactores parisinos inmediatos rompiendo “la conspiración del silencio” que pesaba sobre Guénon en los grupos universitarios oficiales franceses, era cuestión de vida o muerte en aquella etapa para la existencia académica y de investigación del notable universitario que llegó a ser el exiliado rumano. Posteriormente insertado sólidamente en el contexto de la vida universitaria de occidente, el prejuicio lo persiguió como un fantasma. En el fondo, del entramado teórico de sus trabajos quedaba, sin embargo, la influencia teórica subyacente con la que gracias al estímulo doctrinal de Guénon organizó sus aspiraciones de transcendencia al definir la naturaleza religiosa, simbólica y mítica del hombre arcaico y de su desarrollo cósmico.

El caso de Carl Schmitt, sin embargo, fue diverso y transparente, puesto que cuando  tiene casi concluido Tierra y mar y está obsesionado por su contenido y recibe a un joven funcionario de Embajada rumano -el que había llevado un mensaje privado a Antunesco, el hombre fuerte del régimen militar de Bucarest del par portugués Salazar-, tiene 54 años. Alemania está en plena guerra europea y el jurista prestigioso se encuentra enfrentado con parte del entorno nacionalsocialista. Las lecturas que había realizado de Guénon estimulaban sus creencias católicas firmes y le permitían utilizar el simbolismo para la interpretación transcendente y velada de los acontecimientos histórico-políticos. Ningún riesgo de fondo corría, al contrario, con este tipo de incursiones culturales profundas, según su mejor inclinación, le era posible ampliar su figura de gran jurista del derecho internacional y afirmarse como filósofo e intérprete político-jurídico del difícil momento del proceso bélico alemán.

El tiempo transcurrido desde entonces hasta hoy parece darnos la razón. Y al ver confluir las tres poderosas personalidades sobre un mismo tema, el de la interpretación de los fenómenos visibles y próximos de la religión, la política y la historia, permite dar asimismo una pincelada de profundidad a lo que hoy día se está mostrando incontrolable y difícil de silenciar en la esfera de la política práctica y de la teoría política: que no es posible pensar en los hechos actuales si no nos liberamos de ellos elevándonos al plano de la metapolítica, bien sea desde la teología o desde la metafísica. La teología política de Jacobo Taubes y de Jian Assmann así lo están reclamando en los centros de estudio internacionales, pero las dos figuras que hemos tratado inspiradas por René Guénon, confirman que  la necesidad de implantar el llamado “modelo dualista”, que no es ni simplemente teocrático ni representativo individualista, ofrece matices y recursos para que el ciudadano de los comienzos del siglo XXI se ponga a pensar seriamente que la marcha de los pueblos y sus ordenamientos políticos, jurídicos y económicos son inseparables de algún modo de trascendencia sagrada y tradicional.

Bibliografía

C. Bori, «Théologie politique et Islam. À propos d’Ibn Taymiyya (m. 728/1328) et du sultanat mamelouk», en RHR, 224 (207), 1, 5-46.

A. Désilets, René Guénon. Index-Bibliographie, Les Presses de L’Université Laval, Québec, 1977.

P. Di Vona, «René Guénon e il pensiero di destra», en La destra como categoria, Hermeneutica, Istituto di Scienze Religiose dell’Università degli Studi di Urbino, 1988, 59-85.

M. Eliade, Tratado de historia de las religiones, Inst. de Est. Políticos, Madrid, 1954.

M. Eliade, Imágenes y símbolos. Ensayos sobre el simbolismo mágico-religioso, Taurus, Madrid, 1955.

M. Eliade, «El ocultismo y el mundo moderno», en Ocultismo, brujería y modas culturales, Marymar, Buenos Aires, 1977, 79-108.

M. Eliade, La prueba del laberinto, Cristiandad, Madrid, 1980.

M. Eliade, Memoria I. 1907-1937. Las promesas del equinoccio, Taurus, Madrid, 1982.

M. Eliade, De Zalmoxis a Gengis-Khan. Religiones y folklore de Dacia y de la Europa Oriental, Cristiandad, Madrid, 1985.

M. Eliade, Diario. 1945-1969, Kairós, Barcelona, 2000.

F. García Bazán y otros, René Guénon o la tradición viviente, Hastinapura, Buenos Aires, 1985.

F. García Bazán, René Guénon y el ocaso de la metafísica, Obelisco, Barcelona, 1990.

C. Grottanelli, «Mircea Eliade, Carl Schmitt, René Guénon, 1942», en Revue de l’Histoire des Religions, tome 219, 3 (2002),  325-356.

J.-P. Laurant, «Guénon, René», en J. Servier (dir.), Diccionario AKAL crítico de esoterismo, 2 vols., Akal, Madrid, 2006, A-H, 753-756.

T.M.P. Mahadevan, Guadapâda. A Study in Early Advaita, University of Madras, 1975.

C. Schmitt, Tierra y mar. Una reflexión sobre la historia universal con un prólogo de Ramón Campderrich y un epílogo de Franco Volpi, Trotta, Madrid, 2007.

J. Taubes, La teología política de Pablo, Trotta, Madrid, 2007

Fuente: Centro de Estudios Evoliano

Youth Without Youth

Youth Without Youth

By Trevor Lynch

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

Youth Without Youth ^[2] (2007) is Francis Ford Coppola’s stunning film adaptation of a novella of the same name ^[3] by Mircea Eliade ^[4] (1907–1986), the Romanian scholar of comparative religion and Iron Guard sympathizer. I highly recommend this beautiful, mysterious, endlessly captivating movie. In style, it is classic; in substance, it is eternal.

Filmed on location in Romania, Switzerland, India, and Malta, Youth Without Youth looks, feels, and sounds like a European movie from the 1950s. The color is sumptuous and the cinematography astonishingly detailed, almost tactile. The pacing and editing are generally languid and sinuous, although they are often intercut with annoying, herky-jerky interludes, to farcical effect. The special effects date from the silent age and are entirely effective. The score ^[5] by Osvaldo Golijov (who describes himself as an East European Jew born in Argentina) is in the lush, late Romantic idiom, although it avails itself of Oriental and “modernist” styles when the film requires it.

Since this movie is long gone from the theaters, I have no compunction about summarizing the whole story. Youth Without Youth strikes me as a retelling of the Faust myth, particularly Goethe’s Faust. As in Faust, the main character is a scholar who late in life despairs that his life’s work is a failure but who is given miraculous gifts, including restored youth, by which he might continue his quest for knowledge.

Youth Without Youth begins in Piatra Neamț, Romania in 1938. Dominic Matei (played by Tim Roth), a former teacher in a provincial college or lycée, has just turned 70. He is experiencing the onset of senility and despairs of finishing his life’s work, an investigation into the origins of language and consciousness that has stalled before the dark abysses of prehistory. He decides to kill himself and chooses a particularly horrible death: strychnine.

He travels to Bucharest on Easter weekend to take the poison far from home, where nobody will know him. But as he approaches his final destination, he is caught in a sudden downpour and struck by lightning, which incinerates his clothes and burns every inch of his body.

Astonishingly, he is not killed. He is taken to a hospital, where he is bandaged from head to toe and watched over by doctors who fully expect him to die. But to everyone’s surprise, he slowly recovers, and when the bandages are removed, they find a man in his 30s. Dominic Matei has been miraculously regenerated. He also discovers that his memory and other mental faculties have not just been regenerated but enormously enhanced, eventually developing into powers of telepathy and telekinesis. He can learn other languages telepathically and “read” books simply by holding them for a few seconds and concentrating on them.

Furthermore, he encounters a “double”: an entity that looks exactly like him but who is wiser and more powerful and who can thus offer him guidance and protection. (The double first appears in mirrors and dreams before being seen in the real world. We learn that he is not an illusion when another character sees him as well.) The double functions as a guardian angel, a daimon, a spiritual guide. Perhaps he can do this because he is Dominic, but a Dominic whose powers are fully actualized. As an interlocutor, however, the double has a Mephistophelean quality, for he clearly rejects Dominic’s Western ethical humanism in favor of a Hindu-like non-dualism and transhumanism, and the double urges Dominic to do and accept things he finds abhorrent.

As with Faust, Dominic’s new form of existence can, apparently, be prolonged indefinitely under the right conditions. But as with Faust, it can also end. When Faust feels satisfaction, he dies, and his soul if forfeit. Dominic’s double tells him he is free to accept or reject his gift and free to use it for good or for evil.

Word of Dominic’s astonishing transformation spreads around the world. He is placed under constant surveillance by the Romanian Secret Police, who are in a heightened state of alert because they are doing battle with the Iron Guard. (Corneliu Codreanu had been arrested in April, 1938 and was murdered that November.) They even suspect that Dominic may be an Iron Guard leader hiding in the hospital under a false identity. (There is, of course, something autobiographical about the character of Dominic Matei, for Eliade too was a scholar of language and myth who was suspected, rightly, of Iron Guard connections. Eliade also wrote the novella in old age, when time is short and the mind is given to nostalgia and fantasies of regeneration.)

The Gestapo also take an interest in Dominic because he seems to confirm the theories of a German scientist, Dr. Joseph Rudolf, who hypothesizes that high voltage electrocution might spark the evolution of a higher form of humanity. Matei’s doctor and host, Professor Stanciulescu (Bruno Ganz), realizes Dominic’s powers when he sees two roses from his garden materialize in Dominic’s room with the help of the double. Thus the Professor refuses to allow the Germans to take Matei, citing medical grounds. They threaten to return with a German doctor who will do their bidding. Thus Stanciulescu arranges false papers so that Matei can leave Romania for Switzerland.

Coppola’s treatment of the Germans is one of the few places the movie rings false and silly. He seems to think that Romania was under German occupation in 1938 or ’39, which never happened. The Germans, of course, are portrayed as fanatics and martinets, and their leader even gives the Hitler salute to Professor Stanciulescu. I have not read the novella, but it is impossible to believe that such farcical inaccuracies are found in the original.

Dominic Matei spends the Second World War in neutral Switzerland, where he leads a life that is part Mircea Eliade, part James Bond. He continues his research into the origins of language and consciousness. He also develops new powers, including abilities to create false identities and beat the house in casinos, which is how he supports himself.

One night, Dominic is confronted in an alleyway by the Nazi scientist Dr. Rudolf. Rudolf explains to Dominic that he must return with him to Germany, because only with his help can Rudolf construct a bridge from man to superman, which is the only way that mankind can survive the coming nuclear apocalypse. Rudolf wishes to preserve the high culture of the West: music, art, philosophy, and science. He claims that Dominic was sent by some sort of providence to help save mankind. He promises to admit him to the godlike presence of Adolf Hitler. But Dominic refuses to cooperate with the Nazis. Rudolf pulls a gun and tries to abduct Dominic. When a female Romanian agent of the Gestapo tries to defend Dominic, Rudolf shoots her. The double, who evidently wants Dominic to go with Rudolf, tells him that he has no choice in the matter. But Dominic does have a choice: he telekinetically forces Rudolf to shoot himself, then he escapes.

 

Dominic is also convinced that the Second World War will not be the last. He anticipates that mankind will be almost annihilated by nuclear warfare, and he fears that “post-historical man” will succumb to despair. Thus be begins to tape a record of his transformation, depositing the tapes in a bank vault. He hopes that they will somehow survive the end of history and be deciphered by men in the future, giving them hope that humanity might evolve. Of course he has no assurance that the tapes will survive, but believes it anyway, because without this belief, his life would have no meaning.

The second half of the movie begins in 1955, when Dominic encounters a young German woman on vacation in Switzerland (Alexandra Maria Lara). Her name is Veronica, but she is the very image of Laura, Dominic’s former fiancée, who a lifetime ago had broken off their engagement because he was too involved in his work. She then married another man and died in childbirth a year later. The double confirms that Veronica is the reincarnation of Laura. (She is roughly analogous to Gretchen in Goethe’s Faust.)

Veronica’s car is struck by lightning, and her companion is killed. When Dominic finds Veronica, she is speaking in an ancient Indian dialect and claims that her name is Rupini, a woman of the Kshatriya caste, a descendant of one of the first families to convert to Buddhism, who had left the world behind to meditate in a cave.

Veronica/Rupini becomes an international sensation, because she seemingly provides proof of reincarnation. (Veronica herself later suggests spirit possession as an alternative hypothesis.) Veronica/Rupini demonstrates knowledge that Veronica did not and could not have learned during her lifetime. Dominic becomes her caretaker. He summons leading orientalists to study her case, and eventually she is flown to India, where she finds Rupini’s cave, complete with her mortal remains. Then Rupini’s peronality disappears and Veronica’s re-emerges. She and Dominic fall in love. Veronica tires quickly of being a world celebrity, so she and Dominic flee India to a private villa on Malta.

On Malta, Dominic discovers he has to power to induce trances in which Veronica regresses to past lives, speaking Ancient Egyptian, then Akkadian and Sumerian, then unknown protolanguages which Dominic eagerly records and transcribes. He recognizes that Veronica might be the vehicle he needs to pierce the veil of prehistory and reach the origins of language and consciousness. The double confirms this.

But with each trance, Veronica becomes increasingly drained and begins to age rapidly. Dominic realizes that if he continues to induce regressions, she will wither and die, so he has to choose between Veronica and the completion of his life’s work. He tells Veronica that they must part. If they stay together, she will die. If they part, her youth and beauty will be restored.

In 1969, when he is 101 years old, Dominic sees Veronica and her two children get down from a train. Heartbroken, he surreptitiously photographs her. He returns to his home town in Romania. In the mirror of his hotel room, he has a conversation with his double. The double reveals that he is indeed the harbinger of a new race, which will arise from the electromagnetic pulse released by an approaching nuclear holocaust. Most of mankind will perish in the process, but a superhumanity will emerge. Disgusted at the sacrifice of man to create the superman, Dominic smashes the mirror, rejecting his gift. The double, gibbering some unknown language, disappears.

Dominic then goes to his old haunt, the Café Select, where he hallucinates an encounter with friends from the 1930s. During the conversation, he rapidly ages, then stumbles out into the night. The next morning, he is found frozen to death in the snow.

But the end is ambiguous, for at the very end of the film, we hear Veronica’s voice ask Dominic, “Where do you want me to put the third rose?” which then appears in his hand. So is Dominic Matei really dead? He has been all but dead before, remember. So is this just another start? Will he keep coming back until he learns his lesson and his mission is fulfilled? Or is he really dead, but under the protection of Veronica, like Faust whose soul is saved in the end by the intercession of the Eternal Feminine?

Youth Without Youth is a movie about transcending the human condition: backwards, toward the pre-human origins of language and consciousness, and forwards, toward the advent of the superhuman. Dominic Matei is given the power to do both.

He could have arrived at the origin of human language and consciousness through Veronica’s trances, but he was unwilling to sacrifice her to his quest for knowledge.

He is already superhuman, but he could choose to help prepare the way for superhumanity. He had a chance to assist Dr. Rudolf, but he rejected it because he thought that Hitler was the devil himself. In the end, he rejected his own superhumanity simply because he was repelled by the idea that superhumanity would emerge from the destruction of humanity.

In both cases, the path to transcendence of the human realm was blocked by Dominic’s humanistic ethics, the idea that every human being has a dignity or worth that forbids its sacrifice for higher values. Thus Youth Without Youth explores the same fundamental conflict that animates Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Trilogy ^[6]: the ethic of egalitarian humanism versus the ethic of superhumanism, of the individuals who raise themselves above humanity either through a Nietzschean rejection of slave morality and a Heideggerian encounter with mortality and contingency (the Joker) or through the initiatory knowledge of the League of Shadows. (As I argue in my review ^[7] of The Dark Knight Rises, the two forms of superhumanism are compatible, but Nietzsche, Heidegger, and the Joker only grasp a small part of a much greater truth.)

