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samedi, 13 octobre 2018

Robert Steuckers: Sur et autour de Carl Schmitt

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Robert Steuckers:

Sur et autour de Carl Schmitt

Sur Carl Schmitt

La décision dans l’œuvre de Carl Schmitt

Carl Schmitt a quitté la vie

Une doctrine de Monroe pour l’Europe

Carl Schmitt, Donoso Cortés, la notion du politique et le catholicisme

allemand

Du droit naturel et de l’essence du politique chez Carl Schmitt

L’Europe entre déracinement et réhabilitation des lieux : de Schmitt à Deleuze

Une bibliographie biographique de Carl Schmitt

Sources et postérité de Carl Schmitt

Pourquoi lire Clausewitz ?

Sur Gustav Ratzenhofer (1842-1904)

Othmar Spann et l’État vrai

La leçon du sociologue et philosophe Hans Freyer

Otto Koellreutter (1883-1972)

L’État comme machine ou les théories politiques pré-organiques

Le Triomphe, fondement du politique ?

Sur le politologue Rüdiger Altmann

Bernard Willms (1931-1991)

Der « Ganze » Rationalismus : réponse de Helmut F. Spinner au rationalisme critique par une relecture de Max Weber et Carl Schmitt

Autour des concepts de Carl Schmitt

La notion d’Ernstfall

L’ère de la pyropolitique a commencé

Carl Schmitt : État, Nomos et « Grands espaces » par Theo Hartman

Annexes

Hommage à Piet Tommissen pour ses 75 ans par Günter Maschke

Adieu au Professeur Piet Tommissen (1925-2011)

Piet Tommissen, gardien des sources

Le livre est disponible à la vente au lien suivant :
http://www.ladiffusiondulore.fr/home/693-sur-et-autour-de...

298 pages - 26 euro

mardi, 09 octobre 2018

Oswald Spengler et la collapsologie en 1931

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Oswald Spengler et la collapsologie en 1931

par Nicolas Bonnal

Ex: http://www.dedefensa.org

Nous sommes mal partis, et nous le savons depuis longtemps maintenant. Poe, Tocqueville, Balzac nous mirent en garde à l’époque romantique puis Nietzsche, Le Bon ou le redoutable australien Pearson au demi-siècle de l’électricité et du colonialisme. Le problème c’est que nous pouvons encore être mal partis pendant encore longtemps !

Longtemps donc avant les plus lucides de nos « mécontemporains », comme dit Alain Finkielkraut, la « collapsologie » (citons en vrac nos amis Kunstler, Klein, Diamond, Orlov) intéresse de grands et controversés esprits comme Oswald Spengler. Dans son dernier chapitre de l’homme et la technique (ici retraduit de l’anglais), le célèbre auteur du Déclin de l’occident (si le contenu du livre est oublié, déjà déconstruit en son temps par Thomas Mann, le titre est demeuré magique) observe notre lent déclin.

Il attaque au dernier chapitre de son bref et très brillant essai :

« Chaque haute culture est une tragédie. L’histoire de l’humanité dans son ensemble est tragique. Mais le sacrilège et la catastrophe du Faustien sont plus grands que tous les autres, plus grands que tout ce qu'Eschyle ou Shakespeare n’ont jamais imaginé. La créature se soulève contre son créateur. »

Spengler évoque la puissance de l’Europe « nordique » et son origine… charbonnière :

« Leur pouvoir politique dépend de leur richesse et celle-ci consiste en leur force industrielle. Mais cela est lié à l’existence du charbon. Les peuples germaniques, en particulier, sont protégés par ce qui est presque un monopole des charbonnages connus, ce qui les a conduits à une multiplication de leurs populations sans égale dans l’histoire. »

Ce règne de la quantité (Spengler est contemporain de Guénon) crée le monde inégal de l’économie aux temps de la mondialisation (qui fête ses trois siècles et non ses trois décennies, lisez Voltaire) :

« Les pays industriellement pauvres sont pauvres en tous points ; ils ne peuvent donc pas soutenir une armée ou faire la guerre ; ils sont donc politiquement impuissants ; et, par conséquent, leurs ouvriers, qu'ils soient dirigeants ou dirigés, sont des pions dans la politique économique de leurs adversaires. »

Spengler souligne la grande altération physique, et même climatique du monde dit moderne :

« L'image de la terre, avec ses plantes, ses animaux et ses hommes, a changé. En quelques décennies, la plupart des grandes forêts sont parties pour être transformées en journaux d’actualité, ce qui a entraîné les changements climatiques qui menacent l’économie foncière de populations entières. D'innombrables espèces animales ont été éteintes, ou presque, comme le bison ; Des races entières de l'humanité ont presque atteint le point de disparition, comme les Indiens d'Amérique du Nord et les Australiens. »

Le golem de Prague ou la machine de Bernanos remplace le monde ancien :

« Toutes les choses organiques meurent sous l'emprise de l'organisation. Un monde artificiel imprègne et empoisonne le naturel. La civilisation elle-même est devenue une machine qui fait ou tente de tout faire de manière mécanique. Nous pensons seulement en chevaux [-vapeur] maintenant ; nous ne pouvons pas regarder une cascade sans la transformer mentalement en énergie électrique ; nous ne pouvons pas arpenter une campagne pleine de bétail en pâturage sans penser à son exploitation comme source d'approvisionnement en viande ; nous ne pouvons pas regarder la belle vieille main d'un peuple primitif intact sans vouloir le remplacer par un processus technique moderne. »

Puis Spengler annonce le grand mécontentement des années soixante, soixante-dix, la montée de l’écologie, des spiritualités emballées sous vide(Debord) et le scepticisme du progrès :

« La machine, par sa multiplication et son raffinement, va finalement à l'encontre de son objectif. Dans les grandes villes, l’automobile a, par son nombre, détruit sa propre valeur, et on marche plus vite à pied. En Argentine, à Java et ailleurs, la simple charrue à cheval du petit cultivateur s'est révélée économiquement supérieure au gros outil à moteur et chasse ce dernier. Déjà dans de nombreuses régions tropicales, l'homme noir ou brun avec ses méthodes de travail primitives est un concurrent dangereux de la technique moderne de plantation du blanc. Et le travailleur blanc de la vieille Europe et de l’Amérique du Nord commence à s’inquiéter de son travail. »

unterangDTV.jpgOn a parlé de l’écologie. Spengler écrit sur cette fatigue (plus que crise) du monde moderne :

« La pensée faustienne commence à en avoir assez des machines. Une lassitude se répand, une sorte de pacifisme de la bataille avec la Nature. Les hommes reviennent à des formes de vie plus simples et plus proches de la nature ; ils passent leur temps dans le sport au lieu d'expérimentations techniques. Les grandes villes leur deviennent odieuses, et elles voudraient bien se soustraire à la pression de faits sans âme et au climat froid et clair d'organisation technique. Et ce sont précisément les talents forts et créatifs qui se détournent des problèmes pratiques et des sciences pour se tourner vers la pure spéculation. »

Spengler voit bien le retour à l’orientalisme :

« L'occultisme et le spiritualisme, les philosophies hindoues, la curiosité métaphysique à la couleur chrétienne ou païenne, qui étaient tous méprisés à l'époque darwinienne, sont en train de réapparaître. C'est l'esprit de Rome à l'âge d'Auguste. Par satiété, les hommes se réfugient dans les parties les plus primitives de la terre, dans le vagabondage, dans le suicide. Chaque grand entrepreneur a l’occasion de constater une diminution des qualités intellectuelles de ses recrues. »

Car Spengler annonce même le déclin du QI comme on dit aujourd’hui :

« Le XIXe siècle n’a été possible que parce que le niveau intellectuel ne cessait de s’élever. Mais un état stationnaire, à moins d’une chute réelle, est dangereux et laisse présager une fin… »

C’est la mutinerie des mains :

« Il commence sous de multiples formes – du sabotage au suicide en passant par la grève – en passant par la mutinerie des Mains contre leur destin, contre la machine, contre la vie organisée, contre tout et n'importe quoi. »

Spengler voit aussi que notre déculottée sera longue et n’aura pas de fin heureuse ou digne. La fin de l’histoire c’est la maison de retraite :

« Face à ce destin, il n’existe qu’une vision du monde digne de nous, celle qui a déjà été mentionnée comme le choix d’Achille – mieux vaut une vie courte, accalmie des actes et de la gloire, qu'une longue vie sans contenu. Déjà, le danger est si grand, pour chaque individu, chaque classe, chaque peuple, que de chérir toute illusion déplorable. Le temps ne se laisse pas arrêter ; il n'est pas question de retraite prudente ni de sage renonciation. Seuls les rêveurs croient qu'il existe une issue. »

Spengler voit aussi le problème « racial » se profiler. Le sous-homme blanc n’aura pas le courage de continuer (et on est placés avec May, Merkel ou Macron pour voir qu’il se donne les chefs qu’il mérite) et il se fera remplacer :

« Le troisième et le plus grave symptôme de l'effondrement qui commence est cependant ce que je pourrais appeler une trahison envers la technique. »

L’humanisme ou l’humanitarisme blanc fait déjà école (derrière sa puissance industrielle ou militaire Nietzsche comme Goethe voyaient notre affaiblissement) :

« Au lieu de garder strictement les connaissances techniques qui constituaient leur plus grand atout, les peuples « blancs » l’offrent avec complaisance au monde entier, dans chaque Hochschule, verbalement et sur papier, et l’hommage étonné des Indiens et des Japonais les ravissait. »

Tout cela va avec la mondialisation et le commerce bien sûr :

 « La fameuse « diffusion de l’industrie » s’est installée, motivée par l’idée de réaliser des profits plus importants en amenant la production sur le marché. Ainsi, au lieu d'exporter exclusivement des produits finis, ils ont commencé à exporter des secrets, des processus, des méthodes, des ingénieurs et des organisateurs. Même les inventeurs émigrent, car le socialisme, qui pourrait, s'il le voulait, les exploiter dans son équipe, les expulse à la place. Et si récemment, les « indigènes » ont pénétré dans nos secrets, les ont compris et les ont pleinement utilisés. »

Résultat, la bataille de Tsushima en 1905 :

« En trente ans, les Japonais sont devenus des techniciens de premier rang et, dans leur guerre contre la Russie, ils ont révélé une supériorité technique à partir de laquelle leurs professeurs ont pu tirer de nombreuses leçons. »

C’est la vengeance des « races de couleur ». A l’époque de Spengler écrivent aussi les penseurs pessimistes américains Madison Grant et Lothrop Stoddard (parodiés dans Gatsby le magnifique) :

« Le monde exploité commence à se venger de ses seigneurs. Les innombrables mains des races de couleur – au moins aussi intelligentes et beaucoup moins exigeantes – briseront l'organisation économique des Blancs à sa base. Le luxe habituel de l'ouvrier blanc, en comparaison avec le coolie, sera son destin. Le travail du blanc devient lui-même indésirable. Les énormes masses d'hommes concentrés dans les bassins miniers du Nord, les grands travaux industriels, les capitaux investis dans ces régions, des villes et des quartiers entiers, sont confrontés à la probabilité de tomber dans la compétition. »

Détroit, Cleveland, Lorraine : Spengler voit alors la fin de notre civilisation « faustienne ». A la même époque (1931 donc) André Siegfried recense le déclin de la civilisation industrielle de la Grande-Bretagne :

« Cette technique de la machine se terminera avec la civilisation faustienne et un jour restera en fragments, oubliés – nos chemins de fer et bateaux à vapeur aussi morts que les routes romaines et le mur de Chine, nos villes géantes et nos gratte-ciels en ruines comme le vieux Memphis et Babylone. L’histoire de cette technique touche à sa fin inévitable. Elle sera mangée de l’intérieur, comme les grandes formes de toute culture. Quand et de quelle manière, nous ne le savons pas. »

Spengler ignore la civilisation postindustrielle et surtout la civilisation de la dette immonde – et perpétuellement augmentée (New deal, guerres, dépenses de beurre et de canons…). Le catastrophisme ignore en effet la dimension vraie de notre catastrophe, dimension qui est de durer. Plus notre société touche le fond, plus elle creuse !

Il termine brillamment avec ce style snob et envolé que lui reprochait Thomas Mann :

« L'optimisme est la lâcheté. Nous sommes nés à cette époque et devons courageusement suivre le chemin qui nous mène à la fin prévue. Il n'y a pas d'autre moyen. Notre devoir est de garder la position perdue, sans espoir, sans secours, comme ce soldat romain dont les ossements ont été retrouvés devant une porte à Pompéi, qui, lors de l'éruption du Vésuve, est décédé à son poste, faute d'avoir été relevé. C'est cela la grandeur. C'est ce que signifie être un pur-sang. Une fin honorable est la seule chose qui ne peut pas être prise à un homme. »

On se demande toutefois quelle fin honorable nous attend…

Source 

Oswald Spengler, l’homme et la technique (cinquième partie)

mardi, 02 octobre 2018

Il viaggio atlantico dell’impubblicabile Jünger

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Il viaggio atlantico dell’impubblicabile Jünger

Andrea Scarabelli

Ex: http://blog.ilgiornale.it/scarabelli

Londra, 1947. A due anni dalla fine del conflitto mondiale viene pubblicato un singolare volumetto, in una collana destinata ai prigionieri di guerra tedeschi detenuti in Inghilterra. È Ernst Jünger l’autore di Atlantische Fahrt, appena uscito con il titolo Traversata atlantica per Guanda, nella traduzione di Alessandra Iadicicco e con una curatela finalmente degna di questo nome. Oltre al testo, infatti, il volume contiene un ricco apparato epistolare, appendici biobibliografiche, una gran mole di note e una recensione di Erhart Kästner del 1948. Ricostruita attraverso questi ricchi apparati, la storia editoriale di Atlantische Fahrt ha del comico. Il primo libro pubblicato da Jünger nel dopoguerra, infatti, non uscì in Germania, complice il repulisti democratico che mise al bando lui e altri numi della filosofia novecentesca, tra cui Martin Heidegger e Carl Schmitt. La piazza pulita culturale e antropologica della nuova Germania finì per colpire anche lui, abbandonato a se stesso, impossibilitato a scrivere e pubblicare eppure stampato e ristampato all’estero (soprattutto in Svizzera, in quegli anni), nonostante una lunga cordata d’intellettuali fosse intervenuta a suo favore. Il veto durerà fino al 1949. Fino ad allora, nulla da fare. «Bisogna essere prigionieri tedeschi per poter leggere un certo autore proibito in Germania?» noterà amaramente lo scrittore Stefan Andres, recensendolo nel 1949.

ej-tratl.jpgAlla fine degli anni Quaranta, insomma, il futuro premio Goethe è in catene: ma Jünger, il reietto, si metamorfosa, cambia pelle, assumendosi il compito di fari aristocratico del dolore, come dirà pochissimi anni più tardi. È la carne degli sconfitti a reclamare attenzione in queste luminose pagine, che la sapienza europea non potrà a lungo ignorare. Un grido che di certo risulterà sgradito a certe anime belle, ma che fa delle sue parole uno dei canti più intensi del secolo XX.

Il libro, ad ogni modo, esce nel ’47, ma è il resoconto di un viaggio compiuto undici anni prima in Brasile: da Amburgo a Belém, Recife, San Paolo, Rio de Janeiro e Bahia. Con uno scalo preliminare alle Azzorre, occasione ideale per fare il punto sulla situazione della Germania, che si è appena lasciato alle spalle: «Il loro arcipelago mi è parso un simbolo della nostra situazione: come una catena di vulcani che, sull’estremo confine dell’Europa, si leva in mezzo a infinite solitudini». Decide di prendersi una pausa da una civiltà di cui comincia a intravvedere le ombre, cambiando emisfero, sotto un sole e costellazioni differenti. Un viaggio che segnerà una svolta profonda nella sua visione del mondo, spostando l’asse dalla situazione della Germania a quella mondiale, nella sua totalità, come nota Detlev Schöttker nel suo saggio in conclusione del libro. Ma Jünger ancora non lo sa, e nel Nuovo Mondo, nella sua sovrabbondanza proteiforme, cerca le immagini, i fenomeni originari di cui ha parlato Goethe nei suoi scritti sulla metamorfosi delle piante. Ognuna di queste immagini risveglia antiche reminiscenze, rendendo ogni uomo artista e artefice. L’Atlantico come specchio, nel quale il poeta delle Tempeste d’Acciaio si riconosce, ritrovandosi. Qui ogni scoperta è una (auto)rivelazione, un ritorno a casa. Lo intuisce scorgendo un pesce dalla forma bizzarra, sconosciuto alle classificazioni occidentali. Qualcosa di sopito si risveglia in lui:

«Alla vista di simili creature favolose, ciò che colpisce è soprattutto l’accordo tra apparizione e immaginazione. Non le percepiamo come se le scoprissimo, ma come se le inventassimo. Ci sorprendono e al tempo stesso le sentiamo intimamente familiari, come fossero parti di noi stessi che si realizzano in immagini. A volte, in certi sogni e, molto verosimilmente, nell’ora della morte, questa immaginazione acquista in noi una forza straordinaria. I miti nascono dove realtà superiori e supreme si accordano con la forza dell’immaginazione».

Ma il Sudamerica non è solo natura incontaminata. Tra i dedali vegetali e gli umbratili argini di fiumi senza fine svettano imponenti megalopoli ancora sconosciute agli europei di quegli anni. È proprio al cospetto di questi vertiginosi agglomerati che avviene la rivoluzione copernicana dello scrittore: la tecnica, vista all’opera nella Prima guerra mondiale e poi nelle industrie, è diventata un fenomeno planetario. Gli accoliti del Lavoratore hanno invaso il globo, trasfigurandolo, ridisegnandone le frontiere. Rio de Janeiro lo sgomenta: «La città esercita su di me un’impressione possente. È una residenza dello spirito del mondo». E proprio in queste pagine compare il nome di Oswald Spengler, che ne Il tramonto dell’Occidente aveva indicato nelle metropoli, inorganiche e amorfe, uno dei sintomi delle fasi terminali di una civiltà. Profezie amare quanto attuali, anche a distanza di un secolo dalla pubblicazione del monumentale trattato di morfologia delle civiltà.

Eppure, come scrisse Hölderlin, dove cresce il pericolo nasce anche ciò che salva, e, nel corso di questo viaggio al termine dell’Occidente, a far da buen retiro, da contrappeso alla sfrenata tecnicizzazione planetaria è ancora una volta la natura selvaggia e illibata. Lo testimonia una lettera a suo fratello Friedrich Georg, scritta il 20 novembre 1936 a Santos: «Da queste parti c’è un proverbio che mi piace tanto; dice: Il bosco è grande, e significa che chiunque si trovi in difficoltà o sia vittima di persecuzioni può sempre sperare di trovare rifugio e accoglienza in questo elemento». Probabilmente la pensano così anche alcuni dei suoi compagni di viaggio, i quali, giunti in Brasile, decidono di scendere dalla nave, non tornando in Germania. Cosa che lui invece farà, vivendo la tragedia europea sino al suo ultimo atto ma portando con sé questa immagine del bosco, sviluppata pochi anni dopo ne Il trattato del ribelle. Nel bosco vedrà l’autentica patria spirituale dell’uomo, contrapposta alla nave, dominio della velocità e del progresso, e il ribelle sarà colui che passa al bosco, dandosi alla macchia – scendendo dalla nave, appunto.

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Di questo, però, non c’è ancora traccia nella sua biografia. Per ora non vi è che mare aperto e isole, l’immensità dell’Atlantico e il riparo di atolli e arcipelaghi, a ribadire quella dualità irriducibile che costituisce la quintessenza letteraria – ma non solo – di Ernst Jünger. L’oceano, nella cui malia «il nostro essere fluisce e si dissolve; tutto ciò che in noi è ritmico si ravviva, risonanze, battiti, melodie, il canto originario della vita che va cullandosi nei tempi. Il suo incantesimo ci fa tornare indietro svuotati, eppure felici come dopo una notte trascorsa danzando». Le isole, invece, che custodiscono la promessa di una gioia «più profonda della quiete, della pace in questo elemento tempestoso mosso fin dai fondali. Anche le stelle sono isole nel mare della luce dell’etere».

Le isole, il mare… Si è fatto tardi. Il nostro viaggiatore annota queste parole mentre torna nella sua Europa, martellata dall’urgenza della storia, squassata da venti che ben presto riveleranno la loro forma mostruosa e titanica. Le ultime parole del diario brasiliano sono datate 15 dicembre 1936:

«Mi sento soddisfatto del viaggio. Eolo e tutti gli altri dèi sono stati propizi. Ancora più intenso appare il piacere che vi ho provato rispetto ai tempi minacciosi che si annunciano in maniera sempre più evidente, le cui fiamme anzi già guizzano all’orizzonte».

Quelle fiamme che finiranno per incendiare una civiltà intera, una civiltà di cui Jünger sceglierà di farsi testimone, pagando in prima persona, come tanti altri, la propria inattualità.

Terra Sarda: il mediterraneo metafisico di Ernst Jünger

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Terra Sarda: il mediterraneo metafisico di Ernst Jünger

Andrea Scarabelli

Ex: http://ilgiornale.it/scarabelli

«Insel, insula, isola, Eiland – parole che nominano un segreto, un che di separato e conchiuso»: Ernst Jünger scrisse queste parole a Carloforte. Vi era giunto per la prima volta nel 1955, passando dall’isola di Sant’Antioco, attratto dalla presenza di un insetto che vive solo lì, la Cicindela campestris saphyrina. Le sue impressioni sull’isola sono riportate nel saggio San Pietro (1957), uscito in italiano nel 2015 nella traduzione di Alessandra Iadicicco. Entomologia a parte, era rimasto folgorato dal luogo, trascorrendovi le vacanze fino al 1978, all’età di ottantatré anni. Jünger era un amante delle isole, e i suoi diari (molti dei quali, purtroppo, ancora inediti da noi) stanno a dimostrarlo; del bacino mediterraneo amava soprattutto Sicilia e Sardegna. Il fascino esercitato dalle isole risale all’inizio dei tempi. Per caratteri come quello di Jünger, ogni isola è beata, nel senso di Esiodo (Le opere e i giorni): «Sulle isole beate, presso il profondo gorgo dell’oceano, vivono gli eroi felici col cuore libero da affanni. La terra feconda offre loro il frutto del miele che matura tre volte nell’anno». Anche D. H. Lawrence, tra i molti altri, era stato in Sardegna, precisamente nell’estate del 1921, assieme alla moglie Frieda. Vi era giunto da Taormina e aveva visitato Cagliari, Mandas e Nuoro. Nel suo libro Mare e Sardegna, contenente il racconto di questo viaggio, riporta un’ottima definizione di insulomania, il male di cui soffre chi prova un’attrazione irresistibile verso le isole. «Questi insulomani nati sono diretti discendenti degli Atlantidi e il loro subcosciente anela all’esistenza insulare». Una diagnosi che si attaglia alla perfezione a Jünger, amante del mare e di ciò che il mare circonda, separandolo dalla terraferma.

terrasa.jpgCome già detto, il futuro Premio Goethe approda a Carloforte nel 1955, ma il suo primo contatto con la Sardegna risale all’anno precedente. Il diario del suo mese trascorso nel piccolo villaggio di Villasimius è uscito in varie edizioni, con il titolo Presso la torre saracena. Tradotto – magistralmente – da Quirino Principe, verrà inserito insieme agli altri “scritti sardi” ne Il contemplatore solitario (Guanda, 2000) e in Terra sarda (Il Maestrale, 1999).

Ecco l’itinerario di quel primo viaggio: partito da Civitavecchia la sera del 6 maggio 1954, il Nostro arriva al porto di Olbia alle prime ore del mattino. Raggiunta Cagliari in treno, un paio d’ore di autobus lo separano da Villasimius (nel diario indicata come Illador): un percorso accidentato, su strade malmesse. Poche case coloniche, il piccolo borgo di Solanas. Dietro a ogni tornante si squadernano panorami mozzafiato, con un mare color zaffiro. Fin da subito capisce di trovarsi in un luogo tagliato fuori dalla civiltà, anche per via di un’epidemia di malaria e una carestia che fino a quel momento hanno reso Villasimius impermeabile al turismo di massa. Ancora per poco, però: proprio nei giorni della sua residenza, gli operai stanno collocando la rete elettrica, dando così il via alla modernizzazione della cittadina, che si concluderà con l’invasione di televisioni, radio, cinema, traffico, caos… La tecnica giungerà, livellando ogni differenza tra sessi e generazioni, demolendo una cultura millenaria e andando a costituire quel brodo di coltura grazie a cui la modernità trionferà anche a Illador. Ma in quel momento di tutto ciò non c’è ancora traccia. La cittadina si trova a un crocevia, e lo scrittore ha modo di fotografarla per quel che fu, «un luogo più cosmico che terrestre, lontano dal mondo». In realtà queste parole sono riferite a Carloforte, ma potrebbero estendersi alla Villasimius di allora, anzi alla Sardegna tutta, che in qualche modo agì su di lui come un «detonatore di emozioni», secondo la definizione di Stenio Solinas, che ha firmato l’introduzione a San Pietro.

Crocevia per la Sardegna, gli anni Cinquanta lo sono anche per Jünger: dopo aver visto l’Europa messa a ferro e fuoco dalle forze scatenate della tecnica, che aveva in qualche modo celebrato nel suo Der Arbeiter, agli inizi degli anni Trenta, il suo sguardo muta radicalmente, dando vita a opere come Il trattato del ribelle, che esce nel 1951, e soprattutto Il libro dell’orologio a polvere, pubblicato lo stesso anno di quel suo primo viaggio sardo. Se il primo è l’invito a riparare in un bosco del tutto interiore, al riparo dalle barbarie della tecnica e della tirannide, l’ultimo è uno studio comparato dedicato agli orologi naturali (clessidre, meridiane, gnomoni e così via) e a quelli meccanici, insieme alle nozioni di tempo che veicolano. Così come c’è un tempo storico, scandito dagli orologi meccanici, ce n’è anche uno cosmico, misurato dalle ombre proiettate dal sole e dall’affastellarsi dei chicchi di grano nelle clessidre. Sarà questa compresenza, come vedremo, a scandire il suo primo soggiorno sardo.

Torniamo alla Villasimius degli anni Cinquanta, la cui case sono ancora illuminate da candele, una cittadina semi-diroccata circondata da immense spiagge deserte e torri in rovina, i cui ospiti non sono miliardari o attricette o parvenu ma pastori, elettricisti, ciabattini e pescatori, insieme a impiegati statali trasferiti lì per qualche oscuro regolamento di conti burocratico. In loro compagnia, annoterà in San Pietro,

«L’uomo della terraferma viene trattato con una benevola superiorità. Gli manca quell’impronta degli elementi che qui ha lasciato il suo segno».

Saranno queste figure semplici, dalla pelle coriacea battuta dal Sole e saggiata dal vento, i compagni di quelle lunghe giornate, anche perché il protagonista della nostra storia si è guardato bene dal portarsi dietro un libro, un giornale o una compagnia umana. Ama stare con la gente comune e partecipa a feste e banchetti, cene e battute di caccia, passeggiate e sessioni di pesca, ben sapendo che è possibile studiare un luogo anche senza orpelli letterario-filosofici. La pensione in cui alloggia – gestita da una certa Signora Bonaria – diventa così il teatro d’interminabili discussioni (ma anche di lunghi silenzi, scanditi da un vino nero come la notte e pranzi pantagruelici). Cogli abitanti del luogo Jünger parla un po’ di tutto, ma perlopiù ascolta, di passato e presente – il futuro, quello, mai – dalle usanze locali alla Storia, che ha ovviamente attraversato anche quei corpi. Dopo cena, talvolta, i doganieri intonano il canto del «Duce Benito», non senza prima essersi tolti le uniformi. Uno dei suoi interlocutori gli dice di esser stato ferito nella Prima Guerra Mondiale e di aver perso un figlio nella seconda. Anche lui ne sa qualcosa. Reclina il capo, mentre il suo pensiero va alle scogliere di marmo di Carrara, dove è caduto suo figlio Ernstel.

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I giorni passano e il Signor Ernesto – così lo chiamano a Illador – fa lunghe passeggiate, attraversando campi imbionditi dai cereali, muraglie di fichi d’India e una macchia mediterranea issatasi eroica sotto un sole sferzante, che dardeggia la costa, irrorata dal mare. Di tanto in tanto il suo sguardo si posa sull’Isola dei Gabbiani e su quella dei Serpenti (oggi Serpentara), nei pressi di Castiadas, sormontate rispettivamente da un castello in rovina e un faro. A colpirlo è l’abbondanza della natura, che non fa economia né lesina in sperperi («è ben oltre la funzionalità», parole che avrebbero sottoscritto Georges Bataille e Marcel Mauss), la stessa che fece esclamare, dall’altra parte del mare, allo Zarathustra nietzschiano:

«Ho imparato questo dal sole, quando il ricchissimo tramonta: getta nel mare l’oro della sua inesauribile ricchezza, così che anche il più povero pescatore rema con remi d’oro! Vidi questo una volta e alla vista non mi saziai di piangere».

Se fu un tramonto ligure a dettare queste parole a Nietzsche, che le scrisse a Rapallo, Jünger cercò il Grande Meriggio di Zarathustra in Sardegna, come disse una volta Banine, sua correttrice di bozze e compagna di viaggio ad Antibes. Ma il Sole e il mare mediterranei gli sussurrano, soprattutto, di avere ancora un’immensa riserva di tempo. E il tempo gli darà ragione, facendolo vivere sino al 1998, all’età di centotré anni.

L’enigma del tempo, che ha incantato Borges e gli spiriti più eletti del Novecento: ecco ciò che Jünger incontra in Sardegna in quella tarda primavera, non ancora estate. Il Contemplatore Solitario si tuffa nel miracolo della storia nei nuraghi presso Macomer, adornati da licheni, che dovettero apparire antichi già ai Fenici. Il suo sguardo si amplia, sfondando gli orizzonti storiografici moderni, andando oltre le sue Colonne d’Ercole, impresa conclusa cinque anni dopo in quello che forse è il suo libro migliore, Al muro del tempo, trattato di metafisica della storia che analizza il tempo storico come una parentesi, nata dalla messa al bando di forze mitiche che stanno per fare ritorno. Ebbene, il passaggio dalla storia del mondo (Weltgeschichte) alla storia della terra (Erdegeschichte) ha luogo forse per la prima volta al cospetto di un nuraghe che, come ha scritto Henri Plard, curatore de Il contemplatore solitario, ricorda a Jünger il fenomeno originario di cui ha parlato il suo maestro Goethe, che si cela dietro a tutte le manifestazioni naturali. Da esso nascerà la torre, il granaio, il castello… Archetipi? Null’affatto. Gli archetipi sono molti, il fenomeno originario è uno.

Questa compresenza, ai suoi occhi, sceglie quello sardo come territorio d’elezione. È come se in certi luoghi la geografia costringesse la storia a venire allo scoperto, esibendo i propri caratteri fondamentali. Anche perché qui il passato vive in una contemporaneità assoluta, plastica. La Sardegna jüngeriana è in grado di cicatrizzare e risanare antiche ferite. Qui tutto è presente, l’eternità coesiste con il tempo: «La storia diventa un mysterium. La successione temporale diventa un’immagine campata nello spazio», parole che – come scrive Quirino Principe – ricordano quelle di Gurmenanz del Parsifal wagneriano: «Figlio mio, qui il tempo diventa spazio». Il cerchio si chiude.

Il sigillo di quel viaggio è una fuoriuscita dalla storia non veicolata dalla ratio ma dalla contemplazione delle forme, del loro stile. È nella continuità delle forme, nella loro metamorfosi, a manifestarsi il fenomeno originario. Che non è un’idea astratta, ma qualcosa d’immanente al reale, la messa in forma di un destino e allo stesso tempo la sua più alta meta. Contemplando il reale e non dissezionandolo, come fa invece la scienza moderna, ci reinseriamo nei meccanismi che regolano il cosmo. Ciò è molto facile in Sardegna – e in Italia – scrive Jünger, dove la compresenza di presente e futuro è visibile a livello geografico, territoriale, elementare, ma anche fisiognomico. Lì può accadere, passeggiando per luoghi affollati, d’incontrare un viso particolare, con tratti inusuali. Allora ci fermiamo, percorsi da un brivido. I tratti intravisti sono antichi, forse addirittura preistorici, e l’osservazione si spinge allora sempre più a ritroso, nelle profondità dei secoli e dei millenni, fino al limite estremo del muro del tempo. «Sentiamo che ci è passato vicino un essere originario, primordiale, venuto a noi da tempi in cui non esistevano né popoli né paesi». Ma la stessa cosa accade anche se ci mettiamo a riflettere su noi stessi: per quale motivo non siamo tutti uguali, ma nutriamo peculiari inclinazioni per la caccia o la pesca, per la contemplazione o l’azione, «per lo scontro in battaglia, per l’occulta magia degli esorcismi? Seguendo le nostre vocazioni, consumiamo la nostra più antica parte di eredità. Abbandoniamo il mondo storico, e antenati sconosciuti festeggiano in noi il loro ritorno».

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È la contemplazione e non l’analisi a permettere questa fuoriuscita dal tempo – la stessa di cui parlò Mircea Eliade, che tra l’altro diresse con Jünger «Antaios», dall’inizio degli anni Sessanta a metà dei Settanta. Ebbene, sulle colonne di quella meravigliosa rivista uscì, nel 1963, lo scritto jüngeriano Lo scarabeo spagnolo, sempre nato in terra sarda. Qui la meditazione su uno scarabeo intravisto sul gretto di un fiume (Riu Campus) diventa occasione per riflettere sulla caducità delle cose. Tutto muore e trapassa nell’inorganico, ma guai a chi non lo inserisce in un contesto più alto. Guai a chi si esaurisce nel presente, nella storia. Guai a non vedere nel transeunte l’orma dell’eterno. Chi abbia il coraggio di avventurarsi nei labirinti della contemplazione, tuttavia, scoprirà scenari inediti, all’interno dei quali anche l’uomo acquisisce facoltà nuove:

«Ognuno è re di Thule, è sovrano agli estremi confini, è principe e mendicante. Se sacrifica l’aurea coppa della vita alla profondità, offre testimonianza della pienezza cui la coppa rinvia e che egli incarna senza poterla comprendere. Come lo splendore dello scarabeo spagnolo, così le corone regali alludono a una signoria che nessuna conflagrazione universale distrugge. Nei suoi palazzi la morte non penetra; è solo la guardiana della porta. Il suo portale rimane aperto mentre stirpi di uomini e di dèi si avvicendano e scompaiono».

Avventurandoci in questa Babele di dimensioni storiche e piani dell’essere, lo stesso linguaggio finisce per rivelare la propria insufficienza e naufraga, laddove la traiettoria di un insetto è in grado di ripetere il moto planetario. Servendoci di un’antica immagine, il linguaggio discorsivo è come una canoa utile per attraversare un fiume, ma che una volta espletato questo compito va abbandonata a riva. Il percorso deve proseguire in altro modo. Così sono i nomi, che non si limitano a designare cose, ma rinviano sempre a qualcos’altro,

«ombre d’invisibili soli, orme su vasti specchi d’acqua, colonne di fumo che s’innalzano da incendi il cui sito è nascosto. Là il grande Alessandro non è più grande del suo schiavo, ma è più grande della propria fama. Anche gli dèi, là, sono soltanto simboli. Tramontano come i popoli e le stelle, eppure hanno valore i sacrifici che li onorano».

Come già accennato, i diari di Illador-Villasimius sono dedicati alla Torre Saracena di Capo Carbonara; vi si arriva facilmente, percorrendo un sentiero – nulla di particolarmente impegnativo – che dalla lunga spiaggia bianca porta alle pendici dell’antica torre di vedetta. L’11 maggio, ai piedi della solitaria costruzione arroventata dal sole (oggi conosciuta come Torre di Porto Giunco), Jünger avverte «un alito di nuda potenza, di pallida vigilanza». Un sentore di perenne insicurezza, d’instabilità. Comprende di trovarsi in un luogo di confine, Giano bifronte che unisce e separa a un tempo, linea di frontiera tra Oriente e Occidente, storia e metastoria. Segno liminare tra terra e mare che impone un aut-aut, ci torna una decina di giorni dopo, assieme a un certo Angelo (uomo mercuriale), armato di martello e scalpello. Lascia una traccia, com’era – ed è tutt’ora – uso fare. Quella traccia è ancora lì, a distanza di oltre cinquant’anni: E. J., 22.V.54. Dopodiché ridiscende il sentiero, fino alla spiaggia. Guardandola dall’alto, si è accorto che presenta singolari striature rosate: sono conchiglie frantumate. Frugando, ne trova una semi-intatta, la cui forma lo sgomenta. È una conchiglia a forma di cuore, la cui perfezione formale rimanda a un ordine che è di questo mondo ma in esso non si esaurisce. È come se la bacchetta di un direttore invisibile avesse dato il la a un’esecuzione di cui non udiamo che gli echi. E, ancora una volta, ecco emergere dalla contemplazione la Terra originaria, in una magnifica assenza di umanità. È ad essa che il piccolo oggetto rinvia: una proprietà, annota Jünger, ben nota a quei popoli antichi che utilizzavano le conchiglie come moneta, al posto dell’oro. La sua forma potrebbe condurci

«a fiammeggianti soli. Colui che vaga per la nostra terra la esibisce come un geroglifico. Il guardiano del portone di fiamma vede a quale sublime configurazione è adatta la polvere che turbina su questa stella. Qualcosa d’immortale lo illumina. Dà il suo segnale: la conchiglia si trasforma in ardore incandescente, in luce, in pura irradiazione. Il portone si apre di scatto».

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Abbiamo detto che la Sardegna segna, in qualche modo, l’approdo di Jünger ai grandi spazi di una storiografia ultraeuclidea, mostrandogli un territorio innervato da un destino antecedente a quello dei manuali. I nuraghi precedono le piramidi, le mura di Ilio e il palazzo di Agamennone. Un giorno si trova nei pressi di Punta Molentis, al largo della quale si dice esserci un antico porto sommerso. Chissà, magari a questo porto corrisponde anche una città, secondo un’antica leggenda diffusa in tutte le coste mediterranee. È un’immagine molto potente del senso della storia. Come ha scritto Predrag Matvejević nel suo magnifico Breviario mediterraneo,

«un porto affondato è una specie di necropoli. Divide lo stesso destino delle città o delle isole sommerse: circondato dagli stessi misteri, accompagnato da questioni simili, seguito dagli stessi ammonimenti. Ciascuno di noi è talvolta un porto affondato, nel Mediterraneo».

Sempre nei pressi di Punta Molentis, dove un’esile lingua di sabbia separa i due mari, trova un’antichissima grotta, addirittura più vecchia degli stessi nuraghi. È stupefatto: per inquadrare questa rudimentale abitazione, occorre adottare scale temporali molto più ampie di quelle storiografiche. Luoghi del genere intimano al visitatore di confrontarsi con regioni sommerse del proprio Io, abbandonando gli orpelli mentali usuali:

«A volte, l’uomo è costretto dall’urgenza del destino a uscire dai palazzi della storia, a venire al cospetto di questa sua primitiva dimora, a domandarsi se ancora la riconosca, se sia ancora alla sua altezza, se ne sia ancora degno. Qui egli è processato e giudicato dall’Immutabile che persiste al fondo della storia».

L’uomo tende a ricacciare questo Immutabile in un lontanissimo passato, nell’alba dei tempi. Una sciocchezza: esso è «al centro, nel punto più interno della foresta, e le civiltà gli girano intorno». Al pari del mito che, come aveva scritto nel Trattato del ribelle tre anni prima, non è la narrazione dei tempi che furono ma una realtà che si ripresenta quando la storia vacilla sin dalle fondamenta.

Meditando su ciò che ha appena visto, con maschera e tubo respiratorio, si getta nell’acqua poco profonda e attraversa la piccola laguna a nuoto. È una delle sue attività preferite, specie in Sardegna. In quel periodo nessuno degli abitanti fa il bagno, ma lui è abituato ad altre latitudini, e non perde tempo. C’è un vecchio epitaffio, inciso sulle rovine accanto al porto di Giaffa, nei pressi di Tel Aviv, che recita: «Nuoto, il mare è attorno a me, il mare è in me, e io sono il mare. In terra non ci sono e mai ci sarò. Affonderò in me stesso, nel mio proprio mare». In queste antichissime righe, c’è tutto Jünger, sospeso sulla superficie acquea di un mare cristallino, a riflettere sui sottili legami tra passato e presente, mito e storia.

Teatro di queste incursioni è il Mediterraneo, qui inteso in senso più che geografico. Agorà e labirinto, «perduto mare del Sé» (Janvs), archivio e sepolcro, corrente e destino, crepuscolo e aurora, apollineo e dionisiaco, «è una grande patria», scrive Jünger, «una dimora antica. A ogni mia nuova visita me ne accorgo con evidenza sempre maggiore; che esista anche nel cosmo, un Mediterraneo?». Se è vero, come scrive Matvejević nel suo libro già citato, che «il Mediterraneo attende da tempo una nuova grande opera sul proprio destino», quella di Jünger potrebbe esserne la bozza. Un destino osservato sulle rocce e sulle piante, abbrivio a dèi ed eroi omerici, simulacri di battaglie cosmiche che si compiono dall’aurora dei tempi. Tutto ciò è riflesso nei volti che ha modo d’incontrare, nelle calette in cui si avventura e negli insetti che osserva, con la discrezione di un entomologo professionista. Tutte maschere di una sola cosa:

«Terra sarda, rossa, amara, virile, intessuta in un tappeto di stelle, da tempi immemorabili fiorita d’intatta fioritura ogni primavera, culla primordiale. Le isole sono patria nel senso più profondo, ultime sedi terrestri prima che abbia inizio il volo nel cosmo. A esse si addice non il linguaggio, ma piuttosto un canto del destino echeggiante sul mare».

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Un mare da cui si accomiaterà il primo giugno, ma solo per qualche tempo (mediterranea è anche, in senso eminente, la certezza del ritorno). Jünger prepara i bagagli, e percorre a ritroso il suo viaggio. Sulla strada verso Cagliari, s’imbatte nei bunker eretti dalla Wehrmacht durante la Seconda guerra mondiale. Forse la foresta se li inghiottirà. Difficile che invecchino bene, come invece il Forte di Michelangelo a Civitavecchia, le macchine da guerra di Leonardo o le prigioni di Piranesi… Prende il treno per Olbia. Dopo settimane di astinenza dalla modernità, compra un giornale, solo per vedere quanto poco il mondo sia cambiato. L’argomento à la page è la bomba atomica, il tono è «come sempre noioso, irritante, indecoroso. Ci si domanda a volte a quale scopo si paghi l’onorario ai filosofi». Chissà cosa direbbe oggi, di fronte a certe querelle da bettola… Dopodiché, in nave fino a Civitavecchia, dove lo attende un treno, diretto a Nord. La linea passa da Carrara, mentre a sinistra c’è sempre il mediterraneo, muto spettatore di un dolore non ancora cicatrizzato. «Il mare è una lingua antichissima che non riesco a decifrare» scrisse il suo amico Jorge Luis Borges nel 1925 (nel saggio Navigazione, uscito ne La luna vicina).

Il congedo di Jünger dalla Sardische Heimat è solo temporaneo. Vi tornerà diverse volte, finché le condizioni di salute glielo permetteranno. Nato sotto costellazioni settentrionali, in quel lontano 1954 ha subito un fascino cui è molto difficile sottrarsi, e ora non può che rispondere periodicamente a quest’appello. «Mare! Mare! Queste parole passavano di bocca in bocca. Tutti corsero in direzione di esso… cominciarono a baciarsi gli uni cogli altri, piangendo» ci rivela Senofonte nelle Anabasi, descrivendo la reazione dei soldati greci, dopo un lungo peregrinare a terra, affacciatisi sul Mediterraneo. Furono forse le stesse parole che rimbombarono nelle orecchie del Contemplatore Solitario a bordo di quell’autobus, tra un tornante e l’altro, tra un mare e l’altro, fino a Illador, oasi di un passato martoriato e misteriosa prefigurazione di un destino a venire.

dimanche, 30 septembre 2018

Conférence: le mouvement völkisch

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samedi, 15 septembre 2018

Editions du Lore: parution du tome deuxième de Robert Steuckers sur la "Révolution conservatrice" allemande

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Editions du Lore: parution du tome deuxième de Robert Steuckers sur la "Révolution conservatrice" allemande

Pour se procurer ce volume:

http://www.ladiffusiondulore.fr/home/690-la-revolution-co...

ENTRETIENS, CONFERENCES ET PHILOSOPHIE AUTOUR DE LA REVOLUTION CONSERVATRICE

Entretien avec Robert Steuckers sur la « révolution conservatrice » allemande dans la revue Le Harfang

Entretien avec Robert Steuckers sur Ernst Jünger, Armin Mohler et la « révolution conservatrice » pour la revue Philitt (Paris)

Entretien avec Robert Steuckers sur la "révolution conservatrice" pour l’hebdomadaire Rivarol

Ma découverte de la « révolution conservatrice ». Entretien avec Thierry Martin (Université Paris IV)

Conférence de Robert Steuckers sur la révolution conservatrice allemande à la tribune du « Cercle Non Conforme »

Bibliographie jüngerienne

Treize thèses et constats sur la « révolution conservatrice »

Retrouver un âge d’or ? Intervention au Colloque Erkenbrand, Rotterdam, octobre 2017

Conception de l’Homme et révolution conservatrice : Heidegger et son temps

Heidegger, la tradition, la révolution, la résistance et l’ « anarquisme »

Heidegger et la crise de l’Université allemande

La philosophie politique de Heidegger

La philosophie de l’argent et la philosophie de la Vie chez Georg Simmel (1858-1918)

Arnold Gehlen et l’anthropologie philosophique

Une critique de la modernité chez Peter Koslowski

REVOLUTION CONSERVATRICE ET GEOPOLITIQUE

Rudolf Kjellen (1864-1922)

L’œuvre géopolitique de Karl Haushofer

L’itinéraire d’un géopolitologue allemand : Karl Haushofer

Une thèse sur Haushofer

EN FRANCE, APRES LA REVOLUTION CONSERVATRICE

En souvenir de Jean Mabire

En souvenir de Dominique Venner

vendredi, 14 septembre 2018

Ernst Jüngers Entwurf von der „Herrschaft und Gestalt des Arbeiters“

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Ernst Jüngers Entwurf von

der „Herrschaft und Gestalt

des Arbeiters“

Philologischer

Versuch einer Annäherung

ISBN: 978-3-8260-5824-0
Autor: Dietka, Norbert
Year of publication: 2016
 
 
29,80 EUR

Pagenumbers: 226
Language: deutsch

Short description: Mit dieser „philologischen Annäherung“ an Ernst Jüngers Hauptwerk „Der Arbeiter. Herrschaft und Gestalt“ (1932) wird erstmalig der Versuch unternommen, den gesamten Text des äußerst umstrittenen Großessays von der Entstehung her, ergo bezugnehmend auf Jüngers „Politische Publizistik“ (1919-1933), zu beleuchten sowie die Programmschrift „Die totale Mobilmachung“ von 1930 und den Essays „Über den Schmerz“ von 1934 als integrative Bestandteile einzubeziehen. Dabei wird nicht unterschlagen, dass Jüngers gewichtiger Beitrag zur Zeitgeschichte bislang zahlreiche Exegesen hervorgerufen hat – eine diesbezügliche Werkübersicht ist angefügt. In erster Linie aber sollen der Text selbst und die zeitnahe Reaktionen auf diesen Text untersucht werden – keine ideologiekritische Bewertung ist intendiert, vielmehr wird hier eine sachliche, kontextuelle Analyse vorgelegt.

Der Autor Norbert Dietka studierte Germanistik und Geschichte an der Universität Dortmund und wurde dort mit einer Arbeit über die Jünger-Kritik (1945- 1985) 1987 promoviert. Dietka war bis 2013 im Schuldienst und versteht sich heute als freier Publizist. Der Autor hat mehrere Beiträge zur Jünger- Rezeption in der französisch-deutschen Publikationsreihe „Les Carnets“ der „Revue du Centre de Recherche et de Documentation Ernst Jünger“ (Rédacteurs en chef: Danièle Beltran-Vidal und Lutz Hagestedt) veröffentlicht und war zuletzt mit einem Aufsatz am Projekt „Ernst Jünger Handbuch“ des Verlages J. B. Metzler (hg. von Matthias Schöning) beteiligt.