Youth Without Youth is, in short, a deeply serious film: a feast for the intellect as well as the senses. A commercial and critical flop when it was released in 2007, Youth Without Youth is in truth one of Francis Ford Coppola’s finest films.

 

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

URL to article: http://www.counter-currents.com/2013/03/youth-without-youth/

URLs in this post:

[1] Image: http://www.counter-currents.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/youth-without-youth.jpg

[2] Youth Without Youth: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0014I4TR2/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0014I4TR2&linkCode=as2&tag=countercurren-20

[3] novella of the same name: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0226204154/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0226204154&linkCode=as2&tag=countercurren-20

[4] Mircea Eliade: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliade

[5] score: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000WVPXD6/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000WVPXD6&linkCode=as2&tag=countercurren-20

[6] The Dark Knight Trilogy: http://www.counter-currents.com/tag/lynch-dark-knight/

[7] review: http://www.counter-currents.com/2012/07/the-dark-knight-rises/

Codreanu sur Méridien Zéro

EMISSION N° 136

"CORNELIU ZELEA CODREANU ET LA GARDE DE FER"

Ce dimanche, Méridien Zéro reçoit Sylvain Roussillon pour évoquer avec lui la figure de Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, chef de la Garde de Fer, mouvement légionnaire roumain des années 20-30.

A la barre, PGL assisté de Wilsdorf.

Lord Tesla à la technique.

DIFFUSION DE L'EMISSION LE DIMANCHE 17 MARS

La position stratégique de la Roumanie dans l’Union Européenne

La position stratégique de la Roumanie dans l’Union Européenne

par Floriana Maniutiu

 

Ex: http://www.infoguerre.fr/

La Roumanie a été un pays très attractif au fil du temps pour les plus grandes puissances du monde : l’UE, la Russie et les Etats-Unis, grâce à sa position géographique, à ses ressources naturelles disponibles et à l’accès aux voies maritimes importantes. Toutefois, le manque d’une vraie stratégie post-adhésion UE ainsi que la mauvaise coordination des pratiques politiques nationales ont mené à un fort affaiblissement de l’influence de la Roumanie sur l’UE, durant ces dernières années. Est-ce que, à nos jours, la Roumanie représente encore d’intérêt pour l’Union Européenne et son intégration totale au sein de l’Europe ?

UN GRAND POTENTIEL EN TERMES DE PUISSANCE…

La position géographique. L’isthme ponto-baltique

Le territoire roumain représente la frontière Est de l’UE et l’OTAN et constitue le lien avec l’Europe Orientale, la Russie et le Moyen Orient. Il serve comme plateforme de transport paneuropéen ainsi que comme porte d’entrée pour toute activité commerciale provenant de l’Est.

L’accès aux voies de transport maritime

La Roumanie comprend sur son territoire plus de 30% de la voie fluviale la plus importante de l’Europe, le Danube, ayant aussi accès à la Mer Noire. Cette position marque le point de confluence des pôles générateurs de transports de l’Europe, Balkans et du Moyen-Orient. Elle constitue ainsi une plateforme importante des flux de trafic du basin marin (devenant un hub pour la circulation fluviale qui remonte le Danube), représentant un grand intérêt pour les secteurs de l’agriculture, du commerce et de l’énergie (énergie nucléaire et hydraulique, la centrale « Portile de Fier » étant une des plus grandes centrales hydroélectriques européennes).

Les ressources naturelles et le potentiel énergétique

La richesse naturelle du territoire roumain se traduit par de grandes quantités de ressources, notamment : le bois, le charbon, les grandes surfaces agricoles et les terrains fertiles, mais aussi le gaz naturel et le pétrole. La Roumanie est considérée un des pays les plus attractifs du point de vue de son potentiel énergétique pour l’exploitation des ressources renouvelables. On mentionne ici l’énergie éolienne et les réserves de gaz de schiste comme domaines d’intérêt majeur pour une exploitation future.

L’axe de la défense et de la sécurité internationale

Suite à l’adhésion à l’OTAN en 2004, le Roumanie s’inscrit sur l’axe de la défense et de la sécurité internationale, par l’ouverture de l’espace terrestre et aérien aux troupes militaires américaines et par la création des bases militaires portuaires pendant la guerre en Irak. Ainsi, ce pays arrive à être un point militaire stratégique pour la préparation des cadres militaires et aussi pour la participation active en temps de conflit.

…MAIS UNE FAIBLE UTILISATION DES FORCES

L’instabilité politique interne et les problèmes de corruption

L’intensification des conflits et des désaccords entre les forces politiques présentes au sein du gouvernement roumain a conduit à un vrai coup d’Etat cette année, mettant en lumière deux aspects négatifs majeurs : la pratique de la corruption aux plus hauts niveaux de l’Etat, ainsi que l’abus de contrôle du président de la république et des autres membres de la gouvernance. Les derniers événements qui ont eu lieu sur la scène politique roumaine ont eu un impact majeur sur l’image externe du pays. L’instabilité politique de l’Etat a diminué la confiance de l’Union Européenne et des autres partenaires externes en l’Etat roumain, affectant ses perspectives futures de gagner des nouveaux accords et de contrats d’investissement.

Un ralentissement du développement dans tous les domaines stratégiques

A présent, la Roumanie garde une position globale plutôt faible face à l’Union Européenne. Dans le cadre de la crise économique européenne qui a débuté en 2008, les problèmes nationaux existants au niveau de la gestion des finances publiques, de la corruption et de la bureaucratie se sont aggravés. En conséquence, la Roumanie a subit des grands déficits budgétaires, ainsi qu’une forte diminution en termes de volume d’investissements directs étrangers, ralentissant son évolution à long terme. En même temps, tous ces éléments ont engendré une dégradation majeure en termes de puissance de la Roumanie sur le marché européen de consommation.

Dans le domaine militaire aussi, on constate une baisse de l’influence de la Roumanie. L’Etat ne bénéficie plus d’un équipement technique performant et mis à neuf, imputable au manque d’investissements au cours des dernières années. Cela révèle la décroissance en importance du pays en ce domaine à travers le temps, dû à l’échec de développer une stratégie claire et de s’affirmer comme vrai acteur dans la problématique de la défense et pas comme un simple accessoire.

Mais peut-être un des plus grands échecs que la Roumanie a vécu reste celui du secteur énergétique, par l’incapacité de participer aux projets South Stream ou Nabucco. L’Etat roumain a eu une position incertaine dans les négociations, favorisant l’alliance avec la Russie dans la perspective d’obtenir un accord direct avec celle-ci pour l’approvisionnement en gaz naturel (en vue de renoncer aux intermédiaires), mais en se déclarant en même temps partisan du projet South Stream, pour les implications pour l’Union Européenne. Ce jeu confus a mis sous doute, une fois de plus, la loyauté de la Roumanie face à l’UE, diminuant sa crédibilité en qualité de partenaire et d’allié.

Les échecs diplomatiques

Sur le plan international, la Romanie n’a pas encore réussi à élaborer une stratégie diplomatique claire, ce qui a rendu difficile l’amélioration de son image externe. Cela s’explique principalement par une orientation vers la défense des intérêts nationaux face à l’organisation européenne, au lieu d’essayer d’intégrer les valeurs européennes globales dans l’élaboration de sa politique nationale.

L’Etat roumain s’est aussi confronté avec un problème de représentation dans le Conseil Européen, mettant en lumière le manque de concordances existant au niveau des réglementations nationales. La séparation des attributions concernant la politique externe du pays marque le clivage entre celui qui élabore et celui qui représente les stratégies internationales de l’Etat à l’extérieur. Ce fait a entrainé un manque de confiance des partenaires et des acteurs européens dans le déroulement de leurs négociations avec l’Etat roumain car ils doivent passer par des intermédiaires qui n’ont ni d’intérêts directs, ni pouvoir de décision.

Il semble aussi important de mentionner les entraves rencontrées dans les démarches d’adhésion à l’espace Schengen. Si, à la base, c’était un problème de positionnement géographique qui facilitait l’entrée du commerce illégal et du trafic illégal des personnes en Europe, maintenant, le refus d’adhérer à l’espace Schengen est surtout un problème d’ordre politique. Les officialités européennes ont conditionné la révision de toute nouvelle demande d’adhésion par la résolution des conflits politiques internes et par la création d’un environnement interne stable.

PERSPECTIVES ET CONCLUSION

A ce jour, la Roumanie n’est plus considérée comme un membre significatif pour l’Union Européenne. Elle n’a pas réussi développer de smart power qui lui aurait permis de combiner de manière efficace ses outils de puissance, afin de reprendre sa place comme partenaire-clé dans l’espace européen. Cette situation pourrait cependant changer, à condition que la Roumanie dirige tous ses efforts vers une résolution des tensions politiques internes, suivie par une redéfinition totale de ses stratégies externes futures.

Floriana Maniutiu

REFERENCES BIBLIOGRAPHIQUES

Cristescu Juliette et Muntele Ionel, « Les conséquences humaines et territoriales du processus d'adhésion de la Roumanie à l'Union européenne », L'Information géographique, 2007/4 Vol. 71
Duboz Marie-Line, « Bulgarie, Roumanie » Interrogations sur leur adhésion à l'Union européenne, Le Courrier des pays de l'Est, 2007/5 n° 1063, p. 34-42
Institutul « Ovidiu Sincai » : « Influenta Romaniei in Uniunea Europeana : Rezultate si perspective », Raport de analiza politica, 2009/5, Bucuresti, « Despre Actiunea Internationala a Romaniei – dilema institutionala sau problema politica ? », Raport de analiza politica, 2012/05
Lhomel Édith, « Roumanie 2002-2003 » Un parcours encourageant, mais parfois sinueux, Le Courrier des pays de l'Est, 2003/6 n° 1036-1037, p. 173-189
Lhomel Édith, « Roumanie 2003-2004 » Sur la dernière ligne droite ?, Le Courrier des pays de l'Est, 2004/4 n° 1044, p. 185-201

 

Rey Violette et Groza Octavian, « Bulgarie et Roumanie, un « entre-deux » géopolitique dans l'Union européenne », L'Espace géographique, 2008/4 Tome 37, p. 365-378

Vintila Horia, l’esilio e il sogno di una grande patria europea

Vintila Horia, l’esilio e il sogno di una grande patria europea

La scrittore rumeno, autenticamente nazionalista, è tra i dannati della letteratura

Romano Guatta Caldini

Ex: http://rinascita.eu/

Sono innumerevoli gli autori relegati nel limbo dell’editoria, un po’ perché le loro tesi sono considerate politicamente scorrette, dalla massa degli utili idioti che popolano il mondo della critica letteraria, un po’ perché questi scrittori vengono sempre etichettati come impresentabili, a causa dei loro percorsi esistenziali che non corrispondono al cliché dell’intellettuale “democratico”. Fra i dannati della letteratura, un posto di primo piano lo occupa sicuramente Vintila Horia, il déraciné per eccellenza.

Il tema dell’esilio – in Horia – è una costante. Lui, scrittore autenticamente di destra, è il simbolo di quella generazione di intellettuali che, dopo il tramonto dei fascismi e l’instaurarsi delle dittature comuniste nell’est Europa, passarono tutta la vita lontani dalla madre patria. Sebbene, durante la giovinezza, Horia non abbia mai contemplato l’ipotesi di tornare in Romania – il Paese d’origine che lo condannò ai lavori forzati con l’accusa di propaganda fascista – il richiamo della “terra dei padri” influì notevolmente sulla sua produzione letteraria. “Incominciò allora - scrive Horia - il mio vero esilio come un processo di anacoretismo, cioè come un processo di separazione da tutto quello che io ero stato”. Fra i suoi scritti ricordiamo: “Dio è nato in esilio”, “Gli impossibili”, “La rivolta degli scrittori sovietici”, “Il cavaliere della rassegnazione”, “La settima lettera” ed “Una donna per l’Apocalisse”.

Per un esiliato la vita è fatta di incessanti peregrinazioni, alla ricerca - forse inconsapevole - di un’Itaca perduta per sempre. Italia, Austria, Francia, Spagna: furono molte le mete toccate da Horia nel suo percorso di viandante, nell’Europa martoriata dal secondo conflitto mondiale prima e dalla guerra fredda poi. E sono proprio le persone incontrate sulla via i personaggi dei suoi romanzi, come Clara, la bella esule polacca co-protagonista – con Horia “Io narrante” - de “Gli impossibili”. Entrambi in fuga dal comunismo e dai fantasmi del passato, Vintila e Clara si incontrano a Losanna, città che ha dato da sempre rifugio ai perseguitati politici. “Due esiliati - scrive il curatore de Gli Impossibili, per le edizioni Il Borghese - due creature strappate dalla violenza della guerra e dalle aberrazioni della politica al loro Paese; ciascuno spera di ritrovare, nell’amore, la patria, cioè, la fine della solitudine”.

Clara entra nella vita di Horia come una cometa, come un bagliore sfuggente che illumina – per un brevissimo lasso di tempo, l’esistenza dello scrittore rumeno. Nella solitudine interiore di lei, Horia trova ristoro, nella sofferenza provocatale da un passato popolato di fantasmi, l’autore trova le proprie radici, un contatto, seppur effimero, con la lontana Romania. Ed è così, attraverso un viaggio a ritroso nel tempo che Horia ripercorre le tappe che lo hanno portato a Losanna. Un percorso angosciante che partendo dalla casa paterna - ormai spazzata via dal regime comunista – arriva fino all’avvenimento che segnò la svolta negli orientamenti politici dell’autore: l’assassinio, in mezzo alla folla, di tre legionari della Guardia di Ferro.

Come per i suoi connazionali, Emil Cioran e Mircea Eliade, anche per Horia il successo arriverà durante il suo soggiorno forzato all’estero. Nel “60, con la pubblicazione del suo capolavoro, “Dio è nato in esilio”, ad Horia venne assegnato il Premio Gouncourt, il più noto riconoscimento letterario di Francia. Eppure, anche questa volta, i fantasmi del passato tornarono a riscuotere il proprio tributo. Dopo la vittoria del Gouncort, Horia venne invitato a farsi fotografare con il funzionario, dell’ambasciata rumena a Parigi, addetto alle relazioni. Un tentativo, da parte del regime comunista, di riavvicinare lo scrittore. Horia, però, rifiutò l’esortazione e, a quel punto, dalle pagine de L’Humanité scattò una campagna stampa tendente a screditarlo. Il quotidiano marxista, imbeccato dall’inteligencja rumena, mise in atto un violento attacco che, ricordando i trascorsi fascisti dello scrittore, ebbe come risultato la restituzione del premio. “Se il libro di Vintila Horia meritava il Premio Goncourt - si legge nel retro di copertina della pubblicazione italiana del libro “Dio è nato in esilio” - perché i giudici, dopo averlo assegnato secondo tutte le regole, non seppero difendere la loro decisione? E se il libro non meritava il premio, perché gli fu assegnato? La Romania comunista ha cercato fino all’ultimo momento di recuperare Vintila Horia, che vive in esilio per non vivere in una Romania comunista. (…) Si ripeté per Vintila Horia la discriminazione già usata coi militari e gli intellettuali tedeschi: quelli che hanno aderito al comunismo sono illibati e stimabili, chi si rifiuta di farlo è reprobo”.