Leopold Ziegler. Eine Schlüsselfigur im Umkreis des Denkens von Ernst und Friedrich Georg Jünger

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Leopold Ziegler.

Eine Schlüsselfigur im Umkreis

des Denkens von Ernst und

Friedrich Georg Jünger

 
ISBN: 978-3-8260-3935-5
Autor: Kölling Timo
Year of publication: 2008
Price: 26,00 euro
 

Pagenumbers: 172
Language: deutsch

Short description: Der große Einfluß, den das Werk des Philosophen Leopold Ziegler (1881-1958) auf das Denken der Brüder Ernst Jünger und Friedrich Georg Jünger ausgeübt hat, ist bislang nicht nur unterschätzt, sondern im Grunde überhaupt noch nicht zur Kenntnis genommen worden. Die vorliegende Studie, die zugleich als Einführung in Zieglers Werk gelesen werden kann, legt diesen Einfluß erstmals frei. Im Zentrum steht der Nachweis, daß Ernst Jüngers umstrittene und in vielerlei Hinsicht rätselhafte Konzeption des „Arbeiters“ als metaphysische „Gestalt“ sich in allen ihren wesentlichen Momenten auf Leopold Zieglers Buch „Gestaltwandel der Götter“ zurückführen läßt. Der entscheidende Grundgedanke Zieglers wird von Jünger aber in sein Gegenteil verkehrt: aus der philosophisch fruchtbaren Konzeption einer mystischen Teilhabe wird die theoretische Sackgasse einer magischen Identitätstheorie. Der Aufweis dieser Differenz erlaubt es, Zieglers Denken, das in seinem Kern der Versuch einer zeitgemäßen Erneuerung der Philosophia Perennis mit den Mitteln einer negativen Geschichtsphilosophie ist, gegen das Konstrukt der sogenannten „Konservativen Revolution“ abzugrenzen. Der Autor Timo Kölling lebt und arbeitet als freier Schriftsteller in Frankfurt am Main. Seit März 2007 Arbeitsstipendium der Leopold-Ziegler-Stiftung. http://www.leopold-ziegler-stiftung.de

leopold ziegler,révolution conservatrice,livre,tradition,traditionalisme,ernst jünger,friedrich-georg jünger,allemagne,philosophie

Leopold Ziegler,

Philosoph der letzten Dinge.

Eine Werkgeschichte 1901-1958.

Beiträge zum Werk, Bd. 4

ISBN: 978-3-8260-6111-0
Autor: Kölling, Timo
Band Nr: 4
Year of publication: 2016
 
 
58,00 EUR - excl.Shipping costs
Pagenumbers: 540
Language: deutsch

Short description: Leopold Ziegler (1881–1958) ist der Poet unter den deutschsprachigen Philosophen des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts. Seiner Philosophie eignet ein künstlerischer Zug, der ihren sachlichen Gehalt zugleich realisiert und verschließt, ausdrückt und verbirgt. Ziegler hat sein Anliegen in Anknüpfung an Jakob Böhme, Franz von Baader und F. W. J. Schelling als „theosophisches“ kenntlich gemacht und damit die Grenzen der akademischen Philosophie seiner Zeit weniger ausgelotet als ignoriert und überschritten. Timo Köllings im Auftrag der Leopold-Ziegler- Stiftung verfasstes Buch ist nicht nur das erste zu Ziegler, das nahezu alle veröffentlichten Texte des Philosophen in die Darstellung einbezieht, sondern auch eine philosophische Theorie von Zieglers Epoche und ein Traktat über die Wiederkehr eines eschatologischen Geschichtsbildes im 20. Jahrhundert.

Der Autor Timo Kölling ist Lyriker und Philosoph. Als Stipendiat der Leopold-Ziegler-Stiftung veröffentlichte er 2009 bei Königshausen & Neumann sein Buch „Leopold Ziegler. Eine Schlüsselfigur im Umkreis des Denkens von Ernst und Friedrich Georg Jünger“.

Die Ordnung der Dinge. Ernst Jüngers Autorschaft als transzendentale Sinnsuche

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Die Ordnung der Dinge.

Ernst Jüngers Autorschaft

als transzendentale Sinnsuche

 

ISBN: 978-3-8260-6533-0
Autor: Rubel, Alexander
Year of publication: 2018
 
 
29,80 EUR

Pagenumbers: 200
Language: deutsch

Short description: Die vorliegende Arbeit beschäftigt sich mit dem Gesamtwerk Ernst Jüngers aus einer ganz bestimmten Perspektive, die bislang noch nicht erforscht wurde: Ernst Jünger wird als Autor der Transzendenz gedeutet, dessen Werk in besonderem Maße von der religiös-transzendentalen Bewältigung der Kriegserfahrung im Ersten Weltkrieg bestimmt ist. Jüngers Werk ist vor diesem Hintergrund in seiner Gesamtheit als Manifest einer Sinnsuche zu interpretieren, mit welcher der Autor der eigenen Kontingenzerfahrung ein sinnvolles, religiös-metaphysisch grundiertes Ordnungssystem entgegenstellt. Jünger erscheint in dieser Deutung nicht als moderner Autor, etwa als Vertreter eines eigenständigen deutschen Surrealismus (in diesem Sinne deutete K-H. Bohrer Jüngers Frühwerk), sondern bleibt einer traditionellen Denkweise verhaftet, die das Grundproblem der Moderne ignoriert: Die Erfahrung der Kontingenz. Anders als die meisten Autoren der literarischen Moderne akzeptiert Jünger die Kontingenz des individuellen Lebens nicht, sondern insistiert auf einem Sinn des individuellen Lebens ebenso hartnäckig wie auf der Ordnung des Kosmos, die sich freilich nicht offenbart, sondern die es in der Welt der Erscheinungen mit subtilen Methoden erst aufzuspüren gilt.

Der Autor:
 
Alexander Rubel ist Inhaber einer Forschungsprofessur am Archäologischen Institut der Rumänischen Akademie in Jassy (Rumänien), dem er seit 2011 als Direktor vorsteht. Neben Arbeiten aus seinem engeren Fachgebiet publiziert er zu breiteren kultur- und literaturwissenschaftlichen Themen.

vendredi, 07 septembre 2018

Carl Schmitt fra “terra e mare” alla ricerca di un “nomos” per la Terra

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Carl Schmitt fra “terra e mare” alla ricerca di un “nomos” per la Terra

da Giovanni Balducci
Ex: http://www.barbadillo.it

Nella postfazione a Terra e mare di Carl Schmitt, dal titolo “Il potere degli elementi”, il grande quanto sfortunato filosofo e storico della filosofia Franco Volpi (scomparso prematuramente nel 2009 a soli 57 anni in un banale incidente in bici), facendo fede sul resoconto di un discepolo del grande giurista tedesco, ci presenta la suggestiva immagine di uno Schmitt che nel suo eremo di Plettenberg, in piena seconda guerra mondiale, si interroga circa le sorti del mondo e dell’Europa in particolare, sublimando la sua nostalgia e il proprio isolamento accostando la sua sorte a quella di eminenti predecessori o di mitiche figure di valenti outsider, fra cui Niccolò Machiavelli, che dopo aver insegnato al mondo gli arcana imperii ebbe a terminare i suoi giorni nel suo ritiro di San Casciano e il letterario Benito Cereno, il capitano “bianco”, uscito dalla penna di Herman Melville, ammutinato da schiavi “negri”.

Il grosso problema che a quel tempo ossessionava Schmitt era riuscire a dirimere il conflitto, da lui individuato, fra le due concezioni del mondo cattolica ed ebraica, che caratterizzava la civiltà occidentale. Schimitt, che stranamente – stando al racconto – ha appeso alla parete del suo studio un ritratto del politico ebreo Benjamin Disraeli, quando nelle case di ogni buon tedesco anni ’40 l’unico quadro a campeggiare era quello del Führer, non fa mistero di ritenere come interpretazione vincente la visione ebraica della storia, intesa come progresso dell’umanità verso un “futuro regno di pace”, o se si vuole, verso la “Nuova Gerusalemme”, lontana sì nel tempo, ma situata nell’aldiquà, e dunque ben più concreta di quell’ipotetico aldilà cui anelava la teologia cristiano-cattolica.

Per Schmitt, tuttavia, il cristianesimo può essere interpretato come una sorta di divulgazione “essoterica” fatta ai gentili della vera dottrina giudaica. In effetti, nella stessa interpretazione della Genesi, come espressa nello Zohar, suo commentario cabbalistico, si afferma che compito di ogni pio ebreo e di ogni uomo di retta volontà tra i gentili sarebbe quello di operare per la realizzazione del «tikkun» , la riparazione dell’anima umana (tikkun ha-nefesh) e di rimando del mondo (tikkun ha olàm), riportando la “presenza divina” (Shekhinah), o meglio sarebbe dire, rendendo la stessa presente, nel dominio degli uomini, riscattando in tal modo il peccato di Adamo, che osò separare sé stesso dalla Totalità universale e divina. Lo stesso Disraeli, del resto appare a Schimitt come «un iniziato, un saggio di Sion»: è quanto testualmente scrive nell’edizione di Terra e Mare del 1942; frase saggiamente espunta a guerra finita.

Un altro tema forte delle cogitazioni del grande giurista tedesco è la lotta tra le categorie giuridico-politiche di «Staat» (“Stato”), quella, per intenderci, dello stato “Leviatano” introdotta da Hobbes, e quella, verso cui Schmitt è più propenso, ritenendola superiore sia allo «Staat» di Hobbes sia all’ideologia völkisch che animava l’azione di Hitler e del nazionalsocialismo, di «Großraum» (“grande spazio terrestre”, o anche “ spazio imperiale”).

Questa variante era preferita da Schimitt alla stessa Lega delle Nazioni, incapace di dirimere le grandi questioni europee ed internazionali e di dare nuova legge e nuovo ordine al mondo, secondo il famoso concetto schmittiano di «nomos della terra». Essa inoltre si mostrava in tutta la sua debolezza al confronto con gli Stati Uniti d’America, che Schmitt vedeva come il vero nuovo “arbitro della terra”.

Egli, tuttavia, pur ammirando la dottrina Monroe, che secondo la sua visione delle cose aveva consentito agli Stati Uniti di assurgere al primato internazionale, costituendosi come un mix di indipendentismo e sovranità (isolazionismo?) e interventismo mirato in spazi extranazionali, riteneva che gli Stati Uniti, pur non essendo, a differenza dell’Inghilterra, un fattore di “dissolvimento”, non potevano rappresentare quella che per lui doveva essere la figura del katèchon, capace di frenare il processo dissolutivo dell’Ecumene occidentale, e per due gravi motivi: l’incapacità dimostrata nel recidere il cordone ombelicale dalla madrepatria britannica e al contempo l’ideologia accarezzata di un “nuovo secolo americano”.

Ecco che proprio questo farebbe declassare agli occhi di Schmitt gli Stati Uniti, da possibile katèchon, al ruolo addirittura di “ acceleratore involontario” della definitiva dissoluzione della società occidentale.

La concezione marittima del potere, come portata avanti dagli inglesi, per Schmitt, infatti, aveva avuto un ruolo determinante nella fine della concezione continentale, dunque terrestre, dello Ius publicum Europaeum e dell’ordine tradizionale del Vecchio continente, tendendo essa a radicalizzare i conflitti fino a promuovere l’ideologia di una “guerra totale” , che più non si limita al mero scontro fra eserciti belligeranti, ma porta alla “criminalizzazione” di interi popoli, e addirittura degli stati che commerciano o in qualche modo sono accusati di sostenere l’economia del nemico.

Schmitt paragona l’Inghilterra a una “nave” – a una “nave pirata” ad esser precisi – del resto, gran parte del suo impero è stato costruito grazie ad azioni che non tenevano in nessun conto alcuna legge e il Diritto delle genti. Veri e propri atti di pirateria di schiumatori e buccaneers, come quelli di Francis Drake, poi divenuto Sir, hanno rappresentato il suo quasi consueto modus operandi.

Era pressappoco quanto si stava già profilando sullo scenario di guerra cui Schmitt sta assistendo. Siamo per la precisione nell’anno di “grazia” 1942, quando, sbarcando in Irlanda, giunge in Europa il primo contingente militare statunitense, e la guerra dopo aver attraversato gli elementi terra e aria, si appresta ad interessare l’elemento acqua, facendosi poi addirittura sottomarina.

@barbadilloit

Di Giovanni Balducci

lundi, 03 septembre 2018

Monika Berchvok Speaks With Robert Steuckers

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Monika Berchvok Speaks With Robert Steuckers

Translation: https://institutenr.or
 
Following the publication of Pages celtiques by éditions du Lore and the trilogy Europa by éditions Bios of Lille, Monika Berchvok subjected the author of these works, Robert Steuckers, to a rapid fire volley of questions, showing that even the rebels of the young generation of the 2010s want to know the oldest roots of this silent revolt which is growing across all of Europe. Monika Berchvok previously interviewed Robert Steuckers during the publication of La Révolution conservatrice allemande by éditions du Lore in 2014.

Your career is extremely intellectually wealthy. What is the origin of your engagement? 

To speak of intellectual wealth is certainly exaggerated: I am above all a man of my generation, to whom they still taught the “basics”, which today, alas, have disappeared from academic curricula. I experienced my childhood and adolescence in a world that was still marked by quiet tradition, the mores and manners were not those of the industrial world or the service sector, where we increasingly separate from concrete and tangible reality, increasingly acquiring an unbounded pretension and arrogance against “provincials,” like me, who remain anchored in the muck of reality with their heavy boots (yes, yes, that’s from Heidegger…). My father, who really hadn’t been to school, except to the primary school in his Limburg village, wanted nothing to do with the fashions and crazes that agitated our contemporaries in the 1960s and 70s; “all fafouls,” he claimed, “fafoul” being a Brussels dialect term used to designate idiots and cranks. I lived in a home without television, far from and hostile to the mediocre little universe of the pop tune, variety show, and hippy or yéyé subculture. I still thank my progenitor, 25 years after his death, for having been able to totally resist the miserable abjection of all those years where decline advanced in giant steps. Without television, it goes without saying, I had a lot of time to read. Thanks Papa.

Next, I was a gifted student in primary school but fundamentally lazy and desperately curious, the only life saver, to avoid ending up a tramp or a prole, was learning languages to a competent level because, in Brussels, I lived on a street where they spoke the three national languages (and the dialectical variants), with the Russian of a few former White officers and their children who wound up in our fair city in addition. With this linguistic plurality, the task was already half done. Clément Gstadler, a neighbor, an old Alsatian teacher who had ended up in Belgium, told me, donning his ever present traditional hat of the Thann countryside and with a razor sharp Teutonic accent: “My boy, we are as many times men as languages we know.” Strengthened by this tirade hammered into me by Gstadler, I thus enrolled, at the age of eighteen, in Germanic philology and then in the school of translators – interpreters.

The origin of my engagement is the will to remain faithful to all these brave men that we consider anachronistic today. On their certitudes, under siege, we must erect a defensive structure, which we hope will become offensive one day, resting on principles diametrically opposed to the hysterics of the trendy people, to construct in our hearts an alternative, impregnable fortress, that we are determined never to give up.

How do you define your metapolitical combat? 

Dilthey, with whom the alternative minded of our type unfortunately aren’t familiar enough, partially constructed his philosophical system around one strong simple idea: “We only define what is dead, the things and facts whose time has definitively ended.” This fight is not over because I haven’t yet passed from life to death, doubtlessly in order to thwart those who my stubbornness displeases. It is evident, as a child of the 1950s and 60s, that my first years of life unfolded in an era where we wanted to throw everything away. It’s of course a gesture that I found stupid and unacceptable.

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Retrospectively, I can say that I felt, in my young mind, that religion left the scene as soon as it renounced Latin and the spirit of the crusader, very present in Belgium, even among peaceful, calm, authors, like a certain Marcel Lobet, totally forgotten today, doubtlessly because of the excessive moderation of his words, nevertheless ultimately invigorating for those who knew how to capture their deep meaning. The philosopher Marcel Decorte, in his time, noted that society was disintegrating and that it was collapsing into “dissociety,” a term that we find again today, even in certain left wing circles, to designate the present state of our countries, weakened by successive waves of “civilizational negationism,” such as the ideology of Mai 68, New Philosophy, neo-liberal pandemonium, or gender ideology, all “dissociative” phenomena, or vectors of “dissociation,” which today converge in the Macronist imposture, mixing together all these baneful delusions, seven decades after opening Pandora’s Box. Thus the metapolitical combat must be a combat that unceasingly exposes the perverse nature of these civilizational negationisms, continuously denouncing above all the outfits, generally based beyond the Atlantic, that fabricate them in order to weaken European societies to create a new humanity, totally formatted according to “dissociative” criteria, negators of reality as it is (and cannot be otherwise, as the relevant philosopher Clément Rosset remarked, who unfortunately passed away in recent weeks). To make a metaphor with the ancient world, I would say that a metapolitical combat, in our sense, consists of, as the European history expert of Radio Courtoisie Thomas Ferrier said, putting all these negationisms in Pandora’s Box, from which they sprang, then closing it.

You mention “bio-conservatism” in your recent works? What does this term cover? 

I didn’t mention “bio-conservatism.” My editor, Laurent Hocq of Editions Bios, believes that it’s a path we will need to explore, precisely in order to fight “civilizational negationisms,” notably all the elements that deny the corporeality of man, his innate phylogenetics, and his ontology. For me a well conceived bio-conservatism must go back to the implicit sociology that Louis de Bonald sketched in the 19th century, critiquing the individualist drift of the Enlightenment philosophers and the French Revolution. Romanticism, in its non-ethereal or tearful aspects, insists on the organicity, vitalist and biological, of human and social phenomena. We must couple these two philosophical veins – traditional conservative realism and organic Romanticism – and then connect them to the more recent and more scientifically established achievements of biocybernetics and systems theory, while avoiding falling into perverse social engineering as desired by the Tavistock Institute, whose cardinal role in the elaboration of all forms of brain washing that we’ve endured for more than sixty years was investigated by the “conspiracy theorist” Daniel Estulin, now living in Spain. The “Tavistockians” used biocybernetics and systems theory to impose a “depoliticized” culture across the Western world. Today these disciplines can be perfectly mobilized to “re-politicize” culture. Laurent Hocq wants to initiate this work of metapolitical mobilization with me. We will have to mobilize people competent in these domains to complete the task.

At the end of the road, rethinking “bio-conservatism” is nothing more or less than the will to restore a “holistic” society in the best sense of the term as quickly as possible, that is to say a society that defends itself and immunizes itself against the fatal hypertrophies leading us to ruin, to degradation: economic hypertrophy, juridical hypertrophy (the power of manipulative and sophist jurists), the hypertrophy of the services sector, hypertrophy of petty moralism detached from reality, etc.

Localism is also a theme that often reoccurs in your recent books. For you the return to the local has an identitarian dimension, as well as a social and ecological one? 

Localism or the “vernacular” dimensions of human societies that function harmoniously, according to timeless rhythms, are more necessary than ever at a time where a sagacious geographer such as Christophe Guilluy notes the decline of “France from below”, the marvelous little provincial towns that are dying before our eyes because they no longer offer a sufficient number of local jobs and because their light industry has been relocated and dispersed to the four corners of the planet.
Attention to localism is an urgent necessity in our time, in order to respond to a terrifying evil of neo-liberalism that has expanded since Thatcher’s accession to power in Great Britain and all the fatal policies that the imitators of this “Iron Lady” have seen fit to import into Europe and elsewhere in the world.

The refusal of the migratory “great replacement” happens through an understanding of immigration movements in the era of total globalization. How can the tendency of migratory flows be reversed? 

By not accepting them, quite simply. We are a stubborn phalanx and it is imperative that our stubbornness become contagious, taking on the appearance of a global pandemic.

Nevertheless, when you mention the fact that there must be an “understanding of migratory movements,” you indirectly underline the necessity of deeply understanding the contexts from which these migrants come. For half a century, and even longer since Mai 68 had antecedents in the two decades that preceded it, we have been fattened on junk culture, of inane varieties, which occupies our minds with time consuming spectacles and prevents them from concentrating on things as real as they are essential. A good state is a state that inquires about the forces at work in the world. Whether migratory flows are accepted or not, every host state, guided by a healthy vision of things, should draw up an economic, ethnic, and social cartography of the populations coming from the emigrants’ countries.

RS-MB-B-EE.jpgFor Africa, that means understanding the economic state of each migrant exporting country, the possible system of kleptocracy that reigns there, the ethnic components (and the conflicts and alliances that result from them), the history of each of these political or anthropological phenomena, etc. This knowledge must then be delivered by an honest press to the citizens of our countries, so that they can make judgments about credible pieces and not be forced to vote according to unremitting propaganda based on inconsistent slogans.

For Syria we should have known, before the waves of refugees spilled into Europe, the religious and tribal structures of the country in a very precise manner: actually, the media, generally uncultivated and dependent on the “junk culture” imposed on us for decades, discovered the Syrian divisions that had been ignored until now. Only a handful among us has a clear notion of who the Alawites or Yezidis are, knows that the Syrian Christian communities have complicated divisions, understands the tacit alliance that unites Alawites with Twelver Shiites, understands that the principal enemy of the Ba’athist political system is the Muslim Brotherhood, which fomented the terrible disorders of 1981-1982 that ravaged Syria in the time of Hafez al-Assad, father of the current president. In short, the general public knows nothing about the complexity of Syria. The only bone it has to gnaw is the slogan that decrees Assad is a horrible monster, fit to be eliminated by fundamentalist assassins or American bombs.

For Africa, the only means of reducing the waves of refugees, real or solely economic, would be to put an end to evidently very kleptocratic regimes, in order to fix the populations on their native soil by redirecting sums of money toward infrastructural investment. In certain more precise cases, that would also happen through a return to a subsistence agricultural economy and a partial and well regulated abandonment of monoculture which doesn’t properly nourish populations, especially those that have opted for rural exodus towards the cities and sprawling slums, like Nigeria for example.

For Syria, we should have established a filter to sort refugees but that would have, ipso facto, privileged Muslim or Christian communities allied to the regime, to the detriment of the hostile social classes, who are totally un-integrable into our European societies, because the Salafism that animates them is viscerally hostile to all forms of syncretism and all cultures that do not correspond to it 100%. Moreover, as a general rule, the reception of migratory flows coming from countries where there are dangerous mafias is not recommended even if these countries are European like Sicily, Kosovo, Albania, or certain Caucasian countries. All immigration should pass through a well established anthropological screening process and not be left to chance, at the mercy of the “invisible hand” like the one that all the liberals expect the world to be perfected by. Non-discernment in the face of migratory flows has transformed this constant of human history into a catastrophe with unpredictable repercussions in its current manifestations, as evidently these flows do not bring us a better society but create a deleterious climate of inter-ethnic conflict, unbridled criminality, and latent civil war.

Reversing the tendency of migratory flows will happen when we finally implement a program of triage for migrations, aiming for the return of criminals and mafiosos, the psychologically unbalanced (that they deliberately send here, the infrastructure capable of accommodating them being non-existent in their countries of origin), politicized elements that seek to import political conflicts foreign to us. Such a policy will be all the more difficult to translate into daily reality where the imported mass of migrants is too large. Then we cannot manage it in proper conditions.

JFTH.jpegYou knew Jean Thiriart. Does his political vision of a “Great Europe” still seem relevant? 

Jean Thiriart was firstly a neighbor for me, a man who lived in my neighborhood. I can note that behind the sturdy and gruff sexagenarian hid a tender heart but bruised to see humanity fall into ridicule, triviality, and cowardice. I didn’t know the activist Thiriart because I was only twelve when he abandoned his political combat at the end of the 1960s. This combat, which extended over a short decade starting from Belgium’s abandonment of the Congo and the tragic epilogue of the war in Algeria for the French, two years later. Thiriart was motivated by a well developed general idea: abolish the Yalta duopoly, which made Europe hemiplegic and powerless, and send back the Americans and Soviets in succession in order to allow the Europeans to develop independently. He belonged to a generation that had entered politics, very young, at the end of the 1930s (the emergence of Rexism, the Popular Front, the war in Spain, the Stalinist purges, Anschluss, the end of the Czechoslovakia born at Versailles), experienced the Second World War, the defeat of the Axis, the birth of the state of Israel, the coup in Prague, and the blockade in Berlin in 1948, the Korean War, and the end of Stalinism.