Aspetto poco conosciuto, dell’autore rumeno, è il suo stretto legame con l’Italia. Nel ‘39, infatti, appena ventiquattrenne ed in seguito alla laurea in giurisprudenza conseguita a Bucarest, Horia venne inviato a Roma, in qualità di addetto stampa della Legazione del Regno di Romania a Roma. Qui conoscerà Papini con cui, nel tempo, instaurerà un prolifico rapporto lavorativo, culturale e naturalmente, di amicizia. A Perugia lo scrittore avrà l’occasione di seguire i corsi di Letteratura e filosofia, almeno fino al suo trasferimento all’ambasciata di Vienna. Da qui, dopo la caduta del regime pro-Asse del Maresciallo Ion Antonescu e il conseguente instaurarsi - in Romania - di un governo filo-sovietico, venne rinchiuso in un campo di concentramento, per diplomatici del Terzo Reich, a Maria Pfarr, in Austria.

Liberato dagli inglesi, nel ‘45, Horia tornò in Italia, a Bologna. Ed è nel capoluogo emiliano che lo scrittore prese la decisione emotivamente più devastante della sua vita: non fare mai più ritorno in una Romania trasfigurata dal comunismo. Durante il periodo nel “bel paese”, lo scrittore collaborò a diverse riviste, come “L’Ultima” ed il “Perseo”, e ad alcuni quotidiani, tra cui “il Tempo” e “Roma”. Da menzionare sono i saggi - di Horia - sui pensatori anticonformisti italiani: l’amico Giovani Papini ed il Barone Julius Evola.

Moderno Ulisse, lo scrittore rumeno non smise mai di viaggiare, tenendo conferenze nelle università di Buenos Aires, Madrid, Parigi e Santiago del Chile. Come molti uomini legati ai fasti, dell’epopea rivoluzionaria nazionale dei regimi fascisti europei, anche Horia si trasferì in Argentina, più precisamente a Buenos Aires dove, grazie all’aiuto di Papini, poté trovare un’occupazione presso un’università locale. La morte lo colse in Spagna, dove aveva trovato rifugio, grazie al governo franchista.

Vintila Horia non tornò mai in Romania e, forse, fu proprio per la sua condizione di apolide che nel tempo sviluppò una sorta d’inter-nazionalismo di stampo europeista. Infatti, durante un’intervista rilasciata a Gianfranco De Turris, Horia dichiarò: “Mi considero uno scrittore europeo. Credo che la mia vera patria, e la patria di noi tutti, italiani, romeni, spagnoli o francesi, sia – in fondo – l’Europa”.


12 Settembre 2012  - http://rinascita.eu/index.php?action=news&id=16691

Intervista a Claudio Mutti

La traduzione della tragedia “Ifigenia” di Mircea Eliade è pubblicata dalle Edizioni all’insegna del Veltro


Ultimamente fioccano le “censure di presentazione” di libri ritenuti - per lo più a torto - politicamente o culturalmente scorretti. Tutti lettori sanno qualcosa del recente divieto di presentazione del “Così parlò Zarathustra” edito da Ar. O della richiesta dell’associazione “Gherush” di sospendere l’insegnamento di Dante e della sua “Comoedia” perché... antisemita.

Ma c’è un altro precedente, forse ignoto, che riassumiamo in breve.
Un paio d’anni fa Claudio Mutti - il filologo di Parma tacciato di rossobrunismo e eresia - aveva tradotto e pubblicato in italiano una tragedia di Mircea Eliade, “Ifigenia”, che fu messa in scena un paio di volte in Romania (prima sotto Antonescu e poi sotto Ceausescu).
Alcuni mesi fa un regista teatrale, Gianpiero Borgia, ha letto il libro e gli è piaciuto. Così ha preparato un allestimento dell’Ifigenia di Eliade per il Teatro Festival di Napoli (12 giugno) e per la stagione teatrale del Teatro Stabile di Catania (26 giugno).

Qualche giorno fa, però ha ricevuto un diktat dall’erede dei diritti d’autore di Eliade, tale Sorin Alexandrescu, attivista liberale e fondatore di un Comitato per i diritti umani: la tragedia non deve essere rappresentata nella traduzione di Claudio Mutti, perché ha pubblicato tre saggi storici sul rapporto di Eliade con la Guardia di Ferro di Corneliu Codreanu. Proponiamo ai lettori di “Rinascita” un’intervista al professore fatta da un giovane studioso della lingua romena, che ha appena pubblicato un libro presso Aliberti un libro sul colpo di Stato del dicembre 1989.
 
Bistolfi:
Claudio Mutti, antichista, filologo, linguista, poliglotta, traduttore e molto altro: una delle Sue ultime fatiche è stata la traduzione della tragedia Ifigenia di Mircea Eliade, pubblicata dalle Edizioni all’insegna del Veltro. Lei ha così portato alla luce un testo pressoché sconosciuto dello studioso romeno. Quando ha scoperto questo lavoro? Di che cosa tratta?

Mutti: Sono debitore della prima lettura di Ifigenia al mio amico Ion Marii, che alcuni decenni fa mi donò un esemplare dell’ormai irreperibile edizione uscita grazie ai suoi sforzi nel 1951, quando era esule in Argentina. A tale proposito, Mircea Eliade scrisse nel dicembre di quell’anno su un periodico dell’emigrazione romena: “Talvolta arrivano degli operai dall’anima angelica e donano i loro averi affinché si possano stampare i versi e le prose dei nostri sognatori o dei nostri veglianti; è il caso di quell’operaio che sta in Argentina, Ion Marii, il quale ha donato all’editore di Cartea Pribegiei tutto quello che aveva risparmiato in un anno e mezzo di lavoro (Ion Marii, primo membro d’onore della Società degli Scrittori Romeni, quando ritorneremo a casa…)”. Norman Manea invece raccontò su “Les Temps Modernes” che Ifigenia venne pubblicata… dal proprietario “della stampa di destra argentina” (sic)!

Di che cosa si tratta? Ifigenia è una tragedia che riprende il mito trattato da Euripide nell’Ifigenia in Aulide, ma si caratterizza per il risalto attribuito al motivo del sacrificio, motivo di cui Eliade si occupò, in quegli stessi anni, nei Commenti alla leggenda di Mastro Manole. La figlia di Agamennone accetta e sollecita il proprio sacrificio affinché la spedizione contro Troia possa compiersi con successo.
La tesi di Eliade è che Ifigenia, accettando e sollecitando il proprio sacrificio, acquisisce un “corpo di gloria” che consiste nel successo della spedizione bellica; essa vive nell’impresa degli Achei proprio come la moglie di Mastro Manole vive nel corpo di pietra e calce del monastero.
 
Nel mese di giugno il regista Gianpiero Borgia presenterà la versione italiana di Ifigenia, in prima assoluta per l’Italia, al Teatro Festival di Napoli e al Teatro Greco-Romano di Catania. Abbiamo però notato che il Suo nome non compare più nel cartellone. Si tratta di un “refuso” oppure c’è stato qualche problema “tecnico”?

L’erede di Mircea Eliade, suo nipote Sorin Alexandrescu, ha posto come condizione irrinunciabile per la concessione dei diritti che la rappresentazione dell’opera non si avvalesse della mia traduzione e che questa venisse sostituita dalla traduzione inedita di Horia Corneliu Cicortas. Il motivo di questo aut-aut dell’erede di Eliade è dovuto ad un puro e semplice pregiudizio ideologico. Infatti Sorin Alexandrescu, già fondatore di un comitato per i “diritti umani”, ritiene che oggi, “grazie al trionfo mondiale del liberalismo, noi comprendiamo più facilmente quello che molti intellettuali e cittadini non potevano comprendere allora [cioè nel periodo interbellico], ossia che la società liberale è la società meno imperfetta”. Ora, siccome lo zio non ebbe la possibilità di comprendere quello che invece è stato compreso dal nipote, quest’ultimo si trova in grande imbarazzo allorché il nome di Eliade viene associato alla cultura del tradizionalismo o, peggio ancora, al movimento legionario; perciò si sforza di dissociare Eliade da tutto ciò che è culturalmente e politicamente scorretto. Ai suoi occhi io ho commesso la grave colpa di pubblicare in più lingue alcuni studi che sine ira et studio documentano le liaisons dangereuses di Eliade sia col tradizionalismo (Eliade, Vâlsan, Geticus e gli altri. La fortuna di Guénon tra i Romeni) sia con il legionarismo (Mircea Eliade e la Guardia di Ferro e Le penne dell’Arcangelo). Di qui il diktat di Sorin Alexandrescu al regista italiano.
 
Leggendo Eliade si ha l’impressione che egli abbia rivelato di se stesso molto di più nei romanzi e, scopriamo oggi, in questa tragedia, che non nei diari e nella sua produzione saggistica. Qual è la Sua impressione a riguardo?

Credo di essere stato il primo, oltre una ventina d’anni fa, ad affermare che “sotto il velame” della narrazione romanzesca Eliade ha celato qualcosa che non poteva o non voleva dire esplicitamente in altra maniera: un qualcosa che aveva a che fare con il “culturalmente e politicamente scorretto” di cui ho detto poc’anzi. La mia convinzione è stata poi confermata da altri studiosi, i quali hanno scrutato le pagine della narrativa eliadiana cercando di mettere in luce quelli che Marcello De Martino definisce come i “non detti” e i “frammenti di un insegnamento sconosciuto”.
 
In Romania è mai stata rappresentata questa tragedia? Quali riscontri ha avuto?

Eliade si trovava all’estero allorché il 12 febbraio 1941 Ifigenia venne rappresentata per la prima volta al Teatro Comedia di Bucarest (il Teatro Nazionale era in restauro in seguito ad un terremoto). Una ventina di giorni prima, il generale Antonescu aveva espulso i legionari dal governo ed aveva instaurato una dittatura militare; dato il successo riscosso dalla prima dell’opera, la moglie di Eliade temeva che le autorità potessero vietare ulteriori rappresentazioni, perché, come si legge nel Diario di Petru Comarnescu, con la figura di Ifigenia “Eliade vuole ricordare Codreanu”. Col Diario di Comarnescu converge il Diario di Mihail Sebastian, il quale non si era recato alla prima di Ifigenia: “Avrei avuto l’impressione di assistere – annotò il drammaturgo ebreo – ad una seduta di cuib”, ossia ad una riunione legionaria. Dovette trascorrere una trentina d’anni, prima in Romania si potesse leggere di nuovo il testo di Ifigenia o assistere ad una rappresentazione della tragedia. Il testo fu pubblicato su “Manuscriptum”, una rivista culturale edita a Bucarest, nel 1974, nel quadro di un’operazione di “recupero” della produzione eliadiana da parte del regime nazionalcomunista. Negli anni Ottanta, la tragedia di Eliade venne rappresentata due o tre volte.
 
Qual è la percezione che oggi in Romania si ha dell’adesione di Eliade al Movimento legionario? E in Italia?

Per i Romeni che hanno un’opinione positiva del Movimento legionario, l’adesione di Eliade (così come quella della maggior parte dell’intellettualità romena dell’epoca) è motivo d’orgoglio. Per gli altri, a partire dall’erede dei diritti delle sue opere, è motivo d’imbarazzo. Quanto all’Italia, alcuni hanno demonizzato Eliade come un aguzzino che “consegnava alle SS gli ebrei romeni” (così scrisse testualmente “Repubblica”), mentre altri hanno cercato a lungo di sottacerne l’impegno legionario, poi si sono arrampicati sugli specchi per negarlo o minimizzarlo.


26 Maggio 2012 12:00:00 - http://rinascita.eu/index.php?action=news&id=15103

The Legionary Doctrine

The Legionary Doctrine

By Christopher Thorpe

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

The Legionary Doctrine (also called Legionarism) refers to the philosophy and beliefs presented by the Legion of Michael the Archangel (also commonly known as the Iron Guard), the Romanian Christian Nationalist organization founded by Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, who is the key figure in the creation of its doctrine. It is necessary to clarify what the members of the Legionary Movement taught and believed due to many misconceptions arising from ignorance and outright deception, as well as the mistaken assumption that the Legionary Movement was largely an imitation of Fascism or National Socialism.

Precursors

In 1878 and 1879, after Romania had won its independence from the Ottoman Empire, the new nation wanted to be recognized by other European powers. The Romanians could not achieve this without signing the Treaty of Berlin, which forced them to grant citizenship to Jews, a hostile and alien people on Romanian land. Although the treaty was signed, certain significant cultural and political figures in Romanian history spoke out against the Jews in order to warn their nation that the Jews were culturally and economically harmful. These men’s works from 1879 were significant intellectual sources of the Legionary Movement’s Christian nationalism and awareness of the Jewish Problem. The most influential of them were the following:

• Vasile Conta (1845–1882) – philosopher and politician
• Vasile Alecsandri (1821–1890) – diplomat and politician
• Mihail Kogălniceanu (1817–1891) – statesman and historian
• Mihail Eminescu (1850–1889) – famous poet and journalist
• Bogdan Petriceicu Hasdeu (1838–1907) – historian and philologist
• Costache Negri (1812–1876) – politician
• A. D. Xenopol (1847–1820) – historian and economist

Other intellectuals, who lived in the early 20th century and saw the birth and growth of the Legionary Movement, also educated Codreanu and other Legionaries about the Jewish Problem, national mysticism, Orthodox mysticism, and economic practices. These men were:

• A. C. Cuza (1857–1947) – politician and professor of law and political economy
• Nicolae Iorga (1871–1940) – historian, professor of history, and politician
• Nicolae Paulescu (1869–1931) – physiologist, professor of medicine, and philosopher
• Ion Gavanescul (1859–1949) – professor of pedagogy
• Nichifor Crainic (1889–1972) – professor of theology, theologian, and philosopher

To avoid misconceptions, it must be noted that it is not implied here that the precursors of the Legionary Movement agreed with Legionary doctrine on every point. For example, some of them had different political attitudes; the Legion rejected republicanism while precursors such as Eminescu supported the democratic system.

Anti-Semitism and the Jewish Problem

Some people today who follow the Legionary doctrine or admire the Legionaries assert that the Legion was not anti-Semitic but only appeared so because of a Jewish problem in Romania. One of the major reasons for which they object to the term “anti-Semitic” is because of a certain way by which that term is defined by Jews and philo-semites. Such groups define it as an irrational hatred of all Jews, and in that case the Legionaries were not truly anti-Semitic, since their hostility to the Jews was not irrational nor were they enemies with every Jew (it has been pointed out that the Legion had a few Jewish supporters, although it should be remembered that the majority of Jews were enemies of the Legion).

However, in the late 19th century and early 20th century the term anti-Semite was simply defined as one who had hostility towards Jews and opposed their presence in one’s nation. This is how Cuza and other precursors, Corneliu Codreanu, and his successor Horia Sima defined it, and they all had no qualms about calling themselves anti-Semitic. Codreanu freely stated in his major book For My Legionaries about his visit to Germany that “I had many discussions with the students at Berlin in 1922, who are certainly Hitlerites today, and I am proud to have been their teacher in anti-Semitism, exporting to them the truths I learned in Iasi.”

It should be noted, however, that while Codreanu had no problem associating with the German National Socialist movement (although he also correctly insisted that his Legion was entirely independent of National Socialism), Horia Sima objected to any connection between the two after World War II. In his 1967 book Istoria Mişcarii Legionare (History of the Legionary Movement) Sima wrote:

The Legionary Movement, since its first manifestation, was the object of all sorts of slander. One of the most common allegations by its countless internal and external enemies was that the Legion was a “branch of Nazism.” Such statements can be made as a result of ignorance or bad faith. The anti-Semitism of the Legionary Movement has nothing in common with German anti-Semitism. By taking a stand against the Jewish danger, a danger extremely active and menacing in Romania, Corneliu Codreanu was simply continuing an almost century old Romanian tradition.

It should also be emphasized that Legionary hostility to the Jews as an ethnic group was actually rational, based not only on the scientific studies of the Jewish problem by intellectuals such as Cuza, Paulescu, Iorga, Xenopol, et al. but also on real experiences and observations made by many average Romanians. The Jewish problem was a vivid reality. Both intellectual observation as well as common observation showed the people beyond any doubt that the majority of Jews not only lived parasitically off of the labor of Romanian workers by their ownership of many companies or financial activity, but also posed a threat to Romanian culture and tradition, which they were damaging through their influence on mass media and certain government policies.

It is also worth noting that while Codreanu was first and foremost concerned with the Romanian condition, he believed that an alliance between nations needed to be made to solve the Jewish problem internationally. This is made clear by a statement in For My Legionaries:

There, I shared with my comrades an old thought of mine, that of going to Germany to continue my studies in political economy while at the same time trying to realize my intention of carrying our ideas and beliefs abroad. We realized very well, on the basis of our studies, that the Jewish problem had an international character and the reaction therefore should have an international scope; that a total solution of this problem could not be reached except through action by all Christian nations awakened to the consciousness of the Jewish menace.

The solution to the Jewish problem was not to kill the Jews, as many dishonest people accuse Codreanu of wanting, but to expel the Jews from Romania. This plan for deportation is plainly stated in The Nest Leader’s Manual, where he wrote “Romania for Romanians and Palestine for the Jews.”

Economics and Labor: Anti-Communism and Anti-Capitalism

When Codreanu first went to the University of Iasi in 1919, years before he created the Legion, he discovered that most of the city and university were heavily influenced by Communist political campaigns. The Romanian workers were experiencing terrible working conditions and had very low wages, so they had been drawn to Communism by Marxist propagandists. Professors and students at the University were also largely converted to Communism, and Communist student meetings attacked the Romanian army, the Orthodox Church, the monarchy, and other aspects of traditional Romanian life. It was this situation that drove Codreanu into a heroic fight against Communism, finally leading a conservative group to completely crushing the Communist movement. Codreanu, being a traditionalist, insisted on defending faith in God, nationalism, the Crown, and private property.

On the other hand, Codreanu also believed in fighting the Capitalist system, which he realized was an inherently exploitive system, which allowed corporations to exploit millions of workers. In 1919, when forming the program of “National Christian Socialism,” he stated that “It is not enough to defeat Communism. We must also fight for the rights of the workers. They have a right to bread and a fight to honor. We must fight against the oligarchic parties, creating national workers organizations which can gain their rights within the framework of the state and not against the state.”

Later in 1935 he announced the creation of a new system which he hoped would be adopted by the nation as a whole once the Legionary Movement took power: “Legionary commerce signifies a new phase in the history of commerce which has been stained by the Jewish spirit. It is called: Christian commerce — based on the love of people and not on robbing them; commerce based on honor.” Essentially Codreanu was a Third Position socialist, supporting private property but at the same time opposing the materialistic and money-centered system of capitalism. Another important point of Codreanu’s ideas for Romania is that labor is something in which everyone must be involved in. Laziness was a trait that should be treated as a highly negative vice. All Legionaries in some way did some kind of physical work, often to help lower class Romanians in their own labor and problems. Codreanu wrote: “The law of work: Work! Work every day. Put your heart into it. Let your reward be, not gain, but the satisfaction that you have laid another brick to the building of the Legion and the flourishing of Romania.”

One issue which has often been brought up against Codreanu is the fact that he associates both Capitalism and Communism with the Jews, as both of them were dominated by Jews in Romania. He wrote, connecting Jewish Capitalists and Jewish Communists, “But industrial workers were vertiginously sliding toward Communism, being systematically fed the cult of these ideas by the Jewish press, and generally by the entire Jewry of the cities. Every Jew, merchant, intellectual, or banker-capitalist, in his radius of activity, was an agent of these anti-Romanian revolutionary ideas.” Some of his opponents have objected to this connection by arguing that it is ridiculous to say that Jewish company owners and bankers would support Communists, who supposedly would destroy them upon a revolution, since they would want to eliminate the capitalists. But it should be remembered that not all of the bourgeoisie were exterminated in Communist revolutions across Europe. Sometimes, members of the bourgeoisie who supported Communism before a revolution, who were oftentimes Jews, would be given a place in the Communist system once the revolution was achieved.

Nation and Land

The Legionaries believed that nations were not merely products of history and geography, but were created by God Himself and had a spiritual component to them. Codreanu wrote in For My Legionaries, adopting the teachings of Nichifor Crainic:

If Christian mysticism and its goal, ecstasy, is the contact of man with god through a “leap from human nature to divine nature,” national mysticism is nothing other than the contact of man and crowds with the soul of their people through the leap which these forces make from the world of personal and material interests into the outer world of nation. Not through the mind, since this any historian can do, but by living with their soul.

A nation was also inseparable from the land on which it developed, to which the people grew a spiritual connection with over time. Codreanu wrote of the Romanian people:

We were born in the mist of time on this land together with the oaks and fir trees. We are bound to it not only by the bread and existence it furnishes us as we toil on it, but also by all the bones of our ancestors who sleep in its ground. All our parents are here. All our memories, all our war-like glory, all our history here, in this land lies buried. . . . Here . . . sleep the Romanians fallen there in battles, nobles and peasants, as numerous as the leaves and blades of grass . . . everywhere Romanian blood flowed like rivers. In the middle of the night, in difficult times for our people, we hear the call of the Romanian soil urging us to battle. . . . We are bound to this land by millions of tombs and millions of unseen threads that only our soul feels . . .

Finally, it must be noted that Codreanu also believed that every nation has a mission to fulfill in the world and therefore that only the nations which betray their mission, given to them by God, will disappear from the earth. “To us Romanians, to our people, as to any other people in the world, God has given a mission, a historic destiny,” wrote Codreanu, “The first law that a person must follow is that of going on the path of this destiny, accomplishing its entrusted mission. Our people has never laid down its arms or deserted its mission, no matter how difficult or lengthy was its Golgotha Way.” The aim of a nation, or its destiny in the world of spirit, was that it does not simply live in the world but that it aims for resurrection through the teachings of Christ. “There will come a time when all the peoples of the earth shall be resurrected, with all their dead and all their kings and emperors, each people having its place before God’s throne. This final moment . . . is the noblest and most sublime one toward which a people can rise.” It was for this ideal that the Legion fought tirelessly against all obstacles, corrupt politicians, and alien peoples such as the Jews which insisted on feeding off the Romanian people and land.

Religion and Culture

One aim of the Legionary Movement was the preservation and regeneration of Romanian culture and customs. They knew that culture was the expression of national genius, its products the unique creations of the members of a specific nation. Culture could have international influence, but it was always national in origin. Therefore, the Liberal-Capitalist position that different ethnic groups should be allowed to freely move into another group’s nation, interfering with that nation’s culture and development by their presence and influence, was incredibly wrong. Each ethnic group has its own soul and produces and crystallizes its own form and style of culture. For example, a Romanian cultural image could not be created from German essence any more than a German cultural image could be created from Romanian essence.

Furthermore, religion was an important aspect in a people’s culture, oftentimes the origin of many customs and traditions. The Legionaries believed that Christianity was not only a significant part of their culture, but also that it was the religion which represented divine truth. This is why in order to join the Legion of Michael the Archangel one had to be a Christian and could not be of another religion or an atheist. With these principles clear, the Legion therefore aimed for a Romanian nation made up of only ethnic Romanians and only Christians.

With this in mind, it becomes clear why Codreanu and many other Romanians felt that the Jewish presence in their nation was so threatening. The Jews became influential in economics, finance, newspapers, cinema, and even politics. Through this they even became powerful in the field of culture, slowly changing Romanian customs and Romanian thinking, making it more related to that of the Jews. Codreanu, as concerned about the problem as people such as Cuza and Gavanescul, commented:

Is it not frightening, that we, the Romanian people, no longer can produce fruit? That we do not have a Romanian culture of our own, of our people, of our blood, to shine in the world side by side with that of other peoples? That we be condemned today to present ourselves before the world with products of Jewish essence?” and “Not only will the Jews be incapable of creating Romanian culture, but they will falsify the one we have in order to serve it to us poisoned.

Race

The reality of race was accepted by most Legionaries, and Codreanu wrote of the importance of keeping a nation racially cohesive. In For My Legionaries, Codreanu quoted Conta’s racial separatist arguments, which formed the basis of his own attitudes on race, and even compared them to the German National Socialist view. He wrote: “Consider the attitude our great Vasile Conta held in the Chamber in 1879. Fifty years earlier the Romanian philosopher demonstrated with unshakeable scientific arguments, framed in a system of impeccable logic, the soundness of racial truths that must lie at the foundation of the national state; a theory adopted fifty years later by the same Berlin which had imposed on us the granting of civil rights to the Jews in 1879.”

However, it should be noted that at least a few Legionaries did not agree that race was important. Ion Mota, in 1935 when he met with the NSDAP in Germany, criticized the National Socialists by telling them that “Racism is the most vulgar form of materialism. Peoples are not different by flesh, blood or color of skin. They are different by their spirit, i.e. by their creations, culture and religion.” Of course, Mota’s attitude is unlikely to have been dominant among the Legion, since Codreanu was the founder of the ideas the majority of its members shared. It is also notable that Horia Sima, in his works on Legionary beliefs, agreed with Codreanu that race is real and important. However, Sima disagreed with connecting Romanian racial views with German racialism, censuring the followers of Hitler by asserting that their worldview misused racialism, making it too absolute and materialistic.

The New Man

The Legionary Movement aimed to create a New Man (Omul Nou), to transform the entire nation through Legionary education by transforming each individual into a person of quality. The New Man would be more honest and moral, more intelligent, industrious, courageous, willing to sacrifice, and completely free of materialism. His view of the world would be centered around spirituality, service to his nation, and love of his fellow countrymen. This new and improved form of human being would transform history, setting the foundations of a new era never before seen in Romanian history.

Codreanu wrote:

We shall create an atmosphere, a moral medium in which the heroic man can be born and can grow. This medium must be isolated from the rest of the world by the highest possible spiritual fortifications. It must be defended from all the dangerous winds of cowardice, corruption, licentiousness, and of all the passions which entomb nations and murder individuals. Once the Legionary will have developed in such a milieu . . . he shall be sent into the world. . . . He will be an example; will turn others into Legionaries. And people, in search of better days, will follow him . . . will make a force which will fight and will win.

Therefore, a spiritual revolution would create the basis for a political revolution, since without the New Man no political program could achieve any lasting accomplishment.

Politics

Romania ’s government was that of a constitutional monarchy, thus the nation’s government was considered a democracy. Corneliu Codreanu was a member of the Romanian parliament two times, and his experiences with democratic politics led him to firmly conclude that the democratic system, although claiming to represent the will of the people, rarely ever achieved its goal of representation. In fact, he felt that it did just the opposite. In For My Legionaries, he listed out some major objections he had to the system and the way it worked (the following is a paraphrase of his points):

• Democracy destroys the unity of the people since it creates factionalism.
• Democracy turns millions of Jews (and other alien groups) into Romanian citizens, thus carelessly destroying the ancient ethnic make-up of a nation.
• Democracy is incapable of enduring effort and responsibility because by design it inherently leads to an unending change in leadership over short period of time. A leader or party works to improve the nation with a specific plan, but only rules for a few years before being replaced by a new one with a new plan, who largely if not completely disregard the old one. Thus little is achieved and the nation is harmed.
• Democracy lacks authority since it does not give a leader the power he needs to accomplish his duties to the nation and turns him into a slave of his selfish political supporters.
• Democracy is manipulated by financiers and bankers, since most parties are dependent on their funding and are thus influenced by them.
• Democracy does not guarantee the election of virtuous leaders, since the majority of politicians are either demagogues or corrupt, and the masses of common people usually are not capable or knowledgeable enough to elect good men. Codreanu rhetorically remarked about the idea of the masses choosing its elite, “Why then do soldiers not choose the best general?”

Therefore, Codreanu aimed for a new form of government, rejecting both republicanism and dictatorship. In this new system the leaders would not inherit power through heredity, nor would they be elected as in a republic, but rather they would be selected. Thus, selection and not election is the method of choosing a new elite. Natural leaders, demonstrating bravery and skill, would rise up through Legionary ranks, and the old elite would be responsible for choosing the new elite. The concept of the New Man is important to Codreanu’s system of leadership, because only by the establishment of the New Man would the right leaders rise and become the leaders of the nation. The elite would be founded on the principles Codreanu himself laid out: “a) Purity of soul. b) Capacity of work and creativity. c) Bravery. d) Tough living and permanent warring against difficulties facing the nation. e) Poverty, namely voluntary renunciation of amassing a fortune. f) Faith in God. g) Love.”

This new system of government which Codreanu aimed to establish would be authoritarian, but it would not be totalitarian. He described it in this way: “He (the leader) does not do what he wants, he does what he has to do. And he is guided, not by individual interests, nor by collective ones, but instead by the interests of the eternal nation, to the consciousness of which the people have attained. In the framework of these interests and only in their framework, personal interests as well as collective ones find the highest degree of normal satisfaction.”

An important point in the Legionary political system is that the Legion recognized three entities: “1) The individual. 2) The present national collectivity, that is, the totality of all the individuals of the same nation, living in a state at a given moment. 3) The nation, that historical entity whose life extends over centuries, its roots imbedded deep in the mists of time, and with an infinite future.”

Each of these entities had their own rights in a hierarchical sense. Republicanism recognized only the rights of the individual, but the Legionary Movement recognized the rights of all three. The nation was the most important entity, and thus the rights of the national collectivity were subordinate to it, and finally the rights of the individual were subordinate to the rights of the national collectivity. The destructive individualism of “democracy” infringed on the rights of the national collectivity and the rights of the nation, since it ignored the rights of those two entities and placed that of the individual above all.

With these facts in mind, it becomes clear that to accuse the Legionary Movement of wishing to establish a tyrannical dictatorship or of being “Fascist” is nothing more than mindless or deceitful propaganda against the movement.

Martyrdom

“The Legionary embraces death,” wrote Codreanu, “for his blood will serve to mold the cement of Legionary Romania.” Throughout the struggles and intense persecutions it faced, the Legionary Movement produced many martyrs, two of the most often referenced being Ion Mota and Vasile Marin, who died in 1937 helping Franco fight against Marxist Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. Other martyrs of the Legion include Sterie Ciumetti, Nicoleta Nicolescu, Lucia Grecu, and Victor Dragomirescu among hundreds of others. Finally, in 1938, Corneliu Codreanu himself became a martyr after Armand Calinescu, acting outside of the law, had him murdered. Martyrs were often honored in songs all Legionaries sang and in Legionary rituals, when their names were announced in the roll call, all Legionaries attending spoke “present!” They believed that the souls of Romanian dead would still be present with them in their battles.