Two events certainly contributed to steer them towards an independentist European nationalism, different in sentiment from the European nationalism professed by the ideologues of the Axis: the Hungarian Revolt of 1956 and the Suez campaign, the same year, the year of my birth in January. The West, subjugated by Washington, did nothing to aid the unfortunate Hungarians. Worse, during the Suez affair, the Americans and the Soviets forced the French and British to unconditionally withdraw from the Egyptian theater of operations. Thiriart, and a good number of his companions, temporary or not, observed that the duopoly had no desire to dissolve itself or even to fight each other, to modify one way or the other the line of the Iron Curtain that cut Europe across its center, to tolerate any geopolitical affirmation on the part of European powers (even if they were members of the UN Security Council like France and the United Kingdom). The decolonization of the Congo also demonstrated that the United States was unwilling to support the Belgian presence in central Africa, despite the fact that Congolese uranium underpinned the nuclear supremacy of Washington since the atom bombs fabricated in order to bring Japan to its knees in 1945. A little history, Hergé’s brother was the only Belgian military officer not to chicken out and he showed an arrogant hostility to the NATO troops who came to take control of his Congolese base.

One thing leading to another, Thiriart would create the famous movement “Jeune Europe” that would inject many innovations into the discourse of the activist milieu and contest the established order of what one could classify as the extreme-right in its conventional forms, petty nationalists or Poujadists. The “habitus” of the extreme-right did not please Thiriart at all, who judged them unproductive and pathological. A reader of the great classics of the realist politics, especially Machiavelli and Pareto, he wanted to create a small hyper-politicized phalanx, rationally proceeding from truly political criteria and not thin emotions, creating only behavioral indiscipline. This political hyper-realism implied thinking in terms of geopolitics, having a knowledge of the general geography of the planet. This wish was realized in Italy alone, where the magazine Eurasia of his disciple and admirer Claudio Mutti has done remarkably well and has attained a very elevated degree of scientific precision.

To bypass the impediment of Yalta, Thiriart believed that we needed seek allies across the Mediterranean and in the East of the vast Soviet territorial mass: thus the attempt to dialogue with the Nasserist Arab nationalists and the Chinese of Chou Enlai. The Arab attempt rested on a precise Mediterranean vision, not understood by the Belgian militants and very well comprehended, on the contrary, by his Italian disciples: according to Thiriart this internal sea must be freed from all foreign tutelage. He reproached the various forms of nationalism in Belgium for not understanding the Mediterranean stakes, these forms turned more towards Germany or the Netherlands, England or the Scandinavian countries, an obligatory “Nordic” tropism. His reasoning about the Mediterranean resembled that of Victor Barthélémy, an adviser of Doriot and also a former communist, a reasoning shared by Mussolini as mentioned in his memoirs. Thiriart very probably derived his vision of Mediterranean geopolitics from a feeling of bitterness following the eviction of England and France from the Mediterranean space after the Suez affair in 1956 and the war in Algeria.

According to Thiriart, the Europeans shared a common Mediterranean destiny with the Arabs that could not be obliterated by the Americans and their Zionist pawns. Even if the French, the English, and the Italians had been chased from the Arabophone North African shore, the new independent Arab states could not renounce this Mediterranean destiny they shared with non-Muslim Europeans, massed on the Northern shore. For Thiriart, the waters of the Great Blue sea unite, not separate. From this fact, we must favor a policy of convergence between the two civilizational spaces, for the defense of the Mediterranean against the element foreign to this space, interfering there, constituted by the American fleet commanded from Naples.

The idea of allying with the Chinese against the Soviet Union aimed to force the Soviet Union to let go of its ballast in Europe in order to confront the Chinese masses on the Amur River front. The dual project of wagering on the Nasserist Arabs and the Chinese marked the last years of Thiriart’s political activity. The 1970s were, for him, years of silence or rather years where he immersed himself in the defense of his professional niche, namely optometry. When he returned to the fight at the start of the 1980s, he was nearly forgotten by the youngest and eclipsed by other political and metapolitical lines of thought; moreover the given facts had considerably changed: the Americans had allied with the Chinese in 1972 and, since then, the latter no longer constituted an ally. Like others, in their own corners and independently of each other, such as Guido Giannettini and Jean Parvulesco, he elaborated a Euro-Soviet or Euro-Russian project that the Yeltsin regime didn’t allow to come to fruition. In 1992 he visited Moscow, met Alexander Dugin and the “red-browns,” but unexpectedly died in November of the same year.

thiriartQSJ-YS.jpgWhat we must retain from Thiriart is the idea of a cadre school formed on principles derived from pure political philosophy and geopolitics. We must also retain the idea of Europe as a singular geostrategic and military space. It’s the lesson of the Second World War: Westphalia defended itself on the beaches of Normandy, Bavaria on the Côte d’Azur and along the Rhône, Berlin at Kursk. Engines allowed for the considerable narrowing of the strategic space just as they allowed for the Blitzkrieg of 1940: with horse-drawn carts, no army could take Paris from Lorraine or Brabant. The failures of Philip II after the battle of Saint-Quentin prove it, Götz von Berlichingen never went past Saint-Dizier, the Prussians and Austrians never went past Valmy, and the armies of the Kaiser were stopped on the Marne. One exception: the entrance of the allies into Paris after the defeat of Napoleon at Leipzig. The United States is henceforth the sole superpower, even if the development of new arms and imperial hypertrophy, that it imposed on itself through unthinking immoderation, slowly break down this colossal military power, recently defied by the new capabilities of Russian or perhaps Chinese missiles. European independence happens through a sort of vast front of refusal, through the participation of synergies outside of what Washington desires, as Armin Mohler also wanted. This refusal will slowly but surely erode the supremacist policy of the Americans and finally make the world “multipolar.” As Thiriart, but also Armin Mohler, doubtlessly wanted, and, following them, Alexander Dugin, Leonid Savin, and yours truly want, multipolarity is the objective to aim for.

Three German author seem to have left their mark on you particularly: Ernst Jünger, Carl Schmitt and Günter Maschke. What do you retain from their thought?

Actually, you ask me to write a book… I admire the political writings of the young Jünger, composed in the middle of the turmoil of the 1920s just as I also admire his travel narratives, his seemingly banal observations which have made some Jüngerians, exegetes of his work, say that he was an “Augenmensch,” literally a “man of the eyes,” a man who surveys the world of nature and forms (cultural, architectural) through his gaze, through a penetrating gaze that reaches far beyond the surface of apparent things and perceives the rules and the rhythms of their internal nature.

Very soon I will release a voluminous but certainly not exhaustive work on Carl Schmitt. Here I want to remind people that Carl Schmitt wrote his first relevant texts at the age of sixteen and laid down his last fundamental text onto paper at 91. So we have a massive body of work that extends over three quarters of a century. Carl Schmitt is the theorist of many things but we essentially retain from him the idea of decision and the idea of the “great space.” My work, published by éditions du Lore, will show the Schmitt’s relation to Spain, the very particular nature of his Roman Catholicism in the context of debates that animated German Catholicism, his stance in favor of Land against Sea, etc.

Speaking about Günter Maschke interests me more in the framework of the present interview. I met Günter Maschke at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 1984, then during a small colloquium organized in Cologne by high schoolers and students under the banner of the Gesamtdeutscher Studentenverband, an association that intended to oversee the student organizations which, at the time, were working towards the reunification of the country. Maschke was a thundering and petulant former leader of the activist years of 1967 and 1968 in Vienna, from which he would be expelled for street violence. In order to escape prison in West Germany, because he was a deserter, he successfully defected, via the French collective, “Socialisme ou Barbarie,” first to Paris, then Cuba. He then settled in the insular Castroist Carribean republic and met Castro there, who gave him a tour of the island in order to show him “his” sugar cane fields and all “his” agricultural property. Maschke, who can’t hold his tongue, retorted to him, “But you are the greatest latifundist in Latin America!” Vexed, the supreme leader didn’t renew his right of asylum and Maschke found himself back at the beginning, that is to say in a West German prison for thirteen months, the span of the military service he refused, as demanded by the law. In prison, he discovered Carl Schmitt and his Spanish disciple Donoso Cortès, and in the cramped space of his cell, he found his road to Damascus.

Many activists from 67-68 in Germany henceforth turned their backs on the ideologies they professed or utilized (without really believing in them too much) in their youth years: Rudi Dutschke was basically a anti-American Lutheran nationalist; his brothers gave interviews to the Berlin new conservative magazine Junge Freiheit and not usual leftist press, which repeats the slogans of yesterday without realizing that it has fallen into anachronism and ridicule; Frank Böckelmann, who was presented to me by Maschke during a Book Fair, came from German Situationism and never hesitated to castigate his former comrades whose anti-patriotism, he said, was the mark of a “craving for limits,” of a will to limit themselves and mutilate themselves politically, to practice ethno-masochism. Klaus Rainer Röhl, a nonagenarian today, was the spouse of Ulrike Meinhof, who sunk into terrorism with Baader. Röhl too became closer to the nationalists while the articles of Ulrike Meinhof in her magazine konkret would trigger the first fights in Berline during the arrival of the Shah of Iran.

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Uli Edel’s film devoted to the “Baader Meinhof Gang” (2008) also shows the gradual slide of the terrorist “complex” in West Germany, which arose from an idealistic and unreasoning, uninhibited, and hysteric anti-imperialism, but often correct in some of its analyses, to pass into an even more radical terrorism but ultimately in the service of American imperialism: in his film, Edel shows the stakes very clearly, notably when Baader, already arrested and sentenced, speaks with the chief of police services and explains to him that the second generation of terrorists no longer obeys the same guidelines, especially not his. The second generation of terrorists, while Meinhof, Baader and Ensslin (Maschke’s sister in law!) were imprisoned and had not yet committed suicide, assassinated statesmen or economic decision makers who correctly wanted to pursue policies in contradiction with the desires of the United States and free West Germany from the cumbersome tutelage that Washington imposed on it. This shift also explains the attitude taken by Horst Mahler, Baader’s lawyer and partisan in armed struggle in his time. He would also pass to nationalism when he was released from prison, a nationalism strongly tinted with Lutheranism, and he would return to prison for “revisionism.” The last I heard, he was still languishing there.

At the start of the 1980s, Maschke was an editor in Cologne and notably published the works of Carl Schmitt (Land and Sea), Mircea Eliade, Pierre Drieu la Rochelle, Agnès Heller, and Régis Debray. Every year, in October when the famous Frankfurt Book Fair took place, Maschke, who thought I had the countenance of an imperturbable young reactionary, had Sigi, his unforgettable spouse who left us much too soon, set up a cot in the middle of his prestigious office, where the most beautiful flowers of his library were found. So every year, from 1985 to 2003, I frequented the “Maschke Salon,” where personalities as prestigious as the Catholic and conservative writer Martin Mosebach or the Greek political philosopher Panajotis Kondylis, the ex-Situationist Franck Böckelmann,or the Swiss polemicist Jean-Jacques Langendorf dropped by. These soirees were, I must admit, pretty boozy; we sang and performed poems (Maschke likes those by Gottfried Benn), the fun was de rigeur and the ears of a good number of fools and pretentious people must have rung as they were lampooned. I inherited a frank manner of talking from Maschke, who often reproached me, and he helped consolidate my mocking Bruxellois verve, which I owe to my uncle Joseph, my mother’s very sarcastic brother.

I can’t finish this segment without recalling the fortuitous meeting between Maschke and Joschka Fischer, the year where the latter had become a minister in the Land of Hesse, the first step that would lead him to become the German minister of foreign affairs who made his country participate in the war against Serbia. Fischer strolled down the long hallways of the Book Fair. Maschke came up to him and patted his stomach, very plump, saying to everyone: “Well, comrade Fischer, fattening up to become minister.” Next followed a torrent of acerbic words poured out on the little Fischer who looked at his sneakers (his trademark at the time, in order to look “cool”) and stammered apologies that he wasn’t. Scolding him as if he was only a dirty brat, Maschke proved to him that his Schmittian neo-nationalism was in accord with the anti-imperialist tendencies of the 1967-68 years, while Fischer’s alignment was a shameful treason. The future would give him ample justification: Fischer, former violent Krawallo (hooligan) of Hessian leftism, became a vile servant of capitalist and American imperialism: the dithyrambic phrases that he pronounced these last weeks praising Chancellor Merkel only accentuate this bitter feeling of betrayal. These remarks are evidently valid for Daniel Cohn-Bendit, today a war monger on sale to Washington. Jean-François Kahn, in an interview very recently accorded to Revue des deux mondes, spoke of him as a former sixty-eighter turned neocon in the style of the East Side Trotskyites.

In his quest after his return from Cuba and his stay in a dreary Bavarian prison, Maschke, unlike Mahler or Dutschke’s family for example, evolved, with Schmitt and Donoso, towards a Baroque and joyous Catholicism, strongly tinted with Hispanicism and rejected the uptight, Protestant, and neo-Anabaptist violence that so clearly marked the German extra-parliamentary revolutionaries of the sixties. For him as for the director Edel, the Ensslin sisters, for example, were excessively marked by the rigorous and hyper-moralist education inherent to their Protestant familial milieu, which seemed insupportable after his stay in Cuba and his journeys to Spain. Also because Gudrun Ensslin fell into a morbid taste for an unbridled and promiscuous sexuality, resulting from a rejection of Protestant Puritanism as Edel’s film highlights. The Maschkian critique of the anti-Christianity of the (French) New Right is summarized by a few choice words, as is his habit: thus he repeats, “they are guys who read Nietzsche and Asterix simultaneously and then fabricated a system from this mixture.” For him, the anti-Christianity of Nietzsche was a hostility to the rigors of the Protestantism of the family of Prussian pastors from which the philosopher of Sils-Maria came, a mental attitude that is impossible to transpose in France, whose tradition is Catholic, Maschke doesn’t take the Jansenist tradition into account. These anecdotes show that any political attitude must fall back into a kind of Aristotlean realism.

RS-MB-GB-PC.jpgYou return to the contribution of the Celtic world to our continental civilization in your book “Pages celtiques.” What do we retain from the “Gaulish” in our European identity? You return to the Irish and the Scottish nationalist movement at length. What lessons should we draw from their long struggles? 

In “Pages celtiques”, I wanted, essentially, to underline three things: firstly, the disappearance of all Celtic cultural and linguistic references is the result of the Romanization of the Gauls; this Romanization was apparently rapid within the elites but slower in the spheres of popular culture, where they resisted for five or six centuries. The vernacular culture retained the Celtic language until the arrival of the Germans, the Franks, who took over from the Romans. We can affirm that the popular religiosity retained the religiosity of “eternal peasants” (Mircea Eliade) and it remained more or less the religion whose rituals were practiced by the Celts. This religiosity of the soil remained intact under the Christian veneer, only the religion of the elites from the start. The dei loci, the gods of places, simply became saints or Madonnas, nestled in the trunks of oaks or placed at crossroads or near springs. The “de-Celticization,” the eradication of the religion of “eternal peasants,” occurred under the blows of modernity, with the generalization of television and … with Vatican II. What the French still have from the “Gaulish”, was put to sleep: it’s a fallow field awaiting a reawakening. Our essence, in Belgium, was deeply Germanized and Romanized, in the sense where the Eburons, the Aduatuques, and the Treviri were already partially Germanized in the time of Caesar or later when the Ingvaeonic Germanic tribes settled in the valley of the Meuse served Rome and rapidly Latinized.

Secondly the Celtic contribution is equally Christian in the sense where, at the end of the Merovingian era and at the start of the Pippinic / Carolingian era, Christian missions were not only guided by Rome, they were also Irish – Scottish with Saint Columban, who settled in Luxeuil-les-Bains, the formerly Gaulish, then Roman, thermal baths site. Lorraine, Alsace, Franche-Comté, Switzerland, Wurtemberg, Bavaria, Tyrol, and a part of Northern Italy received the Christian message not from the apostles who came from the Levant or missionaries mandated by Rome but from Irish – Scottish monks and ascetics who proclaimed a Christianity closer to the natural religiosity of the indigenous peoples, with some pantheist dimensions, while advocating the large scale copying of ancient, Greek and Latin manuscripts. The Christian, Celtic, and Greco-Latin syncretism that they offered us remains the foundation of our European culture and any attempt to remove or eradicate one of these elements would be a useless, even perverse, mutilation, that would deeply unbalance the foundations of our societies. The smug and foolish moralism, proper to the recent history of the Church and its desire to “third worldize,” also ruined all the seduction that the religion could exercise on the popular masses. Failing to take the vernacular (Celtic or otherwise) into account and ceasing to defend the heritage of the classical humanities (with the political philosophy of Aristotle) at any price has separated the masses from the intellectual and political elites of the Church. The parishes have lost their flocks: actually, what did they have to gain from hearing the moralizing sermons without depth repeated ad nauseum that the Church henceforth offers to them.

Thirdly, in the 18th century, the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh Enlightenment philosophers were certainly hostile to absolutism, calling for new forms of democracy, demanding popular participation in public affairs and calling for a respect of vernacular cultures by the elite. The enlightenment republicanism of the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh hostile to the English monarchy which subjected the Celtic peoples and Scottish people (a mixture of Celts, Norwegians, and free Anglo Saxons) to a veritable process of colonization, particularly cruel, but this hostility was accompanied by a very pious devotion to the cultural productions of the common people. In Ireland, this republicanism was not hostile to the homegrown and anti-establishment Catholicism of the Irish nor to the multiple remnants of pantheist paganism that was naturally and syncretically harbored in this Irish Catholicism. The representatives of this religiosity were not treated as “fanatics,” “superstitious,” or “brigands” by the Republican elites. They would not be vilified nor dragged to the guillotine or gallows.

The Celtic Enlightenment philosophers of the British Isles did not deny rootedness. On the contrary, they exalted it. Brittany, non-republican, was the victim, like the entire West, of a ferocious repression by the “infernal columns.” It largely adhered to the ancien régime, cultivating nostalgia, also because it had, in the era of the ancien régime, a “Parliament of Brittany,” that functioned in an optimal manner. The uncle of Charles De Gaulle, “Charles De Gaulle No. 1”, would be the head of a Celtic renaissance in Brittany in the 19th century, in the framework of a monarchist ideology. In the same era, the Irish independence activists struggled to obtain “Home Rule” (administrative autonomy). Among them, at the end of the 19th century, was Padraig Pearse, who created a mystic nationalism, combining anti-English Catholicism and Celtic mythology. He would pay for his unwavering commitment with his life: he would be shot following the Easter Rising of 1916. Likewise, the union leader James Connolly mixed syndicalist Marxism and the liberatory elements of Irish mythology. He would share the tragic fate of Pearse.

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The leaders of the Irish independence movement offer to political observers of all stripes an original cocktail of nationalist labor unionism, mystic Celticism, and social Catholicism, where the ideology of human rights would be mobilized against the British not in an individualist sense, featuring, for reference, a man detached from any social bond with the past, thus a man who is modeled as a “nameless apostasy from reality.” On the contrary, from the start Irish Republican ideology reasons according a vision of man that fits into into a cultural, social, and bio-ethnic whole. All that must also be the object of legal protection with a corollary that any attack, anywhere in the world, on one of these ethnic-social-cultural ensembles is an attack on a fundamental human right, the right to belong to a culture. So the rights of man, for the Irish, are inseparable from the cultures that animate and feed human societies.

After the Second World War, the Welsh would take up the cause of the Bretons pursued by the Republic, which would be condemned by the International Court of Human Rights for crimes against Breton culture: this fact is quite evidently forgotten, because it was knowingly hidden. Today, notably following the peremptory tirades of the “nouveaux philosophes,” whose path begins around 1978 and continues today, forty years later (!), with the hysterical fulminations of Bernard-Henri Lévy, the Republic sees itself as the defender par excellence of human rights: it is henceforth piquant and amusing to recall that it was condemned on a charge brought by the Welsh and Irish for crimes against a vernacular culture of the Hexagon, and consequently any politically act that ultimately infringes the rights of a people’s culture, or denies it the mere right to exist and propagate, is equally a crime liable for an equivalent sentence. So there exist other possible interpretations and applications of human rights than those that automatically treat anyone who claims an identity rooted in physical belonging as backwards or potentially fascist. Thus human rights are perfectly compatible with the right to live in a rooted, specific, and inalienable culture that ultimately has a sacred value, on soil it has literally turned for centuries. Hervé Juvin, through an original and politically relevant interpretation of the ethnological and anthropological works of Claude Lévi-Strauss and Robert Jaulin, is the one who has shown us the way to follow today in order to leave behind this deleterious atmosphere, where we are called to swear an inextinguishable hatred towards what we are deep within ourselves, to rob ourselves of what’s deep in our hearts in order to wallow in the nihilism of consumerism and political correctness.

I partially owe this Celticism,both revolutionary and identitarian, to the German activist, sociologist, and ethnologist Henning Eichberg, theorist and defender of identities everyone in the world, who expressed an analogous Celticism in a militant and programmatic work, published at the start of the 1980s, at the same time Olier Mordrel published his “Mythe de l’Hexagone.” Elsewhere, my friend Siegfried Bublies would give the title Wir Selbst to his non-conformist, national-revolutionary magazine, the German translation of the Gaelic Sinn Fein (“We Ourselves”). Bublies was the editor of Eichberg’s polemical and political texts, who passed away, alas too soon, in April 2017.

In “Pages celtiques”, I also pay homage to Olier Mordrel, the Breton combatant, and define the notion of carnal fatherland, while castigating the ideologies that want to eradicate or criminalize it.

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You’ve restarted Trans-European activities. How do you the judge the evolution of “identitarian”forces in Europe? 

No, I’ve restarted nothing at all. I’m too old. We must leave it to the youth, who are doing very well according to the criteria and divides inherent to their generation, according to modes of communication that I haven’t mastered as well as they have, such as social networks, videos on YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, or others. The institutions challenging the ambient mismanagement are multiplying at a good pace because we are experiencing a consolidated conservative revolution in relation to what it was, lying fallow, twenty or thirty years ago. It’s true that the dominant powers have not kept their promises: from the Thirty Glorious Years, we’ve passed to the Thirty Piteous Year, according to the Swiss writer Alexandre Junod, who I knew as a child and has grown up so much … And he is still optimistic, this boy: if he wrote a book, he would have to mention the “Thirty Shitty Years.” As we’ve fallen very very low. It’s really the Kali Yuga, as the traditionalists who like to mediate on Hindu or Vedic texts say. I modestly put myself in the service of new initiatives. The identitarian forces today are diverse but the common denominators between these initiatives are multiplying, quite happily. We must work for convergences and synergies (as I’ve always said…). My editor Laurent Hocq has limited himself to announcing three international colloquiums in order to promote our books in Lille, Paris, and Rome. That’s all. For my part, I will limit myself to advise initiatives like the “Synergies européennes” summer universities, even if they are very theoretical, as they allow me to encounter and adapt fruitful strategies for the years to come.

Source: http://euro-synergies.hautetfort.com/archive/2018/05/08/m...

vendredi, 03 août 2018

Ruimterevolutie: Hoe de walvisjacht ons wereldbeeld veranderde

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Ruimterevolutie: Hoe de walvisjacht ons wereldbeeld veranderde

door Erwin Wolff

Ex: http://www.novini.nl

Het boek Land en zee van de Duitse rechtsfilosoof Carl Schmitt is een opvallende afwijking van zijn gebruikelijke discours. In zijn andere werken schrijft hij vooral over recht, politiek en direct aanverwante zaken. Een voorbeeld is het boek Die geistesgeschichtliche Lage des heutigen Parlamentarismus waarin Schmitt in 1923 de parlementaire democratie van de Weimarrepubliek bekritiseert. Bekender is het werk Der Begriff des Politischen waarin hij de politiek tot wij-zij tegenstellingen herleidt. In Land en zee gaat hij echter op heel andere zaken in.

Wat is de aarde eigenlijk en hoe komt het dat we de aarde zien zoals wij die zien? Hoe komt het dat wij anno 2018 de aarde zien als een groen-blauwe bol in een oneindige ruimte? Hoe kan dat zo verschillen van het wereldbeeld van andere volkeren? Volgens Carl Schmitt ligt hier een zogenoemde “ruimterevolutie” aan ten grondslag en die heeft alles te maken met de manier waarop onze voorouders naar hun wereld keken.