Violence

Along with martyrdom, in which death was received, there was an occasional violence committed by Legionaries against their enemies. Codreanu originally intended that the Legionary Movement would be nonviolent, but the unusually ruthless and cruel manner in which their enemies treated them created conditions in which violence was inevitable. When their political opponents physically attacked them, the Legionaries often struck back. In certain select cases, certain top enemies of the Legion were assassinated. There are three most prominent examples:

• In 1933, the government of I. G. Duca had banned the Legion to keep it from participating in elections, arrested 18,000 Legionaries, and tortured and murdered several others. On December 29–30 of that year, the Legionaries Nicolae Constantinescu, Doro Belimace, and Ion Caranica (who are often referred to as the Nicadori) assassinated Duca in revenge.
• In 1934, Mihail Stelescu, a member of the Legion, was investigated by top Legionaries and discovered to have had planned to betray the Legion and create his own group and was therefore expelled. Stelescu then created the group in 1935, calling it Cruciada Romanismuliu (“The Crusade of Romanianism”), and slandered Codreanu in its newspaper. There is also evidence that Stelescu was plotting to assassinate Codreanu and that, after contacting top political figures, he received government support for this plan. In this situation, ten Legionaries later called the Decemviri (“The Ten Men”) shot him.
• In November of 1938, Armand Calinescu had the military police illegally murder Codreanu (who was earlier that year imprisoned for ten years for unproven charges at unfair trials), the Nicadori, and the Decemviri. On September 21, 1939 nine Legionaries referred to as the Rasbunatorii (“The Avengers”) assassinated Calinescu. After they turned themselves in, they were tortured and executed without trial. These nine men were: Miti Dumitrescu, Cezar Popescu, Traian Popescu, Nelu Moldoveanu, Ion Ionescu, Ion Vasiliu, Marin Stanciulescu, Isaia Ovidiu, and Gheorghe Paraschivescu.

One may object to such actions on the part of the Legionaries, asserting that they are thus taking part in un-Christian actions. However, to correctly understand this, one must remember that throughout the history of Christianity there were many people who had committed violent acts or killed for the sake of their religion. Certain crusader knights who had killed huge numbers of people were even sainted. Clearly it is nothing new for Christian zealots to engage in combat against their enemies. Some would argue that because Christ taught people to “love their enemies” that therefore Codreanu was openly violating Christian teaching. But it is not quite so clear.

It should be remembered that in the original Greek and Latin the phrase “love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44; Luke 6:27) referred specifically to private enemy, not public enemy or national enemy (who could therefore be hated). This is why Codreanu said to the Legionaries:

Forgive those who struck you for personal reasons. Those who have tortured you for your faith in the Romanian people, you will not forgive. Do not confuse the Christian right and duty of forgiving those who wronged you, with the right and duty of our people to punish those who have betrayed it and assumed for themselves the responsibility to oppose its destiny. Do not forget that the swords you have put on belong to the nation. You carry them in her name. In her name you will use them for punishment-unforgiving and unmerciful. Thus and only thus, will you be preparing a healthy future for this nation.

These are the facts which need to be remembered in order to properly understand why Codreanu and the Legionaries did what they did. Otherwise, a proper historical study cannot be done.

Bibliography

Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, For My Legionaries, third edition, translated and edited by Dr. Dimitrie Gazdaru (York, S.C., USA: Liberty Bell Publications, 2003).

Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, The Nest Leader’s Manual (USA: CZC Books, 2005).

Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, The Prison Notes (USA: Reconquista Press, 2011).

Radu Mihai Crisan, Eminescu Interzis: Gândirea Politică (Forbidden Eminescu: Political Thought) (Bucharest: Criterion Publishing, 2008).

Radu Mihai Crisan, Istoria Interzisă (Forbidden History) (Bucharest: Editura Tibo, 2008).

Alexander E. Ronnett and Faust Bradescu, “The Legionary Movement in Romania,” The Journal of Historical Review, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 193–228.

Alexander E. Ronnett, Romanian Nationalism: The Legionary Movement (Chicago: Romanian-American National Congress, 1995).

Horia Sima, Doctrina legionară (Legionary Doctrine) (Madrid: Editura Mişcării Legionare, 1980).

Horia Sima, Era Libertaţii – Statul naţional-Legionar, vol. 1 (It was Freedom – National Legionary State, vol. 1) (Madrid: Editura “Miscarii Legionare, 1982).

Horia Sima, Era Libertaţii – Statul naţional-Legionar, vol. 2 (It was Freedom – National Legionary State, vol. 2) (Madrid: Editura Miscãrii Legionare, 1990).

Horia Sima, Istoria Mişcarii Legionare (History of the Legionary Movement) (Timişoara: Editura Gordian, 1994).

Horia Sima, Guvernul National Român de la Viena (Romanian National Government in Vienna) (Madrid: Editura Miscarii Legionare, 1993).

Horia Sima, The History of the Legionary Movement (Liss, England: Legionary Press, 1995).

Horia Sima, Menirea Nationalismului (The Meaning of Nationalism) (Salamanca: Editura Asociaţiei Culturale Hispano-Române, 1951).

Horia Sima, Prizonieri ai Puterilor Axei (Prisoners of the Axis Powers) (Madrid: Editura Miscarii Legionare, 1990).

Horia Sima, Sfârşitul unei domnii sângeroase (The End of a Bloody Reign) (Madrid: Editura Miscarii Legionare, 1977).

Horia Sima, The History of the Legionary Movement (Liss, England: Legionary Press, 1995).

Carl Schmitt, The Concept of the Political (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).

Michael Sturdza, The Suicide of Europe: Memoirs of Prince Michael Sturdza, Former Foreign Minister of Rumania (Boston & Los Angeles: Western Islands Publishers, 1968).

 

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Mircea Eliade, il genio

Mircea Eliade, il genio

Autore: Franco Volpi

Ex: http://wwww.centrostudilaruna.it/

Il 13 marzo di cent’anni fa nasceva a Bucarest Mircea Eliade. Fin dall’infanzia i genitori spostano il compleanno al 9 marzo. Al suo nome di battesimo non corrispondeva infatti alcun patrono nel calendario ortodosso, sicché la famiglia decise di festeggiare il giorno 9, che non era consacrato a nessun santo particolare bensì ai Quaranta Martiri uccisi a Sebaste durante le persecuzioni di Luciano.

Studioso del mito e delle religioni, esperto di yoga e sciamanesimo, di occultismo ed esoterismo, romanziere fecondo, saggista dall’erudizione prodigiosa e a suo agio in otto lingue, Eliade è stato tra le intelligenze più acute e versatili del Novecento. Ma l’intelligenza è un dono di dèi invidiosi, un dono avvelenato: il confine che la separa dall’ottusità è mobile.

«Che uomo straordinario sono!», annota il trentaquattrenne intellettuale nel suo Jurnalul din Portugalia, l’inedito diario dei cinque anni, dal 1941 al 1945, trascorsi come consigliere culturale all’ambasciata rumena di Lisbona (in Italia sarà pubblicato da Bollati Boringhieri). Il giovane Eliade, all’epoca ancora sconosciuto al grande pubblico europeo, passa parte delle sue giornate a rileggere alcune sue pagine e si paragona ai grandi della letteratura: «La mia capacità di comprendere e percepire tutto ciò che appartiene alla sfera culturale è illimitata … Comunque sia, i miei orizzonti intellettuali sono più vasti di quelli di Goethe». Il 15 luglio 1943 annota con ineffabile disinvoltura: «Mi rendo conto che dopo Eminescu [il poeta nazionale rumeno], la nostra razza non ha mai più conosciuto una personalità tanto (…) potente e tanto dotata quanto la mia».

I diari integrali saranno desecretati solo nel 2018, ma tutto fa pensare che l’autocritica non appartenesse al pur vastissimo repertorio di Eliade. Né che egli sia mai guarito dalla megalomania di cui evidentemente andava affetto. A quattordici anni aveva già pubblicato il suo primo racconto: Come ho scoperto la pietra filosofale. In un successivo Romanzo dell’adolescente miope (1923) elabora la quasi umiliante scoperta della propria sessualità. Qualche anno dopo, in Gaudeamus (1928), entrano in scena la femminilità e l’amore, e per converso il concetto di «virilità», mutuato dall’adorato Papini, autore di Maschilità. Il suo io è superalimentato dall’ambizione e da una «religione della volontà» fatta di astinenza e disciplina (dormiva cinque ore per non sottrarre tempo allo studio).

Iscrittosi nel 1925 a Lettere e Filosofia dell’università di Bucarest, emerge come leader della giovane «Generazione», un gruppo di intellettuali anticonformisti che aspira a rinnovare la tradizione rumena. Tra gli altri «latini d’Oriente» ci sono Cioran (che nel 1986 gli dedicherà uno dei suoi superbi Exercises d’admiration), Ionesco, Costantin Noica e Mihail Sebastian, un ebreo a lui molto caro.

Nel 1927 e 1928 visita l’Italia, avendo alle spalle una serie di letture rapaci che mettono le ali alla sua passione per nostra cultura (documentata esaurientemente da Roberto Scagno per Jaca Book). Su tutti Papini ed Evola, a proposito del quale scriverà un testo, Il fatto magico, andato perduto. Dopo la laurea su La filosofia italiana da Marsilio Ficino a Giordano Bruno, alla fine del 1928, parte alla volta dell’India per studiare la filosofia orientale con Surendranath Dasgupta. Vi rimane fino al dicembre del 1931, imparando il sanscrito e raccogliendo materiali, conoscenze ed esperienze che lo segnano profondamente. C´è anche una storia d’amore con Maitreyi, la figlia di Dasgupta, nella cui casa a Calcutta era andato ad abitare. La ragazza è la protagonista dell’omonimo romanzo, che Eliade pubblica in Romania nel 1933. Sarà un grande successo, che trasfigura Maitreyi in un simbolo dell’immaginario rumeno.

Incrinatisi i rapporti con Dasgupta, viaggia nellHimalaya occidentale soggiornando nell’ashram di Shivananda e facendosi iniziare allo yoga. Nel contempo lavora alla tesi di dottorato, che discute a Bucarest nel ‘33 e pubblica a Parigi nel ‘36 con il titolo Yoga, saggio sulle origini della mistica indiana. Un libro che lo lancerà come autore di culto quando lo yoga si diffonderà in Occidente.

Dal 1933 al 1940 è di nuovo a Bucarest come assistente di Nae Ionescu, il leggendario maestro della giovane Generazione. Ionescu lo avvicina alla Guardia di Ferro, l’organizzazione di estrema destra capeggiata da Codreanu. Costui era convinto, tra l’altro, che gli ebrei cospirassero per fondare una nuova Palestina tra il Mal Baltico e il Mar Nero, e il suo vice, Ion Mota, aveva tradotto in rumeno I protocolli dei Savi di Sion. Eliade non era antisemita, ma all’epoca si lasciò intruppare. Il diario che l’amico ebreo Sebastian tenne fra il 1935 e il 1944, pubblicato nel 1996, è un’accorato lamento per il comportamento ambiguo di Eliade. Che è tutto preso dalle sue carte: pubblica vari saggi (tra cui Oceanografia e Il mito della reintegrazione), romanzi (tra cui Ritorno dal Paradiso, La luce che si spegne, i due volumi Huliganii), un’importante rivista di studi mitologici, Zalmoxis, che richiamerà l’attenzione di Carl Schmitt ed Ernst Jünger.

Alla fine della guerra si trasferisce a Parigi dove, aiutato da Dumézil, insegna all’Ecole des Hautes Etudes. Il Trattato di storia delle religioni (1949) lo consacra come massimo studioso del fenomeno religioso su scala mondiale. Ostile al metodo positivistico e storicista, Eliade riprende la prospettiva aperta da Rudolf Otto e sviluppa uno studio comparativo del sacro e delle sue manifestazioni, le «ierofanie». La sua non è una storia bensì una morfologia del sacro, le cui forme appaiono e si ripetono nel tempo, con le feste, e nello spazio, con i «centri del mondo», riattualizzando miti primordiali. Per lui il mito non è affatto arcaico né fuori gioco. Si è piuttosto ritirato negli interstizi della modernità, dove si tratta di scovarlo. Contro la presunta superiorità dell’uomo moderno sui «primitivi».

Nel 1950 è invitato da C.G. Jung al primo incontro di «Eranos» ad Ascona. Nel 1956 passa a insegnare alla Divinity School di Chicago, dove rimarrà fino alla morte (avvenuta il 22 aprile 1986 per un ictus). Dal 1960 al 1972 dirige con Ernst Jünger una straordinaria rivista di storia delle religioni, Antaios. Intanto seguita a pubblicare a ritmo martellante un’infinità di lavori, culminati nella grande Storia delle credenze e delle idee religiose (1976-1983). È anche candidato al Nobel per la letteratura.

Purtroppo, un dettaglio ne stoppa l’apoteosi, e gli schizza addosso una macchia infamante. Un dettaglio biografico, sul quale la sua intelligenza si incaglia e si rovescia in ottusità.

Nel 1972 lo storico Theodor Lavi (pseudonimo di Lowenstein), in base al diario ancora inedito di Sebastian e ad altre testimonianze, rivela su Toladot, una piccola rivista dell’emigrazione rumena in Israele, che Eliade era stato vicino alla Guardia di ferro. Eliade fa finta di nulla, cerca di sbarazzarsi del suo passato come un serpente della sua pelle. Ma la notizia fa il giro del mondo, in Italia è ripresa da Furio Jesi. Un suo viaggio a Gerusalemme nella primavera del 1973 dev’essere annullato in extremis, tra lo sconcerto dell’amico Gershom Scholem. Nei suoi diari, silenzio.

Da quel momento Eliade adopera la sua intelligenza per dissimulare e insabbiare. Cerca coperture, si stringe ad amici insospettabili, come Paul Ricoeur e lo scrittore ebreo Saul Bellow. Quest’ultimo diventa suo intimo, ma nel romanzo Ravelstein inscena il dubbio che lo tormenta. Il protagonista, alias Allan Bloom, mette in guardia l’amico narratore da Radu Grielescu, alias Eliade: è stato «un seguace di Nae Ionescu che fondò la Guardia di Ferro», avverte, un jew-hater che denunciò «la sifilide ebraica che contagiava la raffinata civiltà balcanica», «ti strumentalizza» per «rifarsi una verginità». Il tarlo del sospetto non soffocherà la compassione, e ai funerali di Eliade Bellow prenderà la parola per dire il suo dolore e la sua compassione.

È difficile giudicare del caso Eliade. Come è difficile giudicare di Heidegger, Carl Schmitt o Céline. Certo, la loro opera non può più essere letta solo in chiave scientifica o letteraria, separandola dalla biografia. Eppure, la loro vita mediocre non basta a oscurare la grandezza dell’opera che ha generato. Ci chiediamo: perché intellettuali di tale statura si sono ostinati a tacere il loro passato? La verità è che gli uomini sono molto meno uguali di quello che dicono, e molto più di quello che pensano.

È probabilmente questa saggezza che ha indotto perfino il regista Francis Coppola a rendere omaggio a Eliade. Il suo nuovo film, Youth without Youth, prende spunto da un omonimo racconto di Eliade (Tinerete fara tinerete): un settantenne professore, colpito da un fulmine, diventa più giovane anziché più vecchio, attirando l’attenzione dei servizi segreti. Il professore deve scappare attraverso vari paesi fino in India… Anche questa singolare fortuna è un dettaglio in cui si nasconde il buon Dio, e ci avverte che l’opera di Eliade rimane un capitolo inevitabile della storia intellettuale del Novecento, un passaggio obbligato per capirne le convulsioni.

* * *

Tratto da Repubblica del 12 marzo 2007.

Emil Cioran e o Culto à Morte

Emil Cioran e o Culto à Morte

 

por Tomislav Sunic

 

Ex: http://legio-victrix.blogspot.com/

Pessimismo histórico e senso trágico são motivos recorrentes na literatura Européia. De Heraclitus à Heidegger, de Sophocles à Schopenhauer, os representantes do ponto de vista trágico assinalam que a maneira mais curta de existência humana pode somente ser superada pela intensidade heróica de viver. A filosofia do trágico é incompatível com o dogma cristão de salvação e otimismo de algumas ideologias modernas. Muitas políticas ideológicas e teológicas modernas se estabelecem a partir do pressuposto de que “o futuro radiante” está em algum lugar depois de virar a esquina, e que o medo existencial pode ser melhor subjugado pela aceitação de um linear e progressivo conceito histórico. É interessante observar que indivíduos e massas, na nossa pós-modernidade, cada vez mais evitam alusões à morte e ao fato de morrer. Procissões e despertares, que há não muito honraram a comunhão pós-moderna entre a vida e a morte, estão rapidamente caindo no esquecimento. Em uma sociedade fria e super-racional de hoje, a morte de alguém causa constrangimento, como se a morte nunca tivesse existido, e como se a morte pudesse ser adiada por uma “procura da felicidade” deliberada. A crença de que a morte pode ser despistada com um elixir da juventude eterna e a “ideologia das boas aparências”, é generalizada na sociedade moderna orientada pela TV. Essa crença se tornou uma fórmula de conduta sócio-política.

O ensaísta franco-romeno, Emile Cioran, sugere que uma conscientização da futilidade existencial representa a única arma contra delírios teológicos e ideológicos que têm balançando a Europa por séculos. Nascido na Romênia em 1911, Cioran desde muito cedo se identificou com o velho provérbio Europeu de que geografia significa destino. Da sua região nativa, de onde uma vez vagou pelas hordas de Scythian e Sarmatian, e na qual mais recentemente, vampiros e Draculas políticos estão tomando o pedaço, ele herdou um típico talento “balkanesque” de sobrevivência. Dezenas de povos gregos antigos evitavam esta área, e quando as circunstâncias políticas os forçaram a fugir, escolheram uma nova pátria na Sicília ou na Itália – ou hoje, como Cioran, na França. “Nossa época” escreve Cioran, “vai ser marcada pelo romantismo de pessoas apátridas. Já a imagem do universo está no passo de que ninguém terá direitos civis.”[1] Similarmente a esses compatriotas exilados, Eugene Ionesco, Stephen Lupasco, Mircea Eliade, e muitos outros, Cioran vem para compreender muito cedo que o senso de futilidade existencial pode melhor ser curado pela crença em um conceito histórico cíclico, que exclui qualquer noção de chegada de um Messias ou a continuação do progresso tecno-econômico.

A atitude política, estética e existencial, de Cioran em relação a ser e tempo é um esforço para restaurar o pensamento pré-Socrático, o qual o Cristianismo, logo a herança do racionalismo e do positivismo, empurrou para a periferia da especulação filosófica. Nesse ensaio e aforisma, Cioran tenta lançar uma fundação de uma filosofia de vida que, paradoxalmente, consiste na refutação total de todo o viver. Em uma era de história acelerada lhe parece sem sentido especular sobre o aperfeiçoamento humano ou sobre o “fim da história”. “O futuro”, escreve Cioran, “vão e vejam por si mesmos se realmente desejam. Eu prefiro me agarrar ao inacreditável presente e ao inacreditável passado. Eu os deixo a oportunidade de encarar o inacreditável.”[2] Antes dos empreendimentos humanos em devaneios sobre a sociedade futurista, ele devia primeiro imergir a si mesmo na insignificância da sua vida, e finalmente restaurar a vida para o que ela é de fato: uma hipótese trabalhosa. Em uma de suas litografias, o pintor francês J. Valverde, do século XVI, esboçou um homem que tinha tirado sua própria pele. Esse incrível homem, segurando uma faca em uma das mãos e sua pele recém tirada na outra, assemelha-se a Cioran, que agora ensina aos seus leitores como melhor tirar a máscara das ilusões políticas. Homens sentem medo somente na sua pele, não no esqueleto. Como seria para uma mudança, pergunta Cioran, se o homem poderia ter pensado em algo não relacionado ao ser? Nem tudo que transparece teimoso tem causado dores de cabeça? “E eu tenho pensado em todos que eu conheço”, escreve Cioran, “em todos que não estão mais vivos, há muito chafurdando em seus caixões, para sempre isentos da sua carne – e medo.”[3]

A interessante característica de Cioran é a tentativa de lutar contra o niilismo existencial por significados niilistas. Diferente de seus contemporâneos, Cioran é averso ao pessimismo chic dos intelectuais modernos que lamentam paraísos perdidos, e que continuam pontificando sobre o fim do progresso econômico. Inquestionavelmente, o discurso literário da modernidade tem contribuído para essa disposição do falso pessimismo, embora esse pessimismo pareça ser mais induzido por apetites econômicos frustrados, e menos, pelo que Cioran fala, “alienação metafísica”. Contrário ao existencialismo de J.P. Sartre, que foca na ruptura entre ser e não-ser, Cioran lamenta a divisão entre a linguagem e a realidade e, portanto, a dificuldade de transmitir inteiramente a visão da insignificância existencial. Em um tipo de alienação popularizada por escritores modernos, Cioran detecta o ramo da moda do “parnasianismo” que elegantemente mascara uma versão aquecida de uma crença frustrada em andamento. Como uma atitude crítica em relação aos seus contemporâneos, talvez seja a razão do por quê Cioran nunca teve elogios caindo aos montes sobre ele, e por quê seus inimigos gostam de apelida-lo de “reacionário”. Para rotular Cioran de filósofo do niilismo pode ser melhor apropriado em vista do fato de quê ele é um blasfemador teimoso que nunca se cansa de chamar Cristo, São Paulo, e todo o clérigo cristão, tão bem quanto seus seculares marxistas freudianos, de sucessores totais da mentira e mestres da ilusão. Ao atenuar Cioran para uma categoria ideológica e intelectual preconcebida não se pode fazer justiça ao seu temperamento complexo, nem refletir objetivamente sua filosofia política complicada. Cada sociedade, democrática ou despótica, tenta silenciar aqueles que encarnam a negativa da sacrossanta teologia política. Para Cioran, todo os sistemas devem ser rejeitados pela simples razão de que eles glorificam o homem como criatura final. Somente no louvor do não-ser, e na total negação da vida, argumenta Cioran, a existência do homem se torna suportável. A grande vantagem de Cioran é, como ele diz, “eu vivo somente porque é meu poder morrer quando eu quiser; sem a idéia de suicídio, eu tenho me matado já há muito tempo atrás.”[4] Essas palavras testemunham a alienação de Cioran da filosofia de Sisyphus, bem como sua desaprovação do pathos moral do trabalho infestado de esterco. Dificilmente um caráter bíblico ou moderno democrata poderia querer contemplar de maneira similar a possibilidade de quebrar o ciclo do tempo. Como Cioran diz, o supremo senso de beatitude é alcançável somente quando o homem compreende que ele pode, em qualquer momento, terminar com sua vida; somente nesse momento isso significará uma nova “tentação de existir”. Em outras palavras, poderia ser dito que Cioran desenha sua força vital do constante fluxo de imagens de morte saudada, assim interpretando irrelevante todas as tentativas de qualquer compromisso ético ou político. O homem deveria, por uma mudança, argumenta Cioran, tentar funcionar como uma bactéria saprófita; ou melhor, como uma ameba da era Paleozóica. Como forma primordial de existência pode suportar o terror do ser e do tempo mais facilmente. Em um protoplasma, ou em espécies mais arcaicas, há mais beleza que em todos os filósofos da vida. E para reiterar este ponto, Cioran acrescenta: “Oh, como eu gostaria de ser uma planta, mesmo que eu teria que ser um excremento de alguém!”[5]

Talvez Cioran poderia ser retratado como arruaceiro, ou como os franceses diriam, “trouble fete”, do qual os aforismas suicidas ofendem a sociedade burguesa, mas de quem as palavras também chocam os socialistas modernos sonhadores. Em vista da sua aceitação da idéia da morte, assim como sua rejeição de todas as doutrinas políticas, não é de admirar que Cioran não mais se sente imposto ao egoísta amor da vida. Por isso, não há razão para ele no refletir sobre a estratégia de vida; alguém deveria, primeiro, começar a pensar sobre a metodologia da morte ou, melhor ainda, como nunca ter nascido. “A humanidade tem regredido muito”, escreve Cioran, e “nada prova isso melhor que a impossibilidade de encontrar uma única nação ou tribo na qual o nascimento de uma criança causa luto e lamentação”[6] Onde estão aqueles tempos sacros, pergunta Cioran, quando os bogumils balcânicos e os cátaros franceses viram no nascimento de uma criança um castigo divino? As gerações atuais, ao invés de alegrarem-se quando seus queridos morrem, estão aturdidos com terror e descrença na visão da morte. Ao invés de lamentar e lutar quando sua prole nasce, organizam festividades em massa:

“Se embargá-los é um mal, a causa desse mal deve ser vista no escândalo do nascimento – porque para nascer significa ser embargado. O propósito da separação deveria ser a supressão de todos os vestígios desse escândalo – o sinistro e o menos tolerável dos escândalos.”[7]

A filosofia de Cioran carrega uma forte marca de Friedrich Nietzsche e das Upanishads indianas. Embora seu incorrigível pessimismo muitas vezes chama a “Weltschmerz” de Nietzsche, sua linguagem clássica e sua rígida sintaxe raramente tolera narrativas românticas ou líricas, nem as explosões sentimentais que pode-se encontrar na prosa de Nietzsche. Ao invés de recorrer à melancolia trovejante, o humor paradoxal de Cioran expressa algo o qual, em primeiro lugar, nunca deveria ter sido construído verbalmente. A fraqueza da prosa de Cioran reside, provavelmente, na sua falta de organização temática. Quando seus aforismos são lidos como notas destruídas de uma boa construção musical, e também sua linguagem é bastante hermética, em que o leitor tem de tatear o significado.

Quando alguém lê a prosa de Cioran é confrontado por um autor que impõe um clima de gélido apocalipse, que contradiz completamente a herança do progresso. A verdadeira alegria está em não-ser, diz Cioran, que é, na convicção de que cada ato de criação intencional perpetua o caos cósmico. Não há propósito nas deliberações intermináveis sobre um melhor sentido da vida. A história inteira, seja a história lembrada ou a história mítica, é repleta de cacofonia de tautologias teológicas e ideológicas. Tudo é “éternel retour”, um carrossel histórico, com aqueles que estão hoje no topo, terminando amanhã no fundo do poço.

“Eu não posso desculpar a mim mesmo por ter nascido. É como se, ao insinuar a mim mesmo nesse mundo, eu profanasse algum mistério, traísse algum importante noivado, executasse um erro de gravidade indescritível.”[8]

Não significa que Cioran seja completamente isolado dos tormentos físicos e mentais. Ciente da possibilidade de um desastre cósmico, e persuadido neurologicamente de que algum outro predador pode em qualquer momento privar-se do seu privilégio para assim morrer, ele implacavelmente evoca um conjunto de imagens de morte em camas. Não é um verdadeiro método aristocrático de aliviar a impossibilidade d ser?

“A fim de vencer a ansiedade ou temor tenaz, não há nada melhor do que imaginar seu próprio funeral: método eficiente e acessível a todos. A fim de evitar recorrer a isso durante o dia, o melhor é entrar nessas virtudes logo após se levantar. Ou talvez fazer uso disso em ocasiões especiais, semelhante ao Papa Inocêncio IX que mandou pintarem ele morto em sua cama. Ele lançaria um olhar para aquela pintura toda vez que tivesse uma decisão importante a fazer...”[9]

Primeiramente, já se deve ter sido tentado a dizer que Cioran é afeiçoado em mergulhar nas suas neuroses e idéias mórbidas, como se pudessem ser usadas para inspirar sua criatividade literária. Tão emocionante que ele encontra seu desgosto pela vida que ele próprio sugere que “aquele que consegue adquiri-lo tem um futuro o qual fará tudo prosperar; sucesso assim como derrota.”[10] Tal franca descrição de seus espasmos emocionais o faz confessar que sucesso, para ele, é tão difícil adquirir quanto a falha. Tanto um como o outro lhe causam dor-de-cabeça.

O sentimento da futilidade sublime com relação a tudo que engloba a vida vai de mão à mão com a atitude pessimista de Cioran com respeito ao surgimento e à decadência dos impérios e dos Estados. Sua visão da circulação do tempo histórico lembra Vico's corsi e ricorsi, e seu cinismo sobre a natureza humana desenha na “biologia” histórica de Spengler. Tudo é um carrossel, e todo sistema está condenado a perecer no momento em que toma entrada na cena histórica. Pode-se detectar nas profecias sombrias de Cioran os pressentimentos do estóico imperador romano Marcus Aurelius, quem ouviu na distância do Noricum o galope dos cavalos bárbaros, e quem discerniu através da neblina de Panonia as pendentes ruínas do império romano. Embora hoje os atores sejam diferentes, a configuração permanece similar; milhões de novos bárbaros começaram a bater nos portões da Europa, e em breve tomarão posse daquilo que está dentro dela:

“Independentemente do quê o mundo se tornará no futuro, os ocidentais assumirão o papel do Graeculi do império romano. Necessitados de e desprezados por novos conquistadores, não terão nada para oferecer a não ser a imposturice da sua inteligência ou o brilho de seu passado.”[11]

 

 

Este é o momento da rica Europa arrumar-se e ir embora, e ceder a cena histórica para outros povos mais viris. A civilização se torna decadente quando toma a liberdade como certa; seu desastre é iminente quando se torna tolerante a todo tosco de lá de fora. No entanto, apesar de que os furacões políticos estão à espreita no horizonte, Cioran, como Marcus Aurelius, está determinado a morrer com estilo. Seu senso do trágico ensinou-o a estratégia do ars moriendi, o tornando preparado para qualquer surpresa, independente da sua magnitude. Vitoriosos e vítimas, heróis e capangas, eles todos não se revezam nesse carnaval da história, lamentando e lamentando seu destino enquanto no fundo do poço, e tomando vingança enquanto no topo? Dois mil anos de história greco-cristã é uma mera ninharia em comparação à eternidade. Uma civilização caricatural está agora tomando forma, escreve Cioran, na qual os que estão criando estão ajudando aqueles que a querem destruir. A história não tem sentido e, portanto, na tentativa de torna-la significativa, ou esperar disso uma explosão final de teofania, é uma quimera auto-destrutiva. Para Cioran, há mais verdade nas ciências ocultas do que em todas as filosofias que tentam dar sentido de vida. O homem se tornará finalmente livre quando ele tirar sua camisa de força do finalismo e do determinismo, e quando ele compreender que a vida é um erro acidental que saltou de uma circunstância astral desconcertante. Provas? Uma pequena torção da cabeça claramente mostra que a história, de fato, se resume a uma classificação do policiamento: “afinal de contas, a barganha histórica não é a imagem da qual as pessoas têm do policiamento das épocas?”[12] Suceder na mobilização das massas em nome de algumas idéias obscuras, para as permitir farejar sangue, é um caminho certeiro para o sucesso político. As mesmas massas, as quais carregaram nos ombros a revolução francesa em nome da igualdade e da fraternidade, não têm muitos anos atrás também carregado nos ombros um imperador de roupas novas – um imperador em cujo nome corriam descalços de Paris a Moscou, de Jena para Dubrovnik? Para Cioran, quando uma sociedade cai fora das utopias políticas, não há mais esperanças, e consequentemente não se pode mais haver vida. Sem utopia, escreve Cioran, as pessoas são forçadas a cometer suicídio; graças à utopia, elas cometem homicídio.