CSlandenzee.jpgDe eersten die de omslag maken zijn de oude Grieken in de klassieke Oudheid. Griekenland bestaat uit vele stadstaten, maar de zeemacht Athene en de landmacht Sparta steken in deze Griekse wereld boven allen uit. Het denken van de Grieken veranderde van een volk dat zich enkel met landbouw bezighield naar een zeemacht, omdat het op een gegeven moment het gehele oostelijke deel van de Middellandse zee ging beheersen. De Grieken waren opgesloten in deze context en ze misten de mankracht om hieruit te breken.

Pas toen het Romeinse Rijk uitdijde naar het tegenwoordige Frankrijk en dus naar de Atlantische oceaan, wist de klassieke Oudheid uit deze kooi te breken in de eerste eeuw van onze jaartelling. Maar toen was het eigenlijk al gedaan. Het Romeinse Rijk stortte zichzelf daarna in chaos en er was onder Romeinse leiding geen paradigmaverschuiving.

In de middeleeuwen was heel Europa, van het noorden tot het hele zuiden, opgemaakt uit verschillende agrarische staten. Aan de randen van deze boerenstaten werd er visserij bedreven. Met de Bijbel in de hand werden de Germaanse volkeren van noord tot zuid bekeerd tot het Christendom. De ruimte op de aarde is wat de Middeleeuwers betreft een heleboel land en een heleboel agrarische producten op dat land. Tot het einde van de middeleeuwen is er geen echte verandering in deze zienswijze.

In het Oude Testament is er een mythisch zeedier te vinden, de leviathan (Job, hoofdstuk 40 en 41), en leviathan gaat een grote rol spelen in de omslag van het besef van ruimte van de Germaanse volkeren in Europa. De leviathan, meestal afgebeeld als walvis, lokt de vissers van Europa de zee op omdat deze vis zich niet laat vangen aan de kust. Zonder de walvisjacht zouden de Europese vissers in een smalle strook van de kust zijn gebleven. Het besef van de ruimte op aarde verandert onder druk van de walvisjacht razendsnel. Carl Schmitt beschrijft dit fenomeen als een “ruimterevolutie”. De ruimte waarin men denkt te leven verandert van landmassa naar land- en zeemassa.


Ook de middelen om zich op de zee te begeven veranderen. De galei van de Klassieke wereld worden afgedaan en schepen die de wind opvangen met zeilen doen hun intrede. Men kan veel verder en veel sneller zich op zee begeven. Er wordt een nieuw continent ontdekt en daarmee nieuwe handel, nieuwe regels, nieuwe innovaties. Ongeveer tussen de jaren 1490 en 1600 vinden deze veranderingen plaats. Het besef van de ruimte waarin men denkt te leven verandert en de middeleeuwse ordening der dingen komt definitief ten einde. Hulpeloos rolt de Europese beschaving een nieuw tijdperk binnen.

Het begin is nog wat onhandig. Er gebeurt ook iets geks met Engeland. Vooral Engeland is in de middeleeuwen ook een boerenstaat die zich voornamelijk bezighoudt met schapen, textiel en Frankrijk proberen te veroveren. Het protestantse Engeland draait zijn rug naar het continent Europa en richt zich op de zee. Met zo’n succes zelfs dat het de katholieke landen Spanje en Portugal inhaalt. De heerschappij van de zee is van niemand of iedereen. Maar eigenlijk vooral van één land: Engeland. Dit Germaanse volk beheerst in de negentiende eeuw de zee, de zeehandel en daarmee de wereld. Zozeer zelfs dat Engeland zichzelf niet meer als Europese macht ziet.

We belanden aan in de 20e eeuw en dan vindt een tweede ruimterevolutie plaats. Het oudtestamentische monster, Leviathan, is niet meer zozeer een vis, maar een ijzeren monster in de vorm van een modern slagschip. De overgang van stoomboot naar modern slagschip is niet kleiner dan de overgang van galei naar zeilschip, verklaart Carl Schmitt. Duitsland en enkele andere landen zijn industriële machten geworden en kunnen net zo produceren als Engeland. Hiermee komt de onbetwiste heerschappij over de zee door Engeland ten einde.

Land en Zee is een bijna dichterlijke beschrijving van deze gigantische veranderingen. Het zijn mooie woorden die laten zien hoe het komt dat de Europese beschaving andere volkeren ontdekte en dat het niet die andere volkeren zijn geweest die ons ontdekt hebben.

mercredi, 01 août 2018

The Historical Background of Oswald Spengler’s Philosophy of Science

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Between the Heroic & the Immeasurable:
The Historical Background of Oswald Spengler’s Philosophy of Science

Oswald Spengler’s writings on the subject of the philosophy of science are very controversial, not only among his detractors but even for his admirers. What is little understood is that his views on these matters did not exist in a vacuum. Rather, Spengler’s arguments on the sciences articulate a long German tradition of rejecting English science, a tradition that originated in the eighteenth century.

Luke Hodgkin notes:

It is today regarded as a matter of historical fact that Isaac Newton and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz both independently conceived and developed the system of mathematical algorithms known collectively by the name of calculus. But this has not always been the prevalent point of view. During the eighteenth century, and much of the nineteenth, Leibniz was viewed by British mathematicians as a devious plagiarist who had not just stolen crucial ideas from Newton, but had also tried to claim the credit for the invention of the subject itself.[1] [2]

This wrongheaded view stems from Newton’s own catty libel of Leibniz on these matters. During this time, the beginning of the eighteenth century, Leibniz’s native Prussia had not yet become a serious power through the wars of Frederick the Great. Leibniz, together with Frederick the Great’s grandfather, founded the Royal Prussian Academy of Sciences. Newton’s slanderous account of Leibniz’s achievements would never be forgiven by the Germans, to whom Newton remained a bête noire as long as Germany remained a proud nation.

In the context of inquiring into the matter of how such a pessimist as Spengler could admire so notorious an optimist as Leibniz, two foreign members of the Prussian Academy of Sciences merit attention. The thought of French scientist and philosopher Pierre Louis Moreau de Maupertuis, an exponent and defender of Leibnizian ideas, was in many ways a precursor to modern biology. Maupertuis wrote under the patronage of Frederick the Great, about a generation after Leibniz. Compared to other eighteenth-century philosophies, Maupertuis’ worldview, like modern biology and unlike most Enlightenment thought, presents nature as rather “red in tooth and claw.”

An earlier foreign member of the Prussian Academy of Sciences, a contemporary and correspondent of Leibniz, Moldavian Prince (and eccentric pretender to descent from Tamerlane) Dimitrie Cantemir, left two cultural legacies to Western history. Initially an Ottoman vassal, he gave traditional Turkish music its first system of notation, ushering in the classical era of Turkish music that would later influence Mozart. Later – after he had turned against the Ottoman Porte in an alliance with Petrine Russia, but was driven out of power and into exile due to his abysmal battlefield leadership – he wrote much about history. Most impactful in the West was a two-volume book that would be translated into English in 1734 as The History of the Growth and Decay of the Othman Empire. Voltaire and Gibbon later read Cantemir’s work, as did Victor Hugo.[2] [3]

Notes one biographer, “Cantemir’s philosophy of history is empiric and mechanistic. The destiny in history of empires is viewed . . . through cycles similar to the natural stages of birth, growth, decline, and death.”[3] [4] Long before Nietzsche popularized the argument, Cantemir proposed that high cultures are initially founded by barbarians, and also that a civilization’s level of high culture has nothing to do with its political success.[4] [5] Thus was the Leibnizian intellectual legacy mixed with pessimism even in Leibniz’s own lifetime.

OswSP-MTech.jpegIt was most likely in the context of this scientific tradition and its enemies that Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, generally recognized as Germany’s greatest poet (or one of them, at any rate), later authored attacks on Newton’s ideas, such as Theory of Colors. Goethe, an early pioneer in biology and the life sciences, loathed the notion that there is anything universally axiomatic about the mathematical sciences. Goethe had one major predecessor in this, the Anglo-Irish philosopher and Anglican bishop George Berkeley. Like Berkeley, Goethe argued that Newtonian abstractions contradict empirical understandings. Both Berkeley and Goethe, though for different reasons, took issue with the common (or at least, commonly Anglo-Saxon) wisdom that “mathematics is a universal language.”

By the early modern age of European history, when Goethe’s Faust takes place, cabalistic doctrines, notes Carl Schmitt, “became known outside Jewry, as can be gathered from Luther’s Table Talks, Bodin’s Demonomanie, Reland’s Analects, and Eisenmenger’s Entdecktes Judenthum.”[5] [6] This phenomenon can be traced to the indispensable influence of the very inventors of cabalism, collectively speaking, on the West’s transition from feudalism to modern capitalism since the Age of Discovery, and in some cases even earlier. In 1911’s The Jews and Modern Capitalism, Werner Sombart points out that “Venice was a city of Jews” as early as 1152.

Cabalism deeply permeates the worldviews of many influential secret societies of Western history since medieval times, and certainly continuing with the official establishment of Freemasonry in 1717. Although the details will never be entirely clear, it is known that Goethe was involved with the Bavarian Illuminati in his youth. He seems to have experienced conservative disillusionment with it later in life. It is possible that the posthumous publication of Faust: The Second Part of the Tragedy was due at least in part to the book’s ambivalently revealing too much about the esoterica of Goethe’s former occult activities.

What is clear is that he was directly interested in cabalistic concepts. Karin Schutjer persuasively argues that “Goethe had ample opportunity to learn about Jewish Kabbalah – particularly that of the sixteenth-century rabbi Isaac Luria – and good reason to take it seriously . . . Goethe’s interest in Kabbalah might have been further sparked by a prominent argument concerning its philosophical reception: the claim that Kabbalistic ideas underlie Spinoza’s philosophy.”[6] [7]

At one point in the second part of Faust, Goethe shows an interest in monetary issues related to usury or empty currency, as Schopenhauer after him would.[7] [8] This is fitting for a story that takes place in early modern Europe and concerns an alchemist. Some early modern alchemists were known as counterfeiters and would have most likely had contact with Jewish moneylenders. Insofar as his scientific philosophy had a social, and not just an intellectual, significance, this desire on Goethe’s part for economic concreteness was perhaps what led him to reject and combat one key cabalistic doctrine: numerology.

Numerology is the belief that numbers are divine and have prophetic power over the physical world. Goethe held the virtually opposite view of numbers and mathematical systems, proposing that “strict separation must be maintained between the physical sciences and mathematics.” According to Goethe, it is an “important task” to “banish mathematical-philosophical theories from those areas of physical science where they impede rather than advance knowledge,” and to discard the “false notion that a phrase of a mathematical formula can ever take the place of, or set aside, a phenomenon.” To Goethe, mathematics “runs into constant danger when it gets into the terrain of sense-experience.”[8] [9]

In his well-researched 1927 book on Freemasonry, General Erich Ludendorff remarks, “One must study the cabala in order to understand and evaluate the superstitious Jew correctly. He then is no longer a threatening opponent.”[9] [10] In his proceeding discussion of the subject, Ludendorff focuses exclusively on the numerological superstitions in cabalism. Such beliefs are affirmed by a Jewish cabalistic source, which informs us that “Sefirot” is the Hebrew word for numbers, which represent “a Tree of Divine Lights.”[10] [11]

Everything about Goethe’s rejection of scientific materialism can be seen as a rebellion against numerology in the sciences – and certainly, the modern mathematical sciences stand on the shoulders of numerology, as modern chemistry does on alchemy. Schmitt once mentioned the “mysterious Rosicrucian sensibility of Descartes,” a reference to the mysterious cabalistic initiatory movement that dominated the scientific philosophies of the seventeenth century.[11] [12] In this Descartes was hardly alone; the entire epoch of mostly French and English mathematicians in the early modern centuries, which ushered in the modern infinitesimal mathematical systems, was infused with cabalism. Even if it were possible to ignore the growing Jewish intellectual and economic influence on that age, one would still be left with the metaphysical affinities between numerology and even the most scientifically accomplished worldview that takes literally the assumption that numbers are eternal principles.

According to early National Socialist economist Gottfried Feder, “When the Babylonians overcame the Assyrians, the Romans the Carthaginians, the Germans the Romans, there was no continuance of interest slavery; there were no international world powers . . . Only the modern age with its continuity of possession and its international law allowed loan capitals to rise immeasurably.”[12] [13] Writing in 1919, Feder argues with the help of a graph that that “loan-interest capital . . . rises far above human conception and strives for infinity . . . The curve of industrial capital on the other hand remains within the finite!”[13] [14] Goethe may have similarly drawn connections between the kind of economic parasitism satirized in the second part of Faust and what he, like Berkeley, saw as the superstitious modern art of measuring the immeasurable.

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The fusion of science with numerology, it should be noted, is actually not of Hebrew or otherwise pre-Indo-European origin. It originates from pre-Socratic Greek philosophy’s debt, particularly that of the Pythagoreans, to the Indo-Iranian world, chiefly Thrace.[14] [15] (Possibly of note in this regard is that Schopenhauer admired the Thracians for their arch-pessimistic ethos, as though this mindset were the polar opposite of the world-affirming Jewish worldview he loathed.)[15] [16] In any case, Goethe recognized it as a powerful weapon. That he studied numerology has been established by scholars.[16] [17]

A generation before Goethe, Immanuel Kant had propounded the idea that the laws of polarity – the laws of attraction and repulsion – precede the Newtonian laws of matter and motion in every way. This argument would influence Goethe’s friend Friedrich Wilhelm von Schelling, another innovator in the life sciences as well as part of the literary and philosophical movement known as Romanticism. By the time Goethe propounded his anti-Newtonian theories and led a philosophical milieu, he had an entire German tradition of such theories to work from.

Goethe’s work was influential in Victorian Britain. Most notably, at least in terms of the scientific history of that era, Darwin would cite Goethe as a botanist in On the Origin of the Species. Darwin’s philosophy of science, to the extent that he had one, was largely built on that of Goethe and the age of what came to be known as Naturphilosophie. Historian of science Robert J. Richards has found that “Darwin was indebted to the Romantics in general and Goethe in particular.”[17] [18] Darwin had been introduced to the German accomplishments in biology, and the German ideas about philosophy of science, mainly through the work of Alexander von Humboldt.[18] [19]

Why has this influence been forgotten? “In the decade after 1918,” explains Nicholas Boyle, “when hundreds of British families of German origin were forcibly repatriated, and those who remained anglicized their names, British intellectual life was ethnically cleansed and the debt of Victorian culture to Germany was erased from memory, or ridiculed.”[19] [20] To some extent, this process had already started since the outbreak of the First World War.

This intellectual ethnic cleansing would not go unreciprocated. In 1915’s Händler und Helden (Merchants and Heroes), German economist and sociologist Werner Sombart attacked the “mercantile” English scientific tradition. Here, Sombart is particularly critical of what he calls the “department-store ethics” of Herbert Spencer, but in general Sombart calls for most English ideas – including English science – to be purged from German national life. In his writings on the philosophy of science, Spengler would answer this call.

Spengler heavily drew on the ideas of Goethe, and evidently also on the views of a pre-Darwinian French Lutheran paleontologist of German origin, Georges Cuvier. For instance, Spengler’s assault on universalism in the physical sciences mostly comes from Goethe, but his rationale for rejecting Darwinian evolution appears to come from Cuvier. The idea that life-forms are immutable, and simply die out, only to be superseded by unrelated new ones – a persistent theme in Spengler – comes more from Cuvier than Goethe.

oswSP-car.jpgCuvier, however, does not belong to the German transcendentalist tradition, so Spengler mentions him only peripherally. On the other hand, in the third chapter of the second volume of The Decline of the West, Spengler uses a word that Charles Francis Atkinson translates as “admitted” to describe how Cuvier propounded the theory of catastrophism. Clearly, Spengler shows himself to be more sympathetic to Cuvier than to what he calls the “English thought” of Darwin.[20] [21]

Several asides about Cuvier are in order. First of all, this criminally underrated thinker is by no means outmoded, at least not in every way. Modern geology operates on a more-Cuvieran-than-Darwinian plane.[21] [22] Secondly, it is worth noting that Ernst Jünger once astutely observed that Cuvier is more useful to modern military science than Darwin.[22] [23] It may also be of interest that the Cuvieran system is even further removed from Lamarckism – and its view of heredity, as a consequence, more thoroughly racialist – than the Darwinian system.[23] [24]

Another scientist of German origin who may have influenced Spengler is the Catholic monk Gregor Mendel, the discoverer of what is now known as genetics. One biography notes:

Though Mendel agreed with Darwin in many respects, he disagreed about the underlying rationale of evolution. Darwin, like most of his contemporaries, saw evolution as a linear process, one that always led to some sort of better product. He did not define “better” in a religious way – to him, a more evolved animal was no closer to God than a less evolved one, an ape no morally better than a squirrel – but in an adaptive way. The ladder that evolving creatures climbed led to greater adaption to the changing world. If Mendel believed in evolution – and whether he did remains a matter of much debate – it was an evolution that occurred within a finite system. The very observation that a particular character trait could be expressed in two opposing ways – round pea versus angular, tall plant versus dwarf – implied limits. Darwin’s evolution was entirely open-ended; Mendel’s, as any good gardener of the time could see, was closed.[24] [25]

How very Goethean – and Spenglerian.

His continuation of the German mission against English science explains, even if it does not entirely excuse, Spengler’s citation of Franz Boas’ now-discredited experiments in craniology in the second volume of The Decline of the West. In his posthumously-published book on Indo-Europeanology, the unfinished but lucid Frühzeit der Weltgeschichte, Spengler cites the contemporary German Nordicist race theorist Hans F. K. Günther in writing that “urbanization is racial decay.”[25] [26] This would seem quite a leap, from citing Boas to citing Günther. However, in the opinion of one historian, Boas and Günther had more in common than they liked to think, because they were both heirs more of the German Idealist tradition in science than what the Anglo-Saxon tradition recognizes as the scientific method.[26] [27] Spengler must have keenly detected this commonality, for his views on racial matters were never synonymous with those of Boas, any more than they were identical to Günther’s.

He probably went too far in his crusade against the Anglo-Saxon scientific tradition, but as we have seen, Spengler was not without his reasons. He was neither the first nor the greatest German philosopher of science to present alternatives to the ruling English paradigms in the sciences, but was rather an heir to a grand tradition. Before dismissing this anti-materialistic tradition as worthless, as today’s historiographers of science still do, we should take into account what it produced.

Darwin’s philosophy of nature was predominantly German; only his Malthusianism, the least interesting aspect of Darwin’s work, was singularly British. As for Einstein, that proficient but unoriginal thinker was absolutely steeped in the German anti-Newtonian tradition, to which he merely put a mathematical formula. These are only the most celebrated examples of scientists influenced by the German tradition defended – maniacally, perhaps, but with noble intentions – in the works of Oswald Spengler.

Whether we consider Spengler’s ideas useful to science or utterly hateful to it, one question remains: Should the German tradition of philosophy of science he defended be taken seriously? Ever since the post-Second World War de-Germanization of Germany, euphemistically called “de-Nazification,” this tradition is now pretty much dead in its own fatherland. But does that make it entirely wrong?

Notes

[1] [28] Luke Hodgkin, A History of Mathematics: From Mesopotamia to Modernity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

[2] [29] See the booklet of the CD Istanbul: Dimitrie Cantemir, 1630-1732, written by Stefan Lemny and translated by Jacqueline Minett.

[3] [30] Eugenia Popescu-Judetz, Prince Dimitrie Cantemir: Theorist and Composer of Turkish Music (Istanbul: Pan Yayıncılık, 1999), p. 34.

[4] [31] Dimitrie Cantemir, The History of the Growth and Decay of the Othman Empire, vol. I, tr. by Nicholas Tindal (London: Knapton, 1734), p. 151, note 14.

[5] [32] Carl Schmitt, The Leviathan in the State Theory of Thomas Hobbes: Meaning and Failure of a Political Symbol, tr. by George Schwab and Erna Hilfstein (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), p. 8.

[6] [33] Karin Schutjer, “Goethe’s Kabbalistic Cosmology [34],” Colloquia Germanica, vol. 39, no. 1 (2006).

[7] [35] J. W. von Goethe, Faust, Part Two, Act I, “Imperial Palace” scene; Schopenhauer, The Wisdom of Life, Chapter III, “Property, or What a Man Has.”

[8] [36] Jeremy Naydler (ed.), Goethe on Science: An Anthology of Goethe’s Scientific Writings (Edinburgh: Floris Books, 1996), pp. 65-67.

[9] [37] Erich Ludendorff, The Destruction of Freemasonry Through Revelation of Their Secrets (Mountain City, Tn.: Sacred Truth Publishing), p. 53.

[10] [38] Warren Kenton, Kabbalah: The Divine Plan (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), p. 25.

[11] [39] Schmitt, Leviathan, p. 26.

[12] [40] Gottfried Feder, Manifesto for Breaking the Financial Slavery to Interest, tr. by Alexander Jacob (London: Black House Publishing, 2016), p. 38.

[13] [41] Ibid., pp. 17-18.

[14] [42] See, i.e., Walter Wili, “The Orphic Mysteries and the Greek Spirit,” collected in Joseph Campbell (ed.), The Mysteries: Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1955).

[15] [43] Arthur Schopenhauer, tr. by E. F. J. Payne, The World as Will and Representation, vol. II (Mineola, N.Y.: Dover, 2014), p. 585.

[16] [44] Ronald Douglas Gray, Goethe the Alchemist (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 6.

[17] [45] Robert J. Richards, The Romantic Conception of Life: Philosophy and Science in the Age of Goethe (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2010), p. 435.

[18] [46] Ibid, pp. 518-526.

[19] [47] Nicholas Boyle, Goethe and the English-speaking World: Essays from the Cambridge Symposium for His 250th Anniversary (Rochester, N.Y.: Camden House, 2012), p. 12.

[20] [48] Oswald Spengler, tr. by Charles Francis Atkinson, The Decline of the West vol. II (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1928), p. 31.

[21] [49] Elizabeth Kolbert, The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), p. 94.

[22] [50] From Jünger’s Aladdin’s Problem: “It is astounding to see how inventiveness grows in nature when existence is at stake. This applies to both defense and pursuit. For every missile, an anti-missile is devised. At times, it all looks like sheer braggadocio. This could lead to a stalemate or else to the moment when the opponent says, ‘I give up’, if he does not knock over the chessboard and ruin the game. Darwin did not go that far; in this context, one is better off with Cuvier’s theory of catastrophes.”

[23] [51] See Georges Cuvier, Essay on the Theory of the Earth (London: Forgotten Books, 2012), pp. 125-128 & pp. 145-165.

[24] [52] Robin Marantz Henig, The Monk in the Garden: The Lost and Found Genius of Gregor Mendel, the Father of Genetics (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2017), p. 125.

[25] [53] Oswald Spengler, Frühzeit der Weltgeschichte (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1966), Fragment 101.

[26] [54] Amos Morris-Reich, “Race, Ideas, and Ideals: A Comparison of Franz Boas and Hans F. K. Günther [55],” History of European Ideas, vol. 32, no. 3 (2006).

 

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[34] Goethe’s Kabbalistic Cosmology: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23981598?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

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[55] Race, Ideas, and Ideals: A Comparison of Franz Boas and Hans F. K. Günther: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1016/j.histeuroideas.2006.05.001

dimanche, 01 juillet 2018

De Carl Schmitt et du combat tellurique contre le système technétronique

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De Carl Schmitt et du combat tellurique contre le système technétronique

Il y a déjà cinq ans, pendant les fortes manifs des jeunes chrétiens contre les lois socialistes sur la famille (lois depuis soutenues et bénies par la hiérarchie et par l’ONG du Vatican mondialisé, mais c’est une autre histoire), j’écrivais ces lignes :

« Deux éléments m’ont frappé dans les combats qui nous occupent, et qui opposent notre jeune élite catholique au gouvernement mondialiste aux abois : d’une part la Foi, car nous avons là une jeunesse insolente et Fidèle, audacieuse et tourmentée à la fois par l’Ennemi et la cause qu’elle défend ; la condition physique d’autre part, qui ne correspond en rien avec ce que la démocratie-marché, du sexe drogue et rock’n’roll, des centres commerciaux et des jeux vidéo, attend de la jeunesse.»

L’important est la terre que nous laisserons à nos enfants ne cesse-ton de nous dire avec des citations truquées ; mais l’avenir c’est surtout les enfants que nous laisserons à la terre ! Cela les soixante-huitards et leurs accompagnateurs des multinationales l’auront mémorisé. On a ainsi vu des dizaines milliers de jeunes Français – qui pourraient demain être des millions, car il n’y a pas de raison pour que cette jeunesse ne fasse pas des petits agents de résistance ! Affronter la nuit, le froid, la pluie, les gaz, l’attente, la taule, l’insulte, la grosse carcasse du CRS casqué nourri aux amphétamines, aux RTT et aux farines fonctionnaires. Et ici encore le système tombe sur une élite physique qu’il n’avait pas prévue. Une élite qui occupe le terrain, pas les réseaux.

Cette mondialisation ne veut pas d’enfants. Elle abrutit et inhibe physiquement – vous pouvez le voir vraiment partout – des millions si ce n’est des milliards de jeunes par la malbouffe, la pollution, la destruction psychique, la techno-addiction et la distraction, le reniement de la famille, de la nation, des traditions, toutes choses très bien analysées par Tocqueville à propos des pauvres Indiens :

« En affaiblissant parmi les Indiens de l’Amérique du Nord le sentiment de la patrie, en dispersant leurs familles, en obscurcissant leurs traditions, en interrompant la chaîne des souvenirs, en changeant toutes leurs habitudes, et en accroissant outre mesure leurs besoins, la tyrannie européenne les a rendus plus désordonnés et moins civilisés qu’ils n’étaient déjà. »

Et bien les Indiens c’est nous maintenant, quelle que soit notre race ou notre religion, perclus de besoins, de faux messages, de bouffes mortes, de promotions. Et je remarquais qu’il n’y a rien de pire pour le système que d’avoir des jeunes dans la rue (on peut en payer et en promouvoir, les drôles de Nuit debout). Rien de mieux que d’avoir des feints-esprits qui s’agitent sur les réseaux sociaux.

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J’ajoutais :

« Et voici qu’une jeunesse montre des qualités que l’on croyait perdues jusqu’alors, et surtout dans la France anticléricale et libertine à souhait ; des qualités telluriques, écrirai-je en attendant d’expliquer ce terme. Ce sont des qualités glanées au cours des pèlerinages avec les parents ; aux cours des longues messes traditionnelles et des nuits de prières ; au cours de longues marches diurnes et des veillées nocturnes ; de la vie naturelle et de la foi épanouie sous la neige et la pluie. On fait alors montre de résistance, de capacité physique, sans qu’il y rentre de la dégoutante obsession contemporaine du sport qui débouche sur la brutalité, sur l’oisiveté, l’obésité via l’addiction à la bière. On est face aux éléments que l’on croyait oubliés. »

Enfin je citais un grand marxiste, ce qui a souvent le don d’exaspérer les sites mondialistes et d’intriquer les sites gauchistes qui reprennent mes textes. C’est pourtant simple à comprendre : je reprends ce qui est bon (quod verum est meum est, dit Sénèque) :

« Je relis un écrivain marxiste émouvant et oublié, Henri Lefebvre, dénonciateur de la vie quotidienne dans le monde moderne. Lefebvre est un bon marxiste antichrétien mais il sent cette force. D’une part l’URSS crée par manque d’ambition politique le même modèle de citoyen petit-bourgeois passif attendant son match et son embouteillage ; d’autre part la société de consommation crée des temps pseudo-cycliques, comme dira Debord et elle fait aussi semblant de réunir, mais dans le séparé, ce qui était jadis la communauté. Lefebvre rend alors un curieux hommage du vice à la vertu ; et il s’efforce alors à plus d’objectivité sur un ton grinçant.

Le catholicisme se montre dans sa vérité historique un mouvement plutôt qu’une doctrine, un mouvement très vaste, très assimilateur, qui ne crée rien, mais en qui rien ne se perd, avec une certaine prédominance des mythes les plus anciens, les plus tenaces, qui restent pour des raisons multiples acceptés ou acceptables par l’immense majorité des hommes (mythes agraires).

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Le Christ s’exprime par images agraires, il ne faut jamais l’oublier. Il est lié au sol et nous sommes liés à son sang. Ce n’est pas un hasard si Lefebvre en pleine puissance communiste s’interroge sur la résilience absolue de l’Eglise et de notre message :

Eglise, Saint Eglise, après avoir échappé à ton emprise, pendant longtemps je me suis demandé d’où te venait ta puissance.

Oui, le village chrétien qui subsiste avec sa paroisse et son curé, cinquante ans après Carrefour et l’autoroute, deux mille ans après le Christ et deux cents ans après la Révolution industrielle et l’Autre, tout cela tient vraiment du miracle.

Le monde postmoderne est celui du vrai Grand Remplacement : la fin des villages de Cantenac, pour parler comme Guitry. Il a pris une forme radicale sous le gaullisme : voyez le cinéma de Bresson (Balthazar), de Godard (Week-end, Deux ou trois choses), d’Audiard (les Tontons, etc.). Le phénomène était global : voyez les Monstres de Dino Risi qui montraient l’émergence du citoyen mondialisé déraciné et décérébré en Italie. L’ahuri devant sa télé…

Il prône ce monde une absence de nature, une vie de banlieue, une cuisine de fastfood, une distraction technicisée. Enfermé dans un studio à mille euros et connecté dans l’espace virtuel du sexe, du jeu, de l’info. Et cela donne l’évangélisme, cette mouture de contrôle mental qui a pris la place du christianisme dans pas le mal de paroisses, surtout hélas en Amérique du Sud. Ce désastre est lié bien sûr à l’abandon par une classe paysanne de ses racines telluriques. Je me souviens aux bords du lac Titicaca de la puissance et de la présence catholique au magnifique sanctuaire de Copacabana (rien à voir avec la plage, mais rien) ; et de son abandon à la Paz, où justement on vit déjà dans la matrice et le conditionnement. Mais cette reprogrammation par l’évangélisme avait été décidée en haut lieu, comme me le confessa un jour le jeune curé de Guamini dans la Pampa argentine, qui évoquait Kissinger.

J’en viens au sulfureux penseur Carl Schmitt, qui cherchait à expliquer dans son Partisan, le comportement et les raisons de la force des partisans qui résistèrent à Napoléon, à Hitler, aux puissances coloniales qui essayèrent d’en finir avec des résistances éprouvées ; et ne le purent. Schmitt relève quatre critères : l’irrégularité, la mobilité, le combat actif, l’intensité de l’engagement politique. En allemand cela donne : Solche Kriterien sind: Irregularität, gesteigerte Mobilität des aktiven Kampfes und gesteigerte Intensität des politischen Engagements.

Tout son lexique a des racines latines, ce qui n’est pas fortuit, toutes qualités de ces jeunes qui refusèrent de baisser les bras ou d’aller dormir : car on a bien lu l’Evangile dans ces paroisses et l’on sait ce qu’il en coûte de trop dormir !

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Schmitt reconnaît en fait la force paysanne et nationale des résistances communistes ; et il rend hommage à des peuples comme le peuple russe et le peuple espagnol : deux peuples telluriques, enracinés dans leur foi, encadrés par leur clergé, et accoutumés à une vie naturelle et dure de paysan. Ce sont ceux-là et pas les petit-bourgeois protestants qui ont donné du fil à retordre aux armées des Lumières ! Notre auteur souligne à la suite du théoricien espagnol Zamora (comme disait Jankélévitch il faudra un jour réhabiliter la philosophie espagnole) le caractère tellurique de ces bandes de partisans, prêts à tous les sacrifices, et il rappelle la force ces partisans issus d’un monde autochtone et préindustriel. Il souligne qu’une motorisation entraîne une perte de ce caractère tellurique (Ein solcher motorisierter Partisan verliert seinen tellurischen Charakter), même si bien sûr le partisan – ici notre jeune militant catholique – est entraîné à s’adapter et maîtrise mieux que tous les branchés la technologie contemporaine (mais pas moderne, il n’y a de moderne que la conviction) pour mener à bien son ouvrage.

Schmitt reconnaît en tant qu’Allemand vaincu lui aussi en Russie que le partisan est un des derniers soldats – ou sentinelles – de la terre (einer der letzten Posten der Erde ; qu’il signifie toujours une part de notre sol (ein Stück echten Bodens), ajoutant qu’il faut espérer dans le futur que tout ne soit pas dissous par le melting-pot du progrès technique et industriel (Schmelztiegel des industrielltechnischen Fortschritts). En ce qui concerne le catholicisme, qui grâce à Dieu n’est pas le marxisme, on voit bien que le but de réification et de destruction du monde par l’économie devenue follen’a pas atteint son but. Et qu’il en faut encore pour en venir à bout de la vieille foi, dont on découvre que par sa démographie, son courage et son énergie spirituelle et tellurique, elle n’a pas fini de surprendre l’adversaire.

Gardons une condition, dit le maître : den tellurischen Charakter. On comprend que le système ait vidé les campagnes et rempli les cités de tous les déracinés possibles. Le reste s’enferme dans son smartphone, et le tour est joué.

Bibliographie:

Carl Schmitt – Du Partisan

Tocqueville – De la démocratie I, Deuxième partie, Chapitre X

Guy Debord – La Société du Spectacle

Henri Lefebvre – Critique de la vie quotidienne (Editions de l’Arche)

vendredi, 29 juin 2018

Ernst Jünger: Dalle rovine della Tecnica rinascerà l’età dello spirito

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Ernst Jünger: Dalle rovine della Tecnica rinascerà l’età dello spirito

Marcello Veneziani

Ex: http://www.marcelloveneziani.com 

A leggerlo con gli occhi miopi del presente, L’operaio di Ernst Jünger sembra la grandiosa metafora dell’avvento dei tecnici al potere. Anzi il Tecnico stesso sembra l’Operaio in loden, versione estrema della borghesia che si è fatta globale e immateriale come la finanza rispetto all’epoca dell’oro e del decoro.

Ma più in profondità, lo sguardo profetico di Jünger è rivolto a un’epoca planetaria dominata dalla tecnica, che ha un esito a sorpresa rispetto alle sue premesse: la tecnica «spiritualizza la terra». Dopo gli dei, dopo il monoteismo, verrà lo Spirito, signore dell’Età dell’acquario, che appare attraverso i sogni e agisce mediante la magia.

Lo spirito verrà tramite la tecnica, scrive Jünger, nel suo linguaggio oracolare, a volte allusivo, in alcuni tratti reticente, ed esoterico. Dopo la catastrofe e in fondo al tunnel del nichilismo il suo pensiero intuitivo scorge una luce inattesa. Non la luce di un nuovo umanesimo, come pensavano da differenti postazioni i suoi contemporanei Maritain e Gentile, Bloch e Sartre. Ma un disumanesimo integrale, una sorta di superamento dell’umano e non in una dimensione sovrumana, alla Nietzsche, ma compiutamente inumana, geologica e spirituale.

In questa chiave, l’Operaio è un nuovo titano, quasi una figura mitologica, della razza di Anteo, Atlante e Prometeo, che mobilita il mondo tramite la tecnica, che è il suo linguaggio. L’operaio di Jünger – o Milite del lavoro, come preferivano tradurre Delio Cantimori e anche Julius Evola – compie 80 anni e per l’occasione esce finalmente in Italia Maxima-Minima, un libro breve e intenso che fu la prosecuzione dell’opera jüngeriana del ’32 a 32 anni di distanza, nel 1964.

Quando dirigevo da ragazzo una casa editrice, negli anni Ottanta, tentai temerariamente di farlo tradurre in Italia; ma alla Buchmesse, la Fiera del libro di Francoforte, l’agente letterario di Klett Cotta, l’editore tedesco, mi disse che quest’opera era già opzionata in Italia. Ci sono voluti quasi trent’anni per vederla alla luce ora, a cura e con la postfazione di Alessandra Jadicicco.

Un’opera oracolare di minima loquacità e massima densità, in cui si avverte il respiro della grandezza, dove l’eco dell’Operaio si mescola all’eco dello Stato mondiale, Le forbici, Al muro del tempo e altre opere jüngeriane del suo personale «Nuovo Testamento», come egli stesso diceva.

La tesi metafisica è quella: dalla Macchina, per inattese vie, sorgerà lo Spirito; il Mito, il Gioco, la Geologia e l’Astrologia lo porteranno a compimento. Ma dalla Tecnica sorge anche il nemico: laddove il tecnico «conquisti il governo politico, se non dittatoriale, grava la peggiore delle minacce».

Il condensato deteriore della tecnica è l’automatismo, che è il peggiore degli autoritarismi, un dispotismo che uccide la libertà alla radice. E qui Ernst Jünger ritrova suo fratello Friedrich Georg che alla Perfezione della tecnica e all’avvento degli automi aveva dedicato un lucido saggio, degno del suo germano (tradotto in Italia dal Settimo Sigillo nel 2000).

La tesi metapolitica di Jünger è invece l’avvento auspicato dello Stato planetario, dopo l’unificazione del mondo compiuta dalla Tecnica, di cui scriveva negli stessi anni in Italia anche Ugo Spirito. Dopo la patria il mondo intero sarà amato come «Terra Natia».
Destra e sinistra, rivoluzione e conservazione, sono per Jünger braccia di uno stesso corpo.

Ma il politico, rispetto a questi fenomeni grandiosi, è inadeguato, si occupa dell’ovvio dei popoli, si cura del successo e dell’attualità, non si sporge nell’avvenire e, a differenza dell’artista, non dispone di uno sguardo ulteriore.
La miseria della politica propizia il dominio della tecnica (sembrano glosse al presente…). A rimorchio della politica va la giustizia che «segue la politica come gli avvoltoi le campagne degli eserciti». Dei, padri, autorità, eroi tramontano nell’era in cui la prosperità cresce con l’insicurezza.

Tocca all’outsider, che Jünger aveva battezzato già l’Anarca o il Ribelle, avvertire come un sismografo il tempo che verrà. «L’amarezza riguardo ai contemporanei è comprensibile in chi ha da dire cose immense».
Pensieri lucidi e affilati come lame si susseguono nella prosa asciutta e ad alta temperatura di Jünger; a volte sfiorano la storia, i popoli, le culture, le razze.

Precorrendo o incrociando le tesi della Scuola di Francoforte e di Herbert Marcuse in particolare, Jünger nota che la nuova schiavitù e la nuova alienazione non si concentrano più nel tempo della produzione, ma nel tempo libero. La dipendenza si sposta dal lavoro al consumo. Jünger intuisce che la globalizzazione coinvolgerà non solo i popoli più avanzati, ma anche le società feudali e primitive, che rientreranno in pieno nel ciclo della tecnica: e ci pare di vedere le tigri asiatiche, la Cina, l’India e la Corea nel suo sguardo profetico.

Jünger critica la pur grandiosa morfologia della civiltà di Oswald Spengler e incontra invece il nichilismo attivo e poetico di Gottfried Benn e soprattutto il pensiero di Martin Heidegger, che a sua volta studia e fa studiare nei suoi seminari L’operaio e per altri sentieri raggiunge la stessa radura di Jüger, al di là dell’umano.

Ho letto in questi giorni, accanto a Jünger, gli appunti heideggeriani raccolti sotto il titolo La storia dell’Essere dove si respira in altre forme e linguaggi la stessa aria jüngeriana: il dominio planetario della tecnica, la rivoluzione conservatrice, il realismo eroico, il potere di cui i potenti sono esecutori e non dignitari, la guerra e la mobilitazione, la scomparsa dell’umano.

E affiora esplicito il nome di Jünger. Sullo sfondo, come un’allusione che vuol restare in ombra, la tragedia della Germania e dell’Europa.
Quel che alla fine apre all’apocalittico Jünger uno spiraglio di luce nella notte è l’Amor fati, l’accettazione istintiva del destino.

«Tutto ciò che accade è adorabile» scrive Jünger citando Leon Bloy. E una leggera euforia attraversa il paesaggio catastrofico, quasi una musica sorgiva tra le rovine e gli automi.

MV, Il Giornale 2 aprile 2012

 

dimanche, 24 juin 2018

Jesús Lorente sobre Weimar

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III Encuentro Literario Editorial EAS

Jesús Lorente sobre Weimar

Conferencia de Jesús Lorente sobre Weimar, con introducción de Francisco José Fernández-Cruz Sequera, para el III Encuentro Literario de la Editorial EAS, en Madrid el 5 de mayo de 2018.
 

vendredi, 25 mai 2018

Spengler's "Der Mensch Und Die Technik" / Troy Southgate

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Spengler's "Der Mensch

Und Die Technik"

Troy Southgate

 
Troy Southgate's speech about Oswald Spengler's
"Der Mensch Und Die Technik" @ International N-AM Conference
in Madrid 17th and 18th june 2017.
 
More info : www.national-anarchist.net
FIND US ON FACEBOOK!
 

mardi, 01 mai 2018

The Winter of Spengler’s Discontent

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The Winter of Spengler’s Discontent

 
The decline of Spengler: reconsidering High Cultures
 
Ex: http://westdest.blogspot.com
 
It has been decades since I last tackled Oswald Spengler, and it seemed time to refresh my understanding of his major work.  Upon the advice of a Spengler expert (and following the Pareto Principle), I acquired the abridged edition of The Decline of the West.
 
OSPb1.jpgFirst, a few words about Spengler’s writing in this book, which I found to be terrible: like Heidegger, overly dense and sometimes nearly incomprehensible in the pompous old school German style (in contrast, Nietzsche, particularly apart from Zarathustra, was exceedingly comprehensible and easily understandable).  Contrary to all of Spengler’s breathless fans, I did not find his magnum opus to be very well written.  It’s a terribly boring, turgid compilation of rambling prose.  I can only imagine the full-scale version is worse (and if memory serves, it was). Another point is that Spengler’s deconstructivism is highly annoying to the more empiricist among us, his idea that Nature is a function of a particular culture.  Well (and the same applies to some of Yockey’s [plagiarized] rambling on the subject), for some cultures, Nature apparently is a more accurate “function” of reality than for others, and this more accurate representation of objective reality has real world consequences that cannot be evaded.
 
Thus, Spengler’s rambling on “Nature Knowledge” can be for the most part safely ignored.  Spengler laughably wrote: “Every atomic theory, therefore, is a myth, and not an experience.”  Yes, tell that to the Japanese of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, who encountered the myth – not the experience, oh no! – of being blasted by atom bombs.  Spengler’s comments about the “uranium atom” are particularly ludicrous in hindsight. I have to say: Spengler was an idiot (*).
 
The problem with Spengler (and Yockey) and science is that the Spenglerian view could be tenable if science was only a purely abstract phenomenon, with no practical real world consequences.  Unfortunately, for Spengler, science leads to technics, and the outcome of technics (contra Yockey) is directly related to the reality behind the science.  In the absence of real world consequences, in the absence of technics, the Spenglerians can pretend that there is no objective difference between, say, Classical or Egyptian physics on the one hand, and Faustian physics on the other. However, the former, if followed to technics, will not lead to methods that can obliterate cities, shatter mountains, and sink islands; while the latter can, and has.  Facts are facts. “Theory is working hypothesis…” according to Spengler’s formulation of Faustian technics, but that can be just as easily reversed: the working hypothesis is based upon theory.  Without scientific theory, practical technics is mere makeshift tinkering.
 
OSPb2.jpgThe sections “Race is Style” and “People and Nation” are of course relevant from a racial nationalist perspective, and reflects Spengler’s anti-scientific stupidity, this time about biological race.  Those of you familiar with Yockey’s wrong-headed assertions on this topic will see all the same in Spengler’s work (from which Yockey lifted his assertions).  This has been critiqued by many – from Revilo Oliver to myself – and it is not necessary to rehash all of the arguments against the Spenglerian (Boasian) deconstructivist attitudes toward biological race.  We can just shake our heads sadly about Spengler’s racial fantasies – that is as absurd as that of any hysterical leftist SJW race-denier – and move on to other issues.
 
The comments by Spengler (and others) about the Russian soul and Russian character, and its “non-Faustian” nature (‘the horizontal expansive plain…the plain, the plain….”) are interesting, and may well have some validity (as a close look at Russian literature informs us, to some degree).  But this can all be taken too far.  With the benefit of hindsight obviously not available to Spengler himself – but which is just as obviously available to modern-day Spenglerians – we look at the Russian interest in space exploration, particularly during the Soviet period, and ask – was that merely just for political propaganda purposes?  The answer is not quite clear.  There are differences between cultures, yes, but when there is an underlying racial affinity, then the different cultures are not quite orthogonal to each other.  And the same principle applies to the Classical-Faustian distinction as well. Spengler would argue that the Classical and Faustian are as different from each other than either are to, say, the Chinese, Indian, or Egyptian.  I think that’s nonsense, and the same applies to Russian-Faustian/Western.  There are differences and then there are DIFFERENCES.  Being more objective about Spengler’s ideas than Spengler himself, I hope the “differences between differences” are obvious.
 
The section on “State and History” was actually readable and made some valid points, but I disagree with Spenglerian inevitability, and I believe he draws the line of the Fellah stage too early in some historical cases. The high point of the Roman Empire, the Pax Romana – was a historyless desert?  Spengler, I think, became too enamored with his own theories (or nonsense, if you want to be harsh).  The “Philosophy of Politics” section is also readable, with some useful points, but also has, obviously, areas of profound disagreement between Spengler and reality.  The idea that the “born statesman” has – or should have - no convictions, should be a completely amoral actor dealing with facts and effects with no ideology affecting their actions - that I reject. Who is or is not a “born statesmen?”  The examples Spengler gives are ludicrous given his assertion. Sulla, Robespierre, Bismarck, and Pitt – they all acted with no underlying ideology or conviction influencing their actions?  I will say his comments about the value of a “tradition” in politics, statesmanship, in fact in any manifestation or organized human activity (comments mirrored by Yockey), are basically sound. Again, in reading Spengler, there are some diamonds in the piles of dirt and dung; one has to dig them out and treasure them.  However, the diamond-to-dung ratio is not enough to grant Spengler the acclaim as a “great writer.” While Spengler and his ideas have worth, whether or not we agree with all of them, I wonder if he may not be one of the most over-rated writers in history.
 
OSPb3.jpgThose are mere details however.  Important details, but not the fundamental, the main thesis.  So, what about the main thesis of his work?  The overall idea of cyclical history?  Yockey’s lifting of that idea in his own work?  Rereading Spengler’s major thesis hasn’t changed my mind about it in any major way, but there are some further points to make.
 
To begin with, I do believe that Spengler was on to something; his most fundamental observations about the cyclical nature of High Cultures, in their broadest sense, have validity.  I reject his self-assured assertions about inevitability and his smug and snide pontification about the emptiness of current and future cultural possibilities, as well as his complete lack of self-awareness of the effects of his fundamental observation on the ability of future generations to interfere with what was previously a completely unguided historical process.  By analogy, before the germ theory of infectious disease was asserted, and then proven as fact, man was for the most part helpless against the onslaught of microbes, apart from the natural and (by conscious thought) unguided processes of the human immune system.  After the discovery of the germ-disease link, we have preventive and therapeutic interventions against these diseases.  Furthering this analogy, we can say that before Spengler, man was helpless in the face of historical inevitability; after Spengler and his discovery, the situation is changed.
 
Another point: being more familiar with Yockey’s work than with Spengler’s, I note how much Yockey plagiarized from Spengler.  Everyone talks about Yockey plagiarizing Carl Schmitt, and that Spengler “inspired” Yockey  - well, if by “inspired” you mean ruthlessly copy than, yes, Yockey was very “inspired.”  However, I do not say that to disparage Yockey or Imperium, the work which contains most of the plagiarism in question.  Yockey was a political polemicist, and Imperium was meant to be a thoroughly political work, sort of a Communist Manifesto for fascists, it wasn’t meant as a scholarly work and Yockey made no pretense of any original thought in that book. So, I just note for the record that the plagiarism took place.  I also note that, in a real sense, it is good that the plagiarism did take place, because Imperium is much more readable, much more digestible, than Spengler’s ponderous work, which is, as stated above, a caricature of “heavy” self-indulgent pedantic German scholarship.  Spengler’s views on (biological) race, as derived from his statements in this book, were as wrong-headed as Yockey’s regurgitation of them.  But enough of that; it is a side-issue at this time, and has been already discussed, by myself and (many) others, with respect to Imperium.
 