Hoje em dia não há mais utopia. A democracia de massa tomou seu lugar. Sem a democracia a vida possui algum sentido; agora, a democracia não possui vida em si mesmo. Afinal, Cioran argumenta, se não fosse por um lunático da Galiléia, o mundo seria um lugar muito chato. Ai, ai, quantos lunáticos hoje estão incubando hoje suas auto-denominadas derivativas teológicas e ideológicas. “A sociedade está mal organizada”, escreve Cioran, “ela não faz nada contra os lunáticos que morrem tão cedo.”[13] “Provavelmente todos os profetas e adivinhos políticos deveriam imediatamente ser condenados à morte, porque quando a ralé aceita um mito – prepare-se para massacres ou, melhor, para uma nova religião.”[14]

Inequivocamente, como os ressentimentos de Cioran contra a utopia poderiam aparecer, ele está longe de ridicularizar sua importância criativa. Nada poderia ser mais repugnante para ele do que o vago clichê da modernidade que associa a busca pela felicidade com uma sociedade da busca pelo prazer da paz. Desmistificada, desencantada, castrada, e incapaz de prever a tempestade que virá, a sociedade moderna está condenada à exaustão espiritual e à morte lenta. Ela é incapaz de acreditar em qualquer coisa, exceto na pseudo-humanidade dos seus chupa-cabras futuros. Se uma sociedade realmente desejasse preservar seu bem biológico, argumenta Cioran, sua tarefa primordial é aproveitar e alimentar sua “calamidade substancial”; isso deve manter um cálculo da sua capacidade de auto-destruição. Afinal, seus nativos Balkans, nos quais seus vampiros seculares hoje novamente dançam ao tom da carnificina, não têm também gerado uma piscina de espécimes vigorosas prontas para o cataclisma de amanhã? Nessa área da Europa, na qual interminavelmente se estraga pelos tremores políticos e terremotos reais, uma nova história está hoje sendo feita – uma história da qual provavelmente recompensará sua população pelo sofrimento passado.

“Qualquer que fosse seu passado, e independente de sua civilização, esses países possuem um estoque biológico do qual não se pode encontrar no Ocidente. Maltradados, deserdados, precipitados no martírio anônimo, tornados a parte entre miséria e insubordinação, eles irão, talvez, no futuro, ter uma recompensa por tantas provações, tanto por humilhação como por covardia.”[15]

Não é o melhor retrato da anônima Europa “Oriental” da qual, segundo Cioran, está pronta hoje para acelerar a história do mundo? A morte do comunismo na Europa Oriental pode provavelmente inaugurar o retorno da história para toda a Europa. Por causa da “melhor metade” da Europa, a única que nada em ar condicionado e salões assépticos, que a Europa está esgotada de idéias robustas. Ela é incapaz de odiar e sofrer, logo de liderar. Para Cioran, a sociedade se torna consolidada no perigo e atrofia: “Nesses lugares onde há paz, higiene e saque do lazer, psicoses também se multiplicam...eu venho de um país no qual nunca se ensinou a conhecer o sentido da felicidade, mas também nunca se tem produzido um único psicoanalista.”[16] A maneira cru dos canibais do novo Leste, sem “paz e amor”, determinará a direção da história de amanhã. Aqueles que passaram pelo inferno sobrevivem mais facilmente do que aqueles que somente conheceram o clima acolhedor de um paraíso secular.

Essas palavras de Cioran são objetivas na decadente França ‘la Doulce’ na qual as conversas da tarde sobre a obesidade ou a impotência sexual de alguém se tornaram maiores bafafás nas preocupações diárias. Incapazes de montar resistência contra os conquistadores de amanhã, essa Europa Ocidental, de acordo com Cioran, merece ser punida da mesma maneira da nobreza do regime antigo, o qual na véspera da Revolução Francesa, ria de si mesmo, enquanto louva a imagem do ‘bon sauvage’. Quantos dentre aqueles bons aristocratas franceses estavam cientes de que os mesmos bon sauvage estavam prestes ter suas cabeças roladas nas ruas de Paris? “No futuro”, escreve Cioran, “se a humanidade é para nascer novamente, serão os parias, com mongóis por todas os lados, com a escora dos continentes.”[17] A Europa está se escondendo na sua própria imbecilidade em frente a um fim catastrófico. Europa? “A podridão que cheira agradável, um corpo perfumado.”[18]

Apesar das tempestades que virão, Cioran está seguro com a noção de que pelo menos ele é o último herdeiro do “fim da história”. Amanhã, quando o real apocalipse começar, e como o perigo das proporções titânicas tomam forma final no horizonte, então, até o mundo “arrependido” desaparecerá de seu vocabulário. “Minha visão do futuro”, continua Cioran, “ é tão clara que se eu tivesse crianças eu iria estrangula-las imdediatamente”.[19]

Depois de uma boa lida do opus de Cioran pode-se concluir que ele é essencialmente um satírico que ridiculariza o estúpido arrepio existencial das massas modernas. Pode-se ser tentado a argumentar que Cioran oferece um elegante manual de suicídio designado para aqueles que, assim como ele, tem deslegitimado o valor da vida. Mas assim como Cioran diz, o suicídio é cometido por aqueles que não são mais capazes de agir no otimismo, e.g., para aqueles em que o fio da alegria e da felicidade rasga em pedaços. Aqueles assim como ele, os pessimistas cautelosos, “dado que eles não têm nenhuma razão para viver, porque eles teriam para morrer?”[20] A impressionante ambivalência do trabalho literário de Cioran consiste nos pressentimentos apocalípticos em uma mão, umas evocações entusiastas de horror na outra. Ele acredita que a violência e a destruição são os principais ingredientes da história, porque o mundo sem violência é condenado ao colapso. Ainda se admira do por quê Cioran é assim oposto ao mundo da paz, se, pela sua lógica, esse mundo de paz poderia ajudar a acelerar sua própria morte cravada, e assim facilitar sua imersão na insignificância? Claro que sim, Cioran nunca moraliza sobre a necessidade da violência; antes, de acordo com os cânones dos seus queridos antecessores reacionários Joseph de Maistre e Nichollo Machiavelli, ele afirma que “a autoridade, não a verdade, faz a lei”, e que, consequentemente, a credibilidade de uma mentira política também determinará a magnitude da justiça política. Admitido que isso seja correto, como ele explica o fato de que a autoridade, pelo menos do modo como ele a vê, somente perpetua o ser odioso do qual ele tão fortemente deseja para absolver a si mesmo? Esse mistério nunca será conhecido a não ser por ele mesmo. Cioran admite, entretanto, que apesar da aversão à violência, todo o homen, incluindo a ele, tem, pelo menos uma vez na sua vida, contemplado como se assa uma pessoa viva, ou como se corta a cabeça de uma pessoa:

“Convencido de que os problemas da sociedade vêm das pessoas mais velhas, eu tenho concebido o plano de liquidar todos os cidadãos que passarem dos quarenta – o início da esclerose e da mumificação. Eu cheguei a acreditar que isso foi um ponto de virada quando cada humano se tornou um insulto à sua nação e um fardo à sua comunidade...Aqueles que ouviram isto não apreciaram esse discurso e me consideraram um canibal...Esta minha intenção deve ser condenada? Ela somente expressa algo que cada homem, que está ligado ao seu país, deseja do fundo do seu coração: a liquidação de metade de seus compatriotas.”[21]

O elitismo literário de Cioran é sem comparação na literatura moderna, e por causa disso ele muitas vezes aparece como um incômodo para orelhas sentimentais e modernas domadas com canções de ninar da eternidade terrestre ou êxtase espiritual. O ódio de Cioran em relação ao presente e ao futuro, seu desrespeito à vida, continuará certamente contrariando os apóstolos da modernidade que nunca descansam de cantarolar vagas promessas sobre o “melhor-aqui-e-agora”. Seu humor paradoxal é tão devastador que não se pode toma-lo pelo valor literal, especialmente quando Cioran descreve a si mesmo.

Seu formalismo na linguagem, sua impecável escolha das palavras, apesar de algumas similaridades com autores modernos do mesmo calibre elitista, o torna difícil de seguir. Pode-se admirar o arsenal de palavras de Cioran como “abulia”, “esquizofrenia”, “apatia”, etc, que realmente mostram um ‘nevrosé’ que ele diz ser.

Se alguém pudesse atenuar a descrição de Cioran em um curto parágrafo, então deveria descreve-lo como um autor que parece na veneração moderna do intelecto, um diagrama de moralismos espirituais e da transformação feia do mundo. De fato, para Cioran, a tarefa do homem é lavar-se a si mesmo na escola da futilidade existencial, por futilidade não é desespero; a futilidade não é uma recompensa para aqueles que desejam livrar-se a si mesmos da vida epidêmica e do vírus da esperança. Provavelmente, esta pintura melhor convém o homem que descreve a si mesmo como um fanático, sem nenhuma convicção – um acidente encalhado no cosmos que projeta olhares nostálgicos em direção de seu rápido desaparecimento.

Ser livre é livrar-se a si mesmo para sempre da noção de recompensa; esperar nada das pessoas e deuses; renunciar não só esse e outros mundos, mas salvar-se a si mesmo; destruir até mesmo essa idéia de correntes entre correntes. (Le mauvais demiurge, p. 88.)

 

 

 

 1. Emile Cioran, Syllogismes de l'amertume (Paris: Gallimard, 1952), p. 72 (my translation)
2. De l'inconvénient d'etre né (Paris: Gallimard, 1973), p. 161-162. (my translation) (The Trouble with Being Born, translated by Richard Howard: Seaver Bks., 1981)
3. Cioran, Le mauvais démiurge ( Paris: Gallimard, 1969), p. 63. (my translation)
4. Syllogismes de l'amertume, p. 87. (my trans.)
5. Ibid., p. 176.
6. De l'inconvénient d'etre né, p. 11. (my trans.)
7. Ibid., p. 29.
8. Ibid., p. 23.
9. Ibid., p. 141.
10. Syllogismes de l'amertume, p. 61. (my trans.)
11. La tentation d'exister, (Paris: Gallimard, 1956), p. 37-38. (my trans.) (The temptation to exist, translated by Richard Howard; Seaver Bks., 1986)
12. Syllogismes de l'amertume, p. 151. (my trans.)
13. Ibid., p. 156.
14. Ibid., p. 158.
15. Histoire et utopie (Paris: Gallimard, 1960), p. 59. (my trans.) ( History and Utopia, trans. by Richard Howard, Seaver Bks., 1987).
16. Syllogismes de l'amertume, p. 154. (my trans.)
17. Ibid., p. 86.
18. De l'inconvénient d'etre né, p. 154. (my trans.)
19. Ibid. p. 155.
20. Syllogismes de l'amertume, p. 109.
21. Histoire et utopie (Paris: Gallimard, 1960), p. 14. (my trans.)

Der Dandy der Leere – E.M.Cioran

Der Dandy der Leere – E.M.Cioran

Cioran, der »Dandy der Leere, neben dem selbst Stoiker wie unheilbare Lebemänner wirken« (Bernard-Henri Lévy), war einer der einflussreichsten kulturkritischen Denker des 20. Jahrhunderts. Sein widersprüchliches Leben ist noch nie so detailreich rekonstruiert worden wie in der vorliegenden Biografie von Bernd Mattheus. In bisweilen schmerzlicher Nähe zu den Äußerungen des Selbstmord- Theoretikers beleuchtet er auch die bislang wenig bekannte Zeit vor seiner Emigration nach Frankreich.

Emil M. Cioran, geboren 1911 im rumänischen Sibiu (Hermannstadt), studierte an der Universität Bukarest, wo er mit Mircea Eliade und Eugène Ionesco eine lebenslange Freundschaft schloß. Nach einem längeren Aufenthalt in Berlin emigrierte er 1937 nach Paris; seit dieser Zeit schreibt er auf französisch. Der Verfasser von stilistisch brillanten Aphorismen und Essays pessimistischster Prägung erregt schließlich mit der 1949 erschienenen Schrift »Lehre vom Zerfall« großes Aufsehen. Das Buch, das ihn international bekannt machte, wurde von Paul Celan ins Deutsche übersetzt und begründete seinen Ruf als unerbittlicher Skeptiker. Es folgen viele weitere kompromisslose Werke wie »Syllogismen der Bitterkeit« oder »Die verfehlte Schöpfung«. Bis in die späten 1980er Jahre bleibt Ciorans finanzielle Lage prekär, 1995 stirbt der Aristokrat des Zweifels und der Luzidität als gefeierter Denker in Paris.

Die vorliegende Biografie Ciorans ist die bislang gründlichste Gesamtdarstellung von Leben und Werk dieses Ausnahmedenkers. Bernd Mattheus gelingt nicht nur eine präzise Rekonstruktion Ciorans Lebens, sondern auch eine verblüffende Verlebendigung des »nach Kierkegaard einzigen Denkers von Rang, der die Einsicht unwiderruflich gemacht hat, daß keiner nach sicheren Methoden verzweifeln kann.« Peter Sloterdijk

Bernd Mattheus
Cioran
Portrait eines radikalen Skeptikers
367 Seiten, gebunden mit Schutzumschlag
3 Abbildungen
ISBN 978-3-88221-891-6
€ 28,90 / CHF 40,50

Stimmen


»Komplementär zur Werkausgabe sollte man das im Matthes & Seitz Verlag erschienene vorzügliche biographische Porträt des Cioran-Übersetzers Bernd Mattheus heranziehen. Bei aller Bewunderung ist es nicht blind für die Abgründe und Widersprüche dieses Lebens und Werkes. Es bietet auch genealogisch Erhellendes, das heißt bei Cioran stets: Verdüsterndes, so zu der tiefambivalenten Beziehung zu seiner Mutter.«
Ludger Lütkehaus, Badische Zeitung, 16. April 2011

»Die spannende und nicht nur in politischen Fragen differenzierte Cioran-Biografie von Bernd Mattheus gibt Einblick in die geistesgeschichtlichen Zusammenhänge und das turbulente Leben Ciorans, der gerne auch mal die Einladung eines französischen Staatspräsidenten ausschlug.«
Tobias Schwartz, Märkische Allgemeine, 26./27. Juni 2010

»So ausführlich und aus neuesten französischen wie auch rumänischen Quellen gespeist, ist Ciorans Leben bislang auf Deutsch noch nicht dargestellt worden.«
Cornelius Hell, Die Furche, 24. Juli 2008

»In einem anregenden wie irritierenden Buch fasst er Cioran mitunter ganz aus der Nähe, mit wenig schmeichelhaften Zügen.«
Karl- Markus Gauß, Kommune, Juni/Juli 2008

»Bernd Mattheus porträtiert diesen trostlosen Misanthropen nicht. Er lässt ihn einfach zu Wort kommen. Es ist ein seltsamens und in gewisser Weise schon wieder ein faszinierendes Buch.«
Walter van Rossum, WDR, 17. Juli 2008

»Sein Leben ist noch nie so detailreich rekonstruiert worden wie in der vorliegenden Biographie von Bernd Mattheus. Mattheus gelingt nicht nur eine präzise Rekonstruktion Ciorans Leben, sondern auch eine verblüffende Verlebendigung des nach Kierkegaard ›einzigen Denkers von Rang‹.Mattheus liefert damit eine vorzügliche Monographie zum Werk Ciorans in Form einer Biographie, die viel Neues in sich birgt.«
Daniel Bigalke, Buchtips.net

»Ciorans Biograf Bernd Mattheus hat nun ein Porträt des radikalen Auflösers vorgelegt, das ein differnziertes, facettenreiches Bild zeichnet.«
Wolfgang Müller, taz, 24. Mai 2008

»Als Mattheus ein junger Mann war, in den siebziger Jahren, war er mit Cioran in Paris bekannt. Die Biographie spart nicht mit Kritik, lässt aber immer die Symphatie des Autors für den exzentrischen Rumänen durchscheinen, was das Buch lesenswert macht. Eine einfühlsame, kluge Biographie.«
Franziska Augstein, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 7. April 2008

Emil Cioran - Un siècle d'écrivains (1999)

Mircea Eliade: Liberty

Liberty

By Mircea Eliade

"Iconar", March 5, 1937

There is an aspect of the Legionary Movement that has not been sufficiently explored: the individual’s liberty. Being primarily a spiritual movement concerned with the creation of a New Man and the salvation of our people – the Legion can’t grow and couldn’t have matured without treasuring the individual’s liberty; the liberty that so many books were written about with which so many libraries were stacked full, in defense of which many
democratic speeches have been held, without it being truly lived and treasured.
The people that speak of liberty and declare themselves willing to die for it are those who believe in materialist dogmas, in fatalities: social classes, class war, the primacy of the economy, etc. It is strange, to say the least, to hear a person who doesn’t believe in God stand up for “liberty,” who doesn’t believe in the primacy of the spirit or the afterlife.
Such a person, when they speak in good faith, mix “liberty” up with libertarianism and anarchy. Liberty can only be spoken of in spiritual life. Those who deny the spirit its primacy automatically fall to mechanical determinism (Marxism) and irresponsibility.