OSPb4.jpgLet’s get back to Spengler’s content, and some of my objections alluded to above.  Thus, as far as content goes, my “take” on it remains the same; I agree with much but I disagree with much as well, particularly the “pessimistic” inevitability of it, and the smug arrogance in suggesting, or implying, that disagreement with that aspect of the work implies some sort of mental weakness, delusion, or cowardice on the part of the reader.  Spengler himself suggests that he “truth” of the book is a “truth” for him, a “truth” for a particular Culture in a particular time, and should not necessarily be viewed as an absolute truth in any or every sense (indeed, it everything from science to mathematics is, according to Spengler, formed by the Culture which creates it, and is thus no absolute in any universal sense, then we can quote Pilate ‘“what is truth?”).  Therefore, my “truth” in the current year leads me to conclusions different from Spengler; one can again assert that Spengler himself, by writing the book and outlining he problem, himself undermined his assertion of inevitability, since know we can understand the trajectories of Cultures and, possibly, how to affect those trajectories.
 
I’ll have more to say about that shortly.
 
One thing about re-reading the book that did influence me – more of a minor point – is that I’m now more in agreement (although not totally in agreement) with Spengler that the Classical Culture was quite different from out Western Faustian one.  There was always a sense of a different style, a different mindset, a different worldview, but The Decline of the West, and the evidence Spengler presents, helps clarify the Classical-Faustian distinction and brings it into stark relief.  So, yes, there’s more to that issue than I previously thought.  However, it doesn’t’ change the fact that both the Classical and the Faustian (or Western) High Cultures came into being in Europe, created by Europeans, and, therefore, if we accept one aspect of Spenglerian inevitability – the actual “decline of the West” – and indeed we appear to be ahead of schedule, well into Winter, then we can discard other aspects of inevitability and assert that Europe and Europeans are well capable of creating other High Cultures.
 
So, I will say that Spengler exaggerates the Classical-Faustian divide, even though I’m a bit more supportive of his views on that than before.  There is an intermediate ground between saying the two Cultures are completely and utterly distinct entities with absolutely no connection and saying that the Faustian is merely an outgrowth of the Classical.  On a side note, as a result of re-reading Spengler, I’m now studying the last period of the Western Roman Empire, from Adrianople to Odoacer, to (1) examine the parallels to our own day, (2) discern the “breaking point” where the last vestiges of the Classical World died out (What happened? How?  What came after, what was the result?), and (3) to re-examine stupid “movement” dogma on how the later Empire was becoming ever more decadent as a result of racial changes (if anything, the later Empire was more moral than before).
 
OSPb5.jpgThat is related to an important deficit in the work of Spengler that I have read.  He describes the lifecycle of High Cultures, but never really dissects why the cultures inevitably (or so he says) move from Culture to Civilization to Fellahdom.  What actually are the mechanistic causes of Spring to Summer to Fall to Winter?  I guess that Spengler (and Yockey) would just say that it is what it is, that the Culture is life an organism that grows old and dies.  The problem is that this analogy is just that, an analogy.  A Culture is composed of living organisms, humans, but is itself not alive. And esoteric rambling about a “cosmic beat” explains nothing.  If ones buys into the Spenglerian premise, then some rigorous analysis as to why High Cultures progress in particular ways is necessary.  We need an anatomical and molecular analysis of the “living organism” of the High Culture. Does Frost’s genetic pacification play a role? The cycle, noted by Hamilton, of barbarian invasions, the influx of altruism genes, followed by the aging of the civilization at which point fresh barbarian genes are required to spark a renaissance in the depleted fellhahs?  The moral decay that occurs with too much luxury, too much wealth, too much power?  A form of memetic exhaustion?  
 
By analogy to the memetic exhaustion hypothesis, consider successful television shows.  Although a few of these have been unusually very long lasting – but even these eventually do go off the air – the vast majority follow a trajectory of a lifespan of, say, half-a-dozen years or so.  In the first season of a successful show, there is freshness and novelty, experimentation with plotlines and characters, some unevenness, but excitement and the growth of a fan base.  Then the show reaches a crest wave of success – compelling storylines, solid character development, a strong fan base. This is followed by a bit of stagnation, attempts are made to shake things up, introducing new characters, altering the basic storyline, which may well cause a secondary, shorter spike in interest (Caesarism?), followed by “jumping the shark,” actors leaving the show, stale and repetitious stories, flat characters, a loss of interest of the fan base, decline, and eventual cancellation.  At some point, the show exhausts the memetic possibilities of its setting, characters, and fundamental storyline, and the “magic” is lost.  Does a Culture likewise exhaust all the possibilities of its actualization?  But unlike a TV show, where the station and the show writers (and the fans and reviewers) are consciously following the show’s trajectory and ratings, a High Culture is, or has been, independent of such analysis and direction.  In what way does memetic exhaustion promote the next phase of development?  Further, given Spengler’s identification of the cycle, does this now mean that a High Culture can be tracked analogous to a defined cultural artifact, like a TV show?  If so, how?  Can an elite consciously and directly alter a culture’s direction?  Can they “cancel” it and create a new one?  These are questions that require the rigorous analysis of mechanism previously stated as being required.
 
What about moving forward?
 
ospb6.jpgI maintain that those of us in the interregnum between High Cultures have the power to shape the next High Culture to come, to plant the seed, to choose the specific seed to plant, to nurture it as it grows up toward the sun.  Analogous to lucid dreaming, in our awareness of the Spenglerian thesis – to the extent that it is true – we can guide what was in the past an unconscious and organic flowering, speed it up, and mold it in particular directions.  Obviously, the extent of this control is limited; one cannot “preplan” an entire High Culture in advance, but one can influence its direction, and get it jumpstarted. Imagine some asteroid or comet hurtling toward Earth; if you can deflect it just a small bit, when it is far enough away, that small deflection will become amplified over time, over the long distances it travels at great speeds, and it would them miss the Earth by a healthy margin.  Giving a “nudge” in the right direction at the very beginning of a High Culture’s flowering can be enough, over time, to create a path along which it will develop.  The exact outcome, the precise path, cannot be determined or even precisely predicted, but the general direction, the overall constraints of a set of possible paths, I believe can be determined and predicted.  You might not be able to pinpoint a direction to the precision of saying, “we’re going to Boston” but perhaps to the extent of “we are going to the Northeast United States.”  And that would be enough.
 
In any case, imagine a person, or group of people, and here I mean our people, who today or tomorrow (broadly defined) wish to create cultural artifacts.  And this culture creation can be of our current Western Faustian High Culture or some new one to come.  Very well.  Should they refrain from doing so simply because Spengler insisted that the time of culture was over, and we should now be concerned only with technics and conquest?  When Spenglerism takes itself too seriously, it descends into absurdity.  It is best thought of as possible guidance, as broad outlines, as description – but not any sort of definitive absolute prescription.
 
By the way, having a European Imperium – which Spenglerians would say is a marker of late Civilization – is not in my opinion in any way incompatible with the creation of a new High Culture.  After all, some Spenglerians are fond of telling us that a new High Culture is likely to come from Russia, and Russia is, as many Duginite Russian “nationalists” like to tell us, an empire.  So massive states, including multiethnic empires, can very well be the wellsprings of new cultures.  We shouldn’t confuse surface political forms with the underlying cultural realities.
 
ospb7.jpgSpeaking of Russia, another part of Spengler’s work that I found reasonably well argued and somewhat convincing (as well as fairly novel) is his idea of applying the concept of pseudomorphosis to human populations. In particular, one cannot really dispute some of his points about the Magian and Russian cultures in this regard, but when he says that Antony should have won at Actium – what nonsense is that?  So, that Rome should have become more tainted with Near Eastern cults and ideas even more than it was?  What’s the opposite of pseudomorphosis – where a Civilization becomes memetically conquered by a meme originating from a young Culture?  How did the memetic virus of Christianity infect the West?  Wouldn’t it have been worse if Actium was won by the East?  When Spengler writes of “syncretism” he begins to touch upon this reversal, which eventually goes in both directions (and as Type I “movement” apologists for Christianity like to tell us, that religion was eventually “Germanized” in the West).
 
Speaking of Christianity, Spengler’s comments about Jesus are interesting, but in my opinion too naive and too positive.  Yes, the meeting between Jesus and Pontius Pilate was world historical and meaningful; however, I view it from the Pilate perspective rather than, as Spengler does, the Jesus perspective.  Spengler takes his own view too seriously in the sense that – and the Antony-Actium thing fits here – and he seems to think that we all need to look from the viewpoint of “what was best for the new Magian High Culture?”  Personally, I could care less – I care about – only care about – those High Cultures of racially European origin (Classical, Faustian, Russian, and what comes next for the West).  Let the Magians worry about the Magian.  What? The poor little NECs were suppressed by the Classical?  Too bad. Who cares about them?  Spengler rightfully outlines how alien the Magian worldview is from the Faustian; thus, why should Faustian peoples care about Magians or follow a Magian religion like Christianity?
 
Spengler’s basic, fundamental thesis is novel and powerful: the idea of a series of High Cultures, moving in parallel with similar life morphologies.  But he went too far, arrogantly casting his idea with the aura of rigid inevitability – neglecting that the very act of identifying and evaluating the phenomenon, and doing so as part of a history-obsessed Faustian High Culture, forever destroyed a basic prerequisite of the phenomenon’s previous record of repeatability; i.e., that it was unknown and ahistorical.  Ironically, Spengler’s own observations are a major reason why the patterns he observed are no longer inevitable, or, perhaps better said no longer immune from intentional manipulation and control.  When the process was unknown, unidentified, and occurring in the background independent of direct human perception, it was beyond control, once identified and classified, that no longer necessarily holds.  
 
Let’s reconsider the analogy I made above, about the discovery of the germ theory of disease.  Before discovery, there was inevitability of certain events; with vaccination, that no longer holds.  Smallpox epidemics are no longer inevitable.  Even if the decline of the West (which has already occurred) is not stoppable, the idea that rollover to the next European High Culture is beyond control has been refuted by the knowledge gained by Spengler’s own analysis.  Spengler himself is responsible for eliminating the clockwork inevitability of his system.  What kind of “Fellah” status can a people really have once they – or at least their intellectual elites – are aware of Spenglerism?  Is a “Fellah” aware of their “Fellahsm” really “Fellah” anymore?  Or is that an oxymoron?  The Spenglerian Cycle can occur in its previously manifested form only when its actors – human actors in various cultures and civilizations and post-civilizations – are not consciously aware of its workings.  Once aware, the illusion of inevitability fades, once aware, and awareness manifested in those with a will to power, the knowledge becomes a tool and the Cycle becomes amenable to manipulation and direction.  Spengler’s work was based on the analysis of High Cultures that were to a very basic extent unaware of their own existence in these terms, unable to look at themselves objectively from “outside.”  That is no longer the case.
 
ospb8.jpgAnd if Spengler’s main thesis is flawed by its own self-realization, what can one say about his side ideas?  Those, particularly dealing with science, are absolute hogwash.  In that sense, Spengler is over-rated, never mind his poor writing, including his horrifically turgid style.  Yockey may have been offended by this “blasphemy” against his idol – “The Philosopher of History” – but it is nevertheless warranted.
 
Do I recommend The Decline of the West to the reader?  No.  As per the Pareto Principle, just read Imperium, which will take 20% of your effort and give you 80% of Spenglerism.
 
Notes:
 
*A particularly retarded footnote: “And it may be asserted that the downright faith that Haeckel, for example, pins to the names atom, matter, energy, is not essentially different from the fetishism of Neanderthal Man.”
 
Yeah, that’s great Oswald, you pompous semi-Jewish purveyor of ponderous Teutonic rumblings.  Too bad this idiot wasn’t around in the 1950s; they could have tied him to the Castle Bravo thermonuclear device and he could have experienced the “downright faith” that what he was about to experience was just the subjective interpretation of the Faustian High Culture.  Oswald would have been deconstructed indeed!
 
And for those who wish to take the Yockeyian line that technics is separate from scientific theory - that is nonsense.  The technics of nuclear power or GPS systems require an understanding of the underlying physics; the technics of CRISPR requires an understanding of the biological principles involved.  Can you train someone to use those technics, at a low level, without understanding the science?  Of course you can, but what’s the point?  Someone can read a history book without knowing Spengler, someone can fix a car engine without knowing about internal combustion.  But you cannot construct, refine, improve, or replace with something superior a technic without knowing the principles behind it. Read up on the difficulties nations had in figuring out how to get thermonuclear weapons to work (and, no, it’s not that you stick a tank of hydrogen behind an atom bomb) and you’ll understand how integral theory is for getting the technics to work and keep working.  It doesn’t take an understanding of nuclear physics to drop the bomb; however, it does require such an understanding to invent the bomb to begin with.
 
Further:
 
I can’t help notice that the buffoon Chad Crowley cites Spengler to support some of his viewpoints, even though Spengler’s fundamental thesis was that ALL High Cultures have an innate tendency to travel along the same socio-economic-politico-religious trajectory; the case of Rome is not unique, and “racial degeneration” by no means needs to be invoked to explain any of the broader changes that, according to Spengler, were destined to occur there as in any other culture he studied.

mardi, 24 avril 2018

Ronald Beiner’s Dangerous Minds

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Ronald Beiner’s Dangerous Minds

Ronald Beiner
Dangerous Minds: Nietzsche, Heidegger, and the Return of the Far Right
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2018

index.jpgRonald Beiner is a Canadian Jewish political theorist who teaches at the University of Toronto. I’ve been reading his work since the early 1990s, starting with What’s the Matter with Liberalism? (1992). I have always admired Beiner’s clear and lively writing and his ability to see straight through jargon and cant to hone in on the flaws of the positions he examines. He is also refreshingly free of Left-wing sectarianism and willing to engage with political theorists of the Right, like Leo Strauss, Eric Voegelin, Michael Oakeshott, and Hans-Georg Gadamer. Thus, although I was delighted that a theorist of his caliber had decided to write a book on the contemporary far Right, I was also worried that he might, after a typically open and searching engagement with our outlook, discover some fatal flaw.

But it turns out that an honest confrontation with our movement is a bridge too far. Beiner does not even wish to engage with our ideas, much less critique them. Instead, he uses the rise of the Right simply as lurid packaging to sell his publisher a book that focuses on Nietzsche and Heidegger. (The cover is of the torchlight march at Unite the Right, which is supposed to look sinister.)

Beiner’s target is not the Right, but the Left, specifically those who think that Nietzsche and Heidegger can be profitably appropriated for Left-wing causes. To combat this view, he mounts a persuasive case that Nietzsche and Heidegger are deeply anti-liberal thinkers. Thus, although Dangerous Minds is sensationalist and dismissive in its treatment of our movement, it is nevertheless extremely useful to us. If anyone wants to understand why Nietzsche and Heidegger are so useful to the New Right, Beiner gives a clear and engaging account in a bit more than 100 pages.

Since Beiner wants to cast our movement in the worst possible light, he naturally begins with Hailgate [2]:

In the fateful fall of 2016, a far-right ideologue named Richard B. Spencer stirred up some fame for himself by exclaiming in a conference packed with his followers not far from the White House: “Hail Trump! Hail our people! Hail victory!” On the face of it, this mad proclamation would appear to have nothing in common with the glorious tradition of Western philosophy.

But think again.

Beiner then quotes Spencer denouncing “fucking middle class” values and proclaiming “I love empire, I love power, I love achievement.” We even learn from a Jewish female reporter that Spencer will sometimes “get a boner” from reading about Napoleon. (Another triumph of press engagement [3].)

This is Nietzsche’s work, declares Beiner.

Beiner goes on to call Spencer a “lunatic ideologue” (p. 11) and an advocate of “virulently antiliberal, antidemocratic radicalism” (p. 12). He blames it all on a graduate seminar on Nietzsche that Spencer took at the University of Chicago. This is laying it on a bit thick, since Spencer is not offering a system of ideas. He’s just name-dropping and Nietzsche-posting to impress middlebrow journalists. Perhaps sensing this, Beiner turns his attention to a prolific author of essays and books, Alexander Dugin. Beiner easily establishes the Nietzschean and Heideggerian pedigree of Dugin’s dangerous ideas.

Naturally, at this point, I was wondering if I was next, so I flipped to the back of the book to see if my name appeared in the index. But there is no index. (This from a serious academic publisher?) So I continued to read. By the end, I was a bit relieved, and maybe a bit miffed, to receive no mention at all in Dangerous Minds. Nor is Counter-Currents mentioned by name, although it is referred to on page 12 as “One of the typically odious far-right websites” and on page 150 as “Another far-right outfit of the same ilk” as Arktos. In the first case, Beiner refers to James O’Meara’s review of Jason Jorjani’s Prometheus and Atlas [4], but he does not name O’Meara or give the url of the review. (Jorjani is, however, singled out for abuse as a “crackpot philosopher.”) In the second case, Beiner provides the url of my Heidegger commemoration [5] but does not cite the author or title. Beiner is known as a Left-wing admirer of Leo Strauss and Allan Bloom. These glaring oversights might lead those of a Straussian bent to think that Beiner regards Counter-Currents, James O’Meara, me, and perhaps Collin Cleary [6], who is also noticeably omitted, to be of central importance. But of course he has plausible deniability.

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Beiner zeroes in on equality as the essential issue that divides the Left and the Right:

A view of society where all individuals are fundamentally equal or a view of society where people can live meaningful lives only under the banner of fundamental hierarchy: this is an either/or, not a moral-political choice that can be submitted to compromise or splitting the difference. . . . [O]ne either sees egalitarianism as essential to the proper acknowledgement of universal human dignity, or one sees it as the destruction of what’s most human because its incompatible with human nobility rightly understood. (p. 8)

This is basically correct, but I have two caveats.

First, I think equality and liberty are genuine political values. But they are not the most important values. Individual self-actualization and the pursuit of the common good are more important than individual liberty, for instance. And justice is more important than equality, since justice requires unequal people receive unequal treatment. But even here, justice demands that unequal status and rewards be proportionate to unequal merit. By this Aristotelian view of justice, however, most forms of contemporary social and political inequality are grossly unjust.

This is why I oppose people on the Right who praise “hierarchy” as such. Not all hierarchies are just. Thus one can defend the principle of hierarchy without embracing ideas like hereditary monarchy, aristocracy, and caste, much less slavery. These are at best merely imperfect historical illustrations of the principle of hierarchy, not blueprints for the future.

Second, the notion of “universal human dignity” is simply an article of faith, like Stoic and Christian ideas of providence and liberal ideas of progress. Progress and providence are our trump cards against ultimate misfortune. They allow us to keep believing that things will work out in the end. “Dignity” is really a trump card against dehumanization: it is the assertion that no matter how botched, degraded, and corrupt a human being is, he is still a human being; he still possesses some intrinsic worth that he can use, as a measure of last resort, to gain some consideration from the rest of us. But when aliens land and discover that human beings are delicious, appeals to the universal dignity of rational beings are not going to save us. True nobility requires that we face reality and dispense with such moralistic illusions.

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But that does not mean that we dispense with empathy for others. I have zero patience for people on the Right who defend slavery, colonialism, imperialism, and genocide. They are guilty of another form of providential wishful thinking, for they apparently feel themselves invulnerable to the sufferings they would cheerfully inflict on others. It does not occur to them that others could do the same to them. But nobility requires thinking and living without such illusions. You might be high and mighty today, but you are not bulletproof (which is really all Hobbes meant by equality). Empathy allows us to imagine ourselves in the positions of others. Fortune can elevate or lower us into the positions of others. And if none of us are immune to fortune, then we should create a political system in which we could morally bear to trade places with anyone, a society in which all social stations are fundamentally just. This leads to the sort of live-and-let-live ethos that is at the core of ethnonationalism as I define it.

This is why I don’t regard Alexander Dugin and Richard Spencer as contributing anything to White Nationalism, which is the advocacy of ethnic self-determination for all white peoples. Instead, they are simply apologists for Russian imperial revanchism. Spencer regards ethnonationalism as “petty,” siding with the UK against Scottish independence, the EU against Brexit, and Spain against Catalan independence. But although he opposes the UK leaving the EU, he opposes Ukraine joining it. He praises the EU as a transnational, imperial organization — but not NATO. Clearly, he is more interested in shilling for Russian geopolitical interests than in setting forth a coherent moral and political framework for white survival. I can’t blame Beiner for focusing on Dugin and Spencer, however, because they embrace all of Nietzsche’s most lurid and questionable ideas as well as his good ones.

Beiner on Nietzsche

According to Beiner’s chapter on “Reading Nietzsche in an Age of Resurgent Fascism,” the “one central, animating Nietzschean idea” is: “Western civilization is going down the toilet because of too much emphasis on truth and rationality and too much emphasis on equal human dignity” (p. 24). (This passage also illustrates the vulgar and often hysterical tone of Beiner’s polemic. Dangerous Minds has a rambling, informal, often autobiographical style that makes it read like an extended blog post. Beiner also peppers his prose with exclamation points, sometimes 4 or 5 to the page, to drive his points home. I began to worry that he would soon resort to emoticons.)

Nietzsche offers two arguments against liberalism. First, liberalism destroys the meaning of life. Second, liberalism destroys human nobility.

For Nietzsche, a meaningful life requires a normative culture as the context or “horizon” in which each individual is immersed and formed. In short, a meaningful life is rooted in ethnic identity, although Nietzsche does not put it in these terms, as he was deeply alienated from and ambivalent about his own German identity. A normative culture provides an encompassing worldview and a hierarchy of values. These need not be “true” in any metaphysical sense to provide foundations for a meaningful life. Hence the danger of modernity’s high value for truth and rationality. These horizons are always plural (there are many different cultures), and they are closed (they generate differences between insiders and outsiders, us and them; thus they are “political” in Carl Schmitt’s sense of the word).

Liberalism destroys meaning because it is cosmopolitan and egalitarian. Its cosmopolitanism opens horizons to other cultures and undermines attachment to one’s own culture. Its egalitarianism overthrows value hierarchies that make people feel bad about themselves. The result is the collapse of rootedness and meaning and the emergence of nihilism. This is why Nietzsche “regards old-fashioned nineteenth-century liberalism — to say nothing of radicalized twentieth- and twenty-first century versions — as rendering culture per se impossible” (p. 34).

Nbgev.jpgBeiner doesn’t offer a very clear account of why Nietzsche thinks liberalism undermines human nobility. The short answer is that it is simply the political application of the slave revolt in morals, in which the aristocratic virtues of the ancients were transmuted into Christian and eventually liberal vices, and the vices of the enslaved and downtrodden were transmuted into virtues.

But what makes us noble in the first place? Like Hegel, Nietzsche believes that human nobility shows itself by triumphing over the fear of death and loss and doing beautiful and noble things in spite of them. Thus, human nobility is essentially connected with facing up to the tragic character of human life and finding the strength to carry on.

Liberalism, like Platonism, Stoicism, and Christianity, is anti-tragic because it is based on faith in providence, the idea that the universe is ruled by and directed toward the good — appearances to the contrary notwithstanding. Providence denies the ultimate reality of loss, finitude, and evil, blinding us to the tragic dimension of life and replacing it with the stoner mantra that “it’s all good.” It is a delusion of ultimate metaphysical invulnerability to evil and loss.

Modern liberals replace faith in providence with faith in progress, which they believe will result in the perfection of mankind and the amelioration of human suffering and evils. It is a false vision of the world that smothers the possibility of human nobility. Although Beiner has the chutzpah to suggest that maybe Nietzscheans can ennoble themselves by enduring life in the “iron cage” of modernity and learning to love the Last Man (p. 116). (Why not ennoble oneself even more by living with head-lice as well?)

The plurality of horizons also means the possibility of existential conflict and the necessity of choosing and taking responsibility for one’s choices. As Schmitt argued, however, the whole liberal ethos is to replace the government of responsible choosers — the sovereign — with the government of laws, rules, and anonymous bureaucrats.

Beiner doesn’t delve too deeply into Nietzsche’s views of nobility because he wants to hang them on Nietzsche’s praise of slavery, caste, war, and cruelty. But while it is true that these phenomena accompanied the emergence of aristocratic values — and most of what we recognize as high culture, for that matter, for the leisure that gave rise to science and culture was secured by the labor of slaves — one can legitimately ask if it is possible to bring about a rebirth of aristocratic values and high culture without first becoming barbarians again. For instance, this is the utopia offered by Social Credit, the preferred economic theory of interwar Anglophone fascists, who hoped to unleash human nobility and creativity once machines put us all out of work.

But if we cannot renew civilization without starting over from scratch, then I would gladly hit the reset button rather than allow the world to decline endlessly into detritus. Thus, on Nietzschean and Heideggerian grounds, it makes sense to try to renew the world, because if one fails, that failure might contribute to the civilizational reset that we need. Indeed, the more catastrophic the failure, the greater the chance of a fresh start. The only way we can’t win is if we don’t try.

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Beiner on Heidegger

Beiner’s chapter on “Reading Heidegger in an Age of Resurgent Fascism” is less incisive than his account of Nietzsche, largely because he does not see how close Heidegger really is to Nietzsche. Beiner takes Heidegger’s question of Being at face value and finds it rather bizarre that Heidegger could think that modern civilization is going to hell because of forgetting about Being. But for Heidegger Being = meaning [7], and the modern oblivion of Being is basically the same thing that Nietzsche meant by the collapse of closed normative horizons and the rise of nihilism. Indeed, Heidegger’s concept of Dasein simply refers to man as a being situated within and defined by horizons of meaning. The occlusion of these horizons by the false individualism and cosmopolitanism of modernity leads to nihilism, a life deprived of meaning.

Heidegger thought National Socialism could bring about the spiritual renewal of the German people — and presumably any other nation that tried it — by rejecting cosmopolitanism and individualism and reaffirming the rootedness, community, and the closed horizon of the nation. He rejected National Socialism when he came to see it as just another form of modern technological nihilism. Nietzsche, of course, rejected German nationalism, but Heidegger’s thinking was truer to the implications of Nietzsche’s thinking about the closed cultural horizons that grant meaning.

Beiner is at his best in his reading of Heidegger’s “Letter on Humanism,” his post-war statement publicly inaugurating “the late Heidegger.” Beiner correctly discerns that Heidegger’s lament against the “homelessness” of modern man and his loss of Heimat (homeland) is an expression of the same fundamentally reactionary, anti-modern, anti-cosmopolitan, and pro-nationalist sentiments that led him to embrace National Socialism. Indeed, there’s good reason to think that Heidegger never changed his fundamental political philosophy at all. The only thing that changed was his evaluation of National Socialism and his adoption of a more oblique and esoteric way of speaking about politics under the repressive conditions of the Occupation and the Federal Republic. Carrying out Heidegger’s project of offering a case for a non-nihilistic, non-totalitarian form of ethnonationalism is the project of the New Right as I define it.

Heidegger and the Holocaust

Beiner, like many Jewish commentators, seems to feel that Heidegger owes him a personal apology for the Holocaust. We are told that Heidegger’s silence about the Holocaust is unforgivable. But when we point out that Heidegger did say something about the Holocaust, namely that it was a sinister application of mechanized modern mass slaughter to human beings, we are told that this view is also unforgivable, since the Holocaust somehow transcends all attempts to classify and understand it. Which would seem to require that we say nothing about it at all, but we have already learned that this is unforgivable as well.

Beiner tells the story of Rudolf Bultmann’s visit to Heidegger after the war, when he told Heidegger, “Now you must like Augustine write your retractions [Retractiones] . . . in the final analysis for the truth of your thought.” Bultmann continues: “Heidegger’s face became a stony mask. He left without saying anything further” (p. 119).

Beiner treats this as outrageous. But Heidegger’s reaction is not hard to understand. He had nothing to retract. He felt that he had done nothing wrong. He was not responsible for the war or the Holocaust. They were none of his doing or his intention. They were part and parcel of the very nihilism that he opposed. The fact that the National Socialist regime went so terribly wrong did not refute Heidegger’s basic diagnosis of the problems of modern rootlessness and nihilism but rather proved how all-pervasive they were. Nor did anything the Nazis did refute the deep truth of ethnonationalism as the political corollary of spiritually awakening from the nightmare of liberal modernity. Thus Heidegger absolutely refused to say anything about the war or the Holocaust that could be interpreted as conceding that modern liberal democracy had somehow been proven true. Instead, he continued to make essentially the same arguments as he made before the war, but in more esoteric terms by focusing on rootlessness and technology.

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Bultmann was telling Heidegger to lie, to retract beliefs he believed were true, and to do it in the name of “the truth of [his] thought” when in fact the only motive could be to win the approval of the victors. But that approval was something Heidegger decided to do without. Frankly, Bultmann was making an indecent proposal, and Heidegger’s stony silence was admirably restrained.

Beiner mentions that according to Gadamer, Heidegger “was so preoccupied by modernity’s forgetfulness of Being [rootlessness, nihilism] that even the Nazi genocide ‘appeared to him as something minimal compared to the future that awaits us’” (p. 107). Here’s another unforgivable statement breaching Heidegger’s unforgivable silence. But this unforgivable statement is, unfortunately, quite prophetic. For the consummation of global technological civilization, including the erasure of borders and the destruction of roots, will lead to a genocide far vaster and more complete than the Holocaust. I refer the reader to my essays “White Extinction [8],” “White Genocide [9],” and especially “Why the Holocaust Happened, and Why It Won’t Happen Again [10].”

A New Age of Gods?

Both Nietzsche and Heidegger think that spiritual health requires unreflective belief in and commitment to a closed, normatively binding cultural horizon. Christianity, post-Socratic philosophy, and the Enlightenment, however, made self-reflection and universal truth into transcendent values. But as Nietzsche argued, this was a self-defeating move, for Christianity could not stand up to rational criticism. Reason soon escaped the control of the Church, which led to the downfall of Christianity (Nietzsche’s “death of God”), the erasure of the West’s horizon, and the rise of modern nihilism. It follows that the return to spiritual health requires the emergence of a new age of unreflective belief and commitment. Giambattista Vico called this an “Age of Gods,” the first age of a new historical cycle.

The great question is: can a new “Age of Gods” emerge within the context of our present civilization, or must the modern world perish utterly, completely liquidating the Western tradition of philosophy, science, and liberalism, so that mankind can truly believe, belong, and obey again? The new horizons and myths that we need, moreover, cannot be “chosen,” for adopting a belief system as a matter of choice is not an alternative to nihilism, it is just an expression of it. Genuine belief is not chosen. It chooses you. It does not belong to you. You belong to it.

Nietzsche believed that a new age of gods could be imposed by great philosopher-legislators who could create new myths and new tables of values. Under Nietzsche’s sway, Heidegger believed this as well, and it accounts for why he thought National Socialism could lead to a spiritual renewal of Germany. It was only later that Heidegger realized that National Socialism was not an alternative to nihilism, but an expression of it.

It was at this point that Heidegger began his great confrontation with Nietzsche in the mid-1930s. Heidegger later told Gadamer that “Nietzsche ruined me.” Nietzsche ruined Heidegger by offering him nihilism as a cure for nihilism. Nietzsche made Heidegger a Nazi. Heidegger overcame Nazism by overcoming Nietzsche.

heidegger.jpgIn Heidegger’s later terminology, Nietzsche and National Socialism were both “humanistic,” premised on the idea that the human mind creates culture, whereas in fact culture creates the human mind. No genuine belief can be chosen. It has to seize us. This is one of the senses of Heidegger’s later concept of Ereignis, often translated “the event of appropriation”: the beginning of a new historical epoch seizes and enthralls us. This is the meaning of Heidegger’s later claim that “Only a god can save us now” — as opposed to a philosopher-dictator.

One could, however, read Nietzsche in a non-humanistic way, if one sees his rhapsodies to the Übermensch, the philosopher-legislator, and the coming century of global wars (yes, Nietzsche predicted that) not as a solution to modern nihilism, but as an intensification of it to the breaking point as a way of hurrying along the downfall of the modern world and inaugurating a new age of gods. (“That which is falling should also be pushed.”) If this is Nietzsche’s true view, then offering nihilism to cure nihilism is not a self-contradiction, it is just sound homeopathic medicine.

Beiner asks “are any of us really prepared to entertain the possibility of the comprehensive cancelling-out of modernity to which Heidegger in his radicalism seems committed?” (p. 105). Elsewhere he asks “. . . with what do we undertake to replace [liberal modernity]? A regime of warriors and priests? A return from Enlightenment to magic?” (p. 132). But Beiner is asking these questions from within liberal modernity, and of course from within that perspective, people are going to cling to liberalism simply out of fear. From Heidegger’s point of view, we will only have a solution when individuals can no longer pose such questions. Instead, the answers will be imposed upon us by historical forces outside our comprehension or control.

A Smug Criticism of Smugness

Beiner’s conclusion, “How to Do Theory in Politically Treacherous Times,” is, like the rest of his book, directed to Leftist academics. He makes a strong case against the smugness and complacency of contemporary political theorists, who think they can ignore the Right because we have been refuted by history: “For Rawls, Rorty, and Habermas, Nietzsche has been refuted by history and sociology. He hasn’t! He can only be refuted by a more compelling account of the human good” (p. 125). This is excellent advice, but it ill-accords with Beiner’s own supremely smug, question-begging, and dismissive tone throughout Dangerous Minds. Judging from what he does, as opposed to what he says, Beiner’s real aim is not to intellectually engage the Right, but to censor and suppress it. But if Beiner really does want to debate the philosophical foundations of the New Right, I’m game.

Should We Read Heidegger and Nietzsche?

If Nietzsche and Heidegger are so dangerous to liberal democracy, shouldn’t something be done to keep their books out of the hands of impressionable young men?

Beiner ends his discussion of Nietzsche by referring to Leo Strauss’s advice to Canadian conservative political philosopher George Grant, who was about to embark on a series of popular radio lectures on Nietzsche. Strauss viewed Nietzsche as a profoundly dangerous thinker and advised Grant not to talk about Nietzsche at all but simply refer to his “epigones” Freud and Weber. The only reason Beiner brings this up, of course, is to plant the idea that academics should drop Nietzsche from the canon. Beiner, however, strenuously denies that this is his intent in his Introduction:

Hopefully no reader of my book will draws from it the unfortunate conclusion that we should just walk away from Nietzsche and Heidegger — that is, stop reading them. [Of course reading them does not necessarily entail teaching them, especially to undergraduates.] On the contrary, I think that we need to read them in ways that make us more conscious of, more reflective about, and more self-critical of the limits of the liberal view of life and hence what defines that view of life. But if one is handling intellectually radioactive materials, one has to be much less naïve about what one is dealing with. . . . We need to open our eyes, at once intellectually, morally, and politically, to just how dangerous they are. (p. 14)

But this seems disingenuous in light of Beiner’s repeated assertion that Nietzsche and Heidegger should have censored their own ideas insofar as they are dangerous to liberal modernity:

There is a kind of insane recklessness to Nietzsche — as if nothing he could write, no matter how irresponsible, no matter how inflammatory, could possibly do any harm. All that matters is raising the stakes, and there is no such thing as raising the stakes too high. (p. 63)

One has to ask: “To whom does Beiner think Nietzsche is being irresponsible? What could his thought possibly harm?” The answer, of course, is the modern liberal democratic world, the world that Nietzsche rejects, the world that Nietzsche crafted his doctrines to destroy.

MHages.jpgBeiner is even more blatant in his advocacy of self-censorship in Heidegger’s case:

Near the end of his life, Heidegger decided to include the Black Notebooks (including explicitly racist passages conjuring up a diabolical conspiracy on the part of “World Judaism” [sic: World Jewry]) in the official Collected Works, whereas any reasonably sane person would have burned them, or at least burned the most incriminating passages. It’s as if he either were trying to spur a revival of fascist ideology or intended to confess to the world just how grievously stained he had been by that ideology. All of this is thoroughly damning. (pp. 113–14)

Again, one must ask: “Sane by whose standards? Incriminating to whom? Damning by whose standards?” The answer, of course, is: modern liberal democrats. But Heidegger thought these people were intellectually benighted and morally corrupt. So why should be censor his thought to conform to their sensibilities? To hell with them. He was addressing himself to freer minds, to a better world, to generations yet to come.

At the beginning of his Heidegger chapter, Beiner also writes:

The question I’m raising in this chapter is whether, finding ourselves now in a political landscape where the possibility increasingly looms of Heidegger as a potential resource for the far right, it might be best for left Heideggerianism (a paradox to being with) to close up shop. (p. 67)

Since virtually everyone teaching Heidegger in academia today is a Leftist, this basically amounts to removing Heidegger from the canon. Beiner’s talk of looming possibilities and potential resources is off the mark, for Heidegger already is a resource and inspiration for the New Right, and he knows this. (Frankly, I hope Left-wing Heideggerians close up shop soon. It would be an ideal opportunity to launch the Heidegger Graduate School [11].)

It is absurd to wish that Nietzsche and Heidegger had censored their ideas to remove their challenges to the system they despised and wished to destroy. If liberals want to stop these ideas from influencing policy, they need to refute them. Demanding censorship is simply an admission that one cannot refute ideas rationally and thus must repress them. Asking one’s opponents to engage in self-censorship takes some brass. If liberals can’t refute anti-liberals like Nietzsche and Heidegger, they are just going to have to screw up their resolve and do their own censorship. This is hardly a stretch, sadly, since the suppression of dissent is second nature to modern academics. It’s really all they have left.

Indeed, if wishing aloud that Nietzsche and Heidegger had censored themselves has any practical meaning today, it is as a suggestion that political theorists and philosophers censor themselves and their syllabi, i.e., remove Nietzsche and Heidegger from the canon.

If Beiner is really arguing that Leftists should stop teaching Nietzsche and Heidegger, he apparently did not anticipate what would happen if his book fell into the hands of Rightist readers like me. For Dangerous Minds, despite its obnoxious rhetoric and smug dismissal of our movement, is a very helpful introduction to Nietzsche and Heidegger as anti-liberal thinkers. Thus I recommend it highly. And if I have anything to say about it, this book will help create a whole lot more dangerous minds, a whole new generation of Right-wing Nietzscheans and Heideggerians.

 

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

URL to article: https://www.counter-currents.com/2018/04/ronald-beiners-dangerous-minds/

URLs in this post:

[1] Image: https://www.counter-currents.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Beiner.jpg

[2] Hailgate: https://www.counter-currents.com/2016/11/the-alt-right-obituary-for-a-brand/

[3] press engagement: https://www.counter-currents.com/2018/03/in-bed-with-the-press/

[4] James O’Meara’s review of Jason Jorjani’s Prometheus and Atlas: https://www.counter-currents.com/2016/09/jason-jorjanis-prometheus-and-atlas/

[5] Heidegger commemoration: https://www.counter-currents.com/2017/09/remembering-martin-heidegger-7/

[6] Collin Cleary: https://www.counter-currents.com/2012/06/heidegger-an-introduction-for-anti-modernists-part-1/

[7] for Heidegger Being = meaning: https://www.counter-currents.com/2014/12/making-sense-of-heidegger/

[8] White Extinction: https://www.counter-currents.com/2017/06/white-extinction-2/

[9] White Genocide: https://www.counter-currents.com/2015/09/white-genocide/

[10] Why the Holocaust Happened, and Why It Won’t Happen Again: https://www.counter-currents.com/2016/03/why-the-holocaust-happened/

[11] Heidegger Graduate School: https://www.counter-currents.com/2016/02/graduate-school-with-heidegger/

samedi, 21 avril 2018

II Jornadas Metapoliticas Madrid, 14-04-2018

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Ediciones Fides y Ohka

II Jornadas Metapoliticas

Madrid, 14-04-2018

1) Javier R. Portella

Javier R. Portella departiendo sobre Cataluña
 
 

2) Enrique de Acedo

Enrique de Acedo departiendo sobre Geopolitica
 
 

3) Mesa Redonda sobre Cataluña

Mesa-debate sobre la actualidad de Cataluña en la que intervienen: Raúl, Nacho Larrea, Eduardo Arroyo y Juan Antonio LLopart (de izda. a dcha.)
 
 

3) José Javier Esparza

José Javier Esparza departiendo sobre mayo del 68
 
 

4) Fernando Marquez

 
Fernando Marquez departiendo sobre Jünger
 

lundi, 26 mars 2018

An evocation of Ludwig Klages

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An evocation of Ludwig Klages

by Thierry Durolle

It is important for the militants of the Greater Europe to possess a philosophical background which enables them to build or comfort a proper Weltanschaaung. One important understanding, we believe, is the antagonistic relationship between the philosophie des Lumières and the (neo) romantic movement. The latter was embodied by a lot of different thinkers and writers, most of them being German.

Some of us would think that Friederich Nieztsche would represent the zenith of  this movement, whose ideas would consist of a « surhumanism », as per the Italian thinker Giorgio Locchi’s writtings. For sure Nietzsche is a good start so to speak and he obviously influenced and will influence a lot people out there. Thinking of Nietzsche’s heirs, the names of Oswald Spengler and Ludwig Klages immediately come to mind. If the first one became famous with his Decline of the West, Ludwig Klages remains quite unknown to some.

LK-buch.jpgLudwig Klages was a one-of-a-kind brilliant man who is firstly known for his graphology work. But it is his philosophical work especially which deserves our attention. In fact, Klages belongs to what used to be called Lebensphilopsohie, a term that applies to Nietzsche’s. One thing they share is this dionysiac view on life which is often called « biocentric » when applied to Klages’ philosophy. His anti-christianity is another common point with Friedrich Nietzsche, and the same goes for a genre of paganism, or pantheism, shared by both philosophers.

Nevertheless, Nietzsche’s famous concept of Wille zur Macht (Will to Power), a concept often misunderstood, does not meet Ludwig Klages’ approval. Indeed, he considers it to be a spark which lit the fire of modern technician craziness - working hand in hand with the worst kind of capitalism at some point. For if Klages is against capitalism, in a wider view, he is against liberalism in general. One important criticism he addresses to both technician and capitalist systems is the destructive effect they both exert on nature.

Ludwig Klages is to be considered as a pioneer of ecology. In 1913, he delivered a speech which was later turned into a small book called Man and Earth. In his speech, Klages foresaw the future devastation caused by capitalism on nature such as the animal extinction, the alienation of the producer/consumer system and even mass tourism. This text must be read by any Right-Wing ecologist.

Thanks to Arktos, glimpses of Ludwig Klages work are now available to the public in English in the form of two books. The first one - entitled Ludwig Klages The Biocentric Worldview - consists of a collection of selected texts which stress the author’s biocentrism. The second one - Ludwig Klages Cosmogonic Reflections - is a collection of aphorism. Both books contain foreword by Joseph D. Pryce who excellently introduce the reader to Ludwig Klages. The reading of Ludwig Klages texts completes those written by Nietzsche and Spengler in a poetic manner typical of Germany’s best authors.

lundi, 19 mars 2018

L'oeuvre de Carl Schmitt, une théologie politique

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L'oeuvre de Carl Schmitt, une théologie politique

L’auteur examine en quatre chapitres l’impact de celle-ci.

hm-lcs.jpgLa leçon de Carl Schmitt

Heinrich Meier

Acheter

L’auteur examine en quatre chapitres l’œuvre de Carl Schmitt, en montrant que ce qui l’unifie, c’est qu’elle constitue une «théologie politique». Toutefois, il faut se reporter à la fin de l’ouvrage pour comprendre ce qu’il faut entendre par ce terme. Dans la dernière partie du livre, l’auteur propose une rétrospective sur «la querelle de la théologie politique», qui permet de mieux comprendre le sens de cette expression utilisée dans le reste de l’ouvrage. Il y montre que si l’on interprète souvent l’expression de «théologie politique», à partir des textes mêmes de l’œuvre de Schmitt, comme «une affirmation relevant de l’histoire des concepts ou plutôt une hypothèse de la sociologie de la connaissance qui traite des «analogies de structures» entre des disciplines et des «transpositions» historiques» (p256), on restreint la portée et l’importance de ce concept que l’auteur estime central dans la pensée de Schmitt. Certes, C. Schmitt, évoquant une «théologie politique» a bien l’idée que des juristes ont transféré les concepts théologiques, comme celui de la toute-puissance de Dieu, sur le souverain temporel, dans les Temps modernes. Mais pour lui, la «théologie politique» désigne aussi, derrière cette opération de transfert, la volonté de ces juristes de répondre en chrétien à l’appel de l’histoire en «montrant le chemin à suivre pour sortir de la guerre civile confessionnelle.» Leur entreprise de sécularisation n’était pas portée par des intentions antichrétiennes, mais, bien au contraire, inspirée chrétiennement. Jean Bodin et Thomas Hobbes par exemple, que Schmitt désigne comme «ses amis», se tinrent, dans l’interprétation qu’il en donne, «solidement à la foi de leurs pères, et cela pas seulement de manière extérieure» (p261). Autrement dit, plus qu’un transfert de fait et historiquement repérable, la théologie politique désignerait pour Schmitt une attitude dans laquelle c’est à la politique de remplir une mission héritée de la religion, dans un monde qui se sécularise ou qui s’est sécularisé. La sécularisation, qui advient de fait, doit être gérée dans une intention qui demeure animée par la foi chrétienne. De là résulte entre autre que le critère du politique manifesté par la distinction entre ami et ennemi renvoie, pour l’auteur, en dernière analyse à l’opposition entre Dieu et Satan.

Chapitre 1: la réflexion schmittienne sur la morale

Dans le premier chapitre, centré sur la réflexion schmittienne sur la morale, l’auteur commence par montrer quel tableau –qui l’indigne– Schmitt dresse de son époque: un monde vivant aux pulsations de l’entreprise commerciale, rongé progressivement par la sécularisation et l’abandon de la foi, la démesure des hommes qui en «substituant à la providence les plans échafaudés par leur volonté et les calculs de leurs intérêts, pensent pouvoir créer de force un paradis terrestre dans lequel ils seraient dispensés d’avoir à décider entre le Bien et le Mal, et duquel l’épreuve décisive serait définitivement bannie.» (p15). La science elle-même n’est pour Schmitt que «l’auto-divination contre Dieu». Et Schmitt rejette ces formes d’auto-habilitation, par lesquelles l’homme prétend s’émanciper du Dieu transcendant.

Or, ce que souligne l’auteur, c’est que c’est chez Bakounine que Schmitt trouve en quelque sorte le paradigme de cette rébellion et de cette défense de la désobéissance, contre le souverain et contre Dieu. Bakounine en effet «conteste l’objet de la conviction la plus intime de Schmitt. Il attaque la révélation et nie l’existence de Dieu; il veut supprimer l’Etat et nie l’universalité revendiquée par le catholicisme romain.» (p19) ( «Dieu étant tout, le monde réel et l’homme ne sont rien. Dieu étant la vérité, la justice, le bien, le beau, la puissance et la vie, l’homme est le mensonge, l’iniquité, le mal, la laideur, l’impuissance et la mort. Dieu étant le maître, l’homme est l’esclave. Incapable de trouver par lui-même la justice, la vérité et la vie éternelle, il ne peut y arriver qu’au moyen d’une révélation divine. Mais qui dit révélation, dit révélateur, messies, prophètes, prêtres et législateurs inspirés par Dieu même; et ceux-là une fois reconnus comme les représentants de la divinité sur terre, comme les saints instituteurs de l’humanité, élus par Dieu même pour la diriger dans la voie du salut, ils doivent nécessairement exercer un pouvoir absolu. Tous les hommes leur doivent une obéissance illimitée et passive, car contre la Raison Divine il n’y a point de raison humaine, et contre la Justice de Dieu, point de justice terrestre qui tienne. Esclaves de Dieu, les hommes doivent l’être aussi de l’Eglise et de l’Etat, en tant que ce dernier est consacré par l’Eglise.» Mikhaïl Bakounine, Dieu et l’Etat). La devise «Ni Dieu ni maître» affiche le rejet de toute forme d’obéissance et détruit les fondements classiques de l’obéissance dans la culture européenne d’après Schmitt. Pour Bakounine, la croyance en Dieu est la cause de l’autorité de l’Etat et de tout le mal politique qui en procède. D’ailleurs Schmitt reprend à Bakounine l’expression de «théologie politique» que ce dernier emploie contre Mazzini. Pour Bakounine, le mal vient des forces religieuses et politiques affirmant la nécessité de l’obéissance et de la soumission de l’homme; alors que pour Schmitt – et dans une certaine tradition chrétienne – le mal provient du refus de l’obéissance et de la revendication de l’autonomie humaine.

cs-car.jpgChez ces deux auteurs, politique et religion sont mises ensemble, dans un même camp, dans une lutte opposant le bien au mal, même si ce qui représente le bien chez l’un représente le mal chez l’autre. Pour Schmitt, dans ce combat, le bourgeois est celui qui ne pense qu’à sa sécurité et qui veut retarder le plus possible son engagement dans ce combat entre bien et mal. Ce que le bourgeois considère comme le plus important, c’est sa sécurité, sécurité physique, sécurité de ses biens, comme de ses actions, «protection contre toute ce