People bind themselves together according to either hedonism or a familiar economic destiny. I’m a comrade of X because he happens to be my relative, or a colleague at work, and thus comrades of pay. Connections between people are almost always involuntary, they are a natural given. I cannot modify my familiar destiny. And with respect to economic destiny, regardless of how much effort I employ, I could at most change my comrades of pay – but I will always unwillingly find myself in a solidarity with certain people I don’t know to which I’m tied by the chance of me being poor or rich.

There are, however, spiritual movements wherein people are tied by liberty. People are free to join this spiritual family. No exterior determination forces them to become brothers. Back in the day when it was expanding and converting, Christianity was a spiritual movement that people joined out of the common desire to spiritualize their lives and overcome death. No one forced a pagan to become a Christian. On the contrary, the state on the one hand, and its instincts of conservation on the other, restlessly raised obstacles to Christian conversion.

But even faced with such obstacles, the thirst of being free, of forging your own destiny, of defeating biological and economic determinations was much too strong. People joined Christianity, knowing that they would become poor overnight, that they would leave their still pagan families behind, that they could be imprisoned for life, or even face the cruelest death—the death of a martyr.

Being a profoundly Christian movement, justifying its doctrine on the spiritual level above all – legionarism encourages and is built upon liberty. You adhere to legionarism because you are free, because you decided to overcome the iron circles of biological determinism (fear of death, suffering, etc.) and economic determinism (fear of becoming homeless). The first gesture a legionnaire will display is one born out of total liberty: he dares to free himself of spiritual, biological and economic enslavement. No exterior determinism can influence him. The moment he decides to be free is the moment all fears and inferiority complexes instantaneously disappear. He who enters the Legion forever dons the shirt of death. That means that the legionnaire feels so free that death itself no longer frightens him. If the Legionnaire nurtures the spirit of sacrifice with such passion, and if he has proven to be capable of making sacrifices – culminating in the deaths of Mota and Marin – these bear witness to the unlimited liberty a legionnaire has gained.
 

“He who knows how to die will never be a slave.” And this doesn’t concern only ethnic or political enslavement – but firstly, spiritual enslavement. If you are ready to die, no fear, weakness, shyness can enslave you. Making peace with death is the most total liberty man can receive on this Earth.

http://www.archive.org/details/Liberty_7

Cioran: scrivere per non morire

Emil Cioran:

scrivere per non morire

di: Claudio Cabona

Ex: http://rinascita.eu/

Solitario. Schifato dalla realtà e da molti aspetti incerti e fallaci della vita. Unico. Spietato nell’analisi, tagliente come un coltello che squarcia le credenze di tutti i giorni. Dimenticato. La descrizione corrisponde ad uno dei più grandi filosofi del 1900, un “maestro” saggista e nichilista, che ha avuto una sola colpa: ritrovare quel vitalismo, scomparso in molti momenti della sua vita, in un’ideologia che non può avere intellettuali compiacenti, perché rappresenta “il male assoluto”. Emil Cioran, lasciato chiuso nell’armadio ingombrante degli artisti maledetti, da cancellare dalle scuole, da non far conoscere. È retorica, ma, come si sa, sono i vincitori che decidono ciò che è degno di memoria. Decidono “loro”.

Cioran nacque nel 1911 in Transilvania, Romania. Tessuto sociale difficile e molto chiuso. Figlio di un prete ortodosso, visse un’ infanzia, ma verrebbe da dire un’intera vita, solitaria. Durante la prima guerra mondiale i genitori di Emil, come una parte degli intellettuali di origine rumena, erano stati confinati; il padre a Sopron, la madre a Cluj, lasciando i figli alle cure della nonna a Rasina. Durante il periodo universitario riuscì a legare con Samuel Beckett che ricorderà sempre con profonda amicizia. Conoscendo egregiamente il tedesco, i suoi primi studi si incentrarono su Immanuel Kant, Arthur Schopenhauer e specialmente Friedrich Nietzsche, suo filosofo di riferimento. Ma prima di pubblicare la sua prima opera, avendo vinto una borsa di studio, nel 1933, si trasferì a Berlino, poi a Dresda e a Monaco. Assistette all’insediamento di Hitler e rimase profondamente ammaliato dall’ideologia nazional-socialista che, in vecchiaia, criticò. Al suo rientro in Romania venne a contatto con il locale movimento fascista delle “guardie di ferro” che abbandonò solo alla vigilia della seconda guerra mondiale. Il fascismo, nella sua vita, fu l’unica ideologia che lo entusiasmò realmente, lui che odiava i pensieri realizzati perché “inseguitore di utopie”. All’utopia dedicò un famoso saggio del 1960 ,“Storia e utopia”, in cui sottolinea come da qualsiasi sogno utopico basato su un presunto ritorno o sua una futura realizzazione dell’età dell’oro, si scatenino sempre forze liberticide. Intanto si era laureato all’Università di filosofia di Bucarest e, successivamente, iniziò ad insegnare presso i licei di Brasov e Sibiu. La cattedra non faceva per lui, si sentiva come un lupo in gabbia. Gli mancava il respiro. E così iniziò a scrivere non solo come valvola di sfogo filosofico poetica, ma anche per rimanere in vita. Cioran, infatti, soffriva di insonnia e, più di una volta, scrisse che se non ci fosse stata la scrittura a tenergli compagnia durante la notte, si sarebbe ucciso. Molto incline al suicidio, l’intellettuale rumeno sopravvisse solo grazie alla sua penna. Pessimista cronico, schiacciato dall’incompiutezza dell’essere e fortemente critico perfino della “venuta al mondo”, dedicò tutta la sua vita, anche quando si trasferì in Francia, alla stesura di saggi profondissimi: nel 1952 uscì “Sillogismi dell’amarezza” raccolta di aforismi corrosivi e nel 1956 “La tentazione di esistere”. Nel 1964 elaborò “La caduta nel tempo”; in “Il funesto demiurgo” del 1969, fece un viaggio nel mondo dello gnosticismo; nell’“L’inconveniente di essere nati” del 1973 cercò, attraverso la positività e la negatività delle emozioni, di raggiungere i panorami più alti. Dalla sua grande mente presero vita svariatissimi libri, tantissimi altri rispetto a quelli citati in breve. Ma le opere che fotografano nel migliore dei modi Cioran sono l’ultima, “Confessioni e anatemi”, testamento pessimista che condanna la felicità fondata sul nulla; e la prima “Al Culmine della disperazione” del 1933 ove per la prima volta, lo scrittore rumeno capì che senza scrittura non avrebbe potuto vivere.

“L’insonnia è una vertiginosa lucidità che riuscirebbe a trasformare il Paradiso stesso in un luogo di tortura. Qualsiasi cosa è preferibile a questo allerta permanente, a questa criminale assenza di oblio. È durante quelle notti infernali che ho capito la futilità della filosofia. Le ore di veglia sono, in sostanza, un’interminabile ripulsa del pensiero attraverso il pensiero, è la coscienza esasperata da se stessa, una dichiarazione di guerra, un infernale ultimatum della mente a se medesima. Camminare vi impedisce di lambiccarvi con interrogativi senza risposta, mentre a letto si rimugina l’insolubile fino alla vertigine. Se non lo avessi scritto (“Al culmine della disperazione”, ndr) certamente avrei messo fine alle mie notti”. Questa l’introduzione al libro, quest’altro, invece, uno dei ragionamenti più celebri dell’opera: “Se non c’è salvezza attraverso la follia, è perché non c’è nessuno che non ne tema gli sprazzi di lucidità. Si desidererebbe il caos, ma si ha paura delle sue luci”.

Emil Cioran morì a Parigi il 20 giugno 1995. Finalmente riuscì ad addormentarsi, ma per sempre. E così venne dimenticato dai più. Già, perché decidono “loro” ciò che è degno di memoria oppure no. Ma non per tutti. Perché Cioran nelle librerie e, soprattutto, nella mente di qualche “bastardo”, è ancora vivo e da lì, rincrescerà all’“intellighenzia” del 2000, non si può esiliare.
 

La rivincita dell'anti-Sartre: Emil Cioran

La rivincita dell’anti-Sartre: Emil Cioran

di Andrea Rigoni

Fonte: Corriere della Sera [scheda fonte]

Riscoperta trasversale dello scrittore a cento anni dalla nascita

Da quando, verso la metà degli anni Settanta, ho incominciato a frequentare Cioran, dedicandomi anche alla diffusione della sua conoscenza in Italia, mi sono spesso chiesto in che cosa consistesse la sua singolarità e quale fosse il rapporto fra lo scrittore e l’uomo.
La voce di Cioran si era manifestata in Francia, a partire dal 1949 quando apparve il suo Sommario di decomposizione, come una nota del tutto isolata, diversa e dissonante dal concerto intellettuale e culturale dell’epoca, che era universalmente segnato dal dominio delle ideologie e delle utopie: l’opera e l’attività di Sartre ne rappresentavano allora in Francia, e non solo in Francia, una sorta di emblema. Cioran era l’anti-Sartre. Nel celebre filosofo esistenzialista, nell’eroe dell’engagement, egli non vedeva che un «impresario di idee» , secondo l’innominato ma riconoscibile ritratto che ne ha lasciato nel Sommario: un «pensatore senza destino» , nel quale «tutto è notevole, salvo l’autenticità» , «infinitamente vacuo e meravigliosamente ampio» , ma proprio per questo capace, con un’opera che degrada il nulla al rango di una merce intellettuale, di conquistare e soddisfare «il nichilismo da boulevard e l’amarezza degli sfaccendati» . Era dunque naturale che l’opera di Cioran, con la sua lucidità bruciante e solitaria, vissuta come esperienza e forma di un destino, restasse quasi senza eco: il riconoscimento doveva limitarsi al fulgore inusitato dello stile, che balzava agli occhi, se non di tutti, almeno di alcuni, tra i quali i primi lettori del manoscritto del Sommario, che si chiamavano Jules Romains, André Gide, André Maurois, Jean Paulhan, Jules Supervielle, ma certo anche Paul Celan, che poco dopo ne avrebbe fatto la traduzione in tedesco. Tuttavia sappiamo bene che lo stile, la forma, il tono di un’opera non sono l’abito o l’ornamento estrinseco del pensiero, ma il suo corpo, la sua vita, la sua essenza e che dunque essi rappresentano assai più di un indizio... Cioran affrontava i temi capitali dell’esistenza e del mondo col linguaggio più diretto e più chiaro, ripristinando la superba tradizione che si era perduta dopo Schopenhauer e Nietzsche. È ovvio, nello stesso tempo, che egli rimanesse estraneo alle mode culturali che negli anni Settanta e Ottanta furoreggiavano in Francia e in Europa: la linguistica, lo strutturalismo, la semiologia, la psicanalisi, il decostruzionismo, i cui esponenti o seguaci apparivano ai suoi occhi quanto meno segnati dalla superstizione della scienza e dalla maledizione dell’accademia. Ma qual è dunque il tratto fondamentale che distingue lo stile e il pensiero di Cioran, lo scrittore non meno che l’uomo? La ragione di una presa e di un fascino che oggi hanno conquistato una gamma indefinibile e trasversale di lettori, fino al E. M. Cioran nacque a Rasinari (Romania) l’ 8 aprile 1911 e morì a Parigi il 20 giugno 1995. La sua opera è stata tradotta da Adelphi sotto la direzione di Mario Andrea Rigoni che gli fu amico e che, tra il 1983 e il 1991, ne presentò alcuni scritti sul «Corriere» (raccolti in Fascinazione della cenere, Il Notes magico, 2005). Rigoni ha pubblicato in Francia Cioran dans mes souvenirs (P. U. F., 2009). punto di suscitare in molti un’identificazione spontanea e una devozione fanatica? È difficile non trovare ai singoli temi del pensiero di Cioran, come di chiunque altro, un precedente o un analogo nella letteratura antica o moderna; ma è la quintessenza di lucidità di cui si sostanzia costantemente la sua riflessione che non cessa di impressionare e di affascinare. Essa si fonda, a mio parere, sul carattere diretto e personale dell’esperienza, offerta come testimonianza intima e viva di un essere, anziché di una teoria astratta o di un esercizio professionale. Un aforisma dei Sillogismi dell’amarezza asserisce che «tutto ciò che non è diretto è insignificante» . Mi sembra che questo principio o questo imperativo, che Cioran non ha mai smesso di seguire, definisca molti tratti della sua fisionomia intellettuale e letteraria: la ricerca, anzi l’ossessione, di ciò che è l’essenziale, nella metafisica come nella politica o nella letteratura; l’interesse verso i grandi moralisti e i grandi saggi; l’orrore dell’ufficialità e del professionismo; il culto della chiarezza e il rifiuto del gergo; l’amore della brevità e la pratica dell’aforisma; l’attrazione per i generi letterari che recano l’impronta immediata dell’io, come i diari, le confessioni, le memorie, le lettere, le autobiografie. Cioran era interessato assai più alla vita che alla filosofia; più alle cose che alle idee; più agli istinti e alle emozioni che ai concetti. In un’opera cercava soprattutto l’elemento personale: «Guai al libro che si può leggere senza doversi interrogare a ogni momento sull’autore!» . D’altronde la letteratura, nella sua visione, nasce da una ferita esistenziale e da una tara metafisica: «La scrittura è la rivincita della creatura e la sua risposta a una Creazione abborracciata» . È significativo che nell’opera di Tolstoj egli abbia isolato e commentato La morte di Ivan Il’ic; come pure che, nel saggio su Fitzgerald, abbia trascurato i romanzi e i racconti dello scrittore americano per concentrarsi sulla notte dell’anima, sull’ «esperienza pascaliana» del crollo evocato nelle pagine impietose del Crack-Up. Analogamente Cioran amava più i santi e i mistici che i teologi: donde il rapporto contrastato, se non il dissenso, col suo vecchio amico e maestro Eliade, al quale rimproverava di essere non tanto uno spirito religioso quanto un semplice storico delle religioni, un indifferente cronista e archivista della varietà delle fedi. Si capisce che oggi, al culmine del disincanto al quale siamo giunti, molti di noi abbiano trovato in Cioran ciò che raramente si trova in un autore: non solo uno scrittore e un pensatore eccellente, ma uno spirito fraterno, un sodale, un amico, capace di parlare alla carne e all’anima non meno che all’intelletto. Tale egli era nella vita privata: semplice e immediato, partecipe e arguto, sempre sfiorato dall’ala nera della malinconia ma pronto a mitigarne il colpo con le risorse dell’ironia e dell’autoironia, qualche volta con un divertito esercizio di autodemolizione, anch’esso segno di uno spirito superiore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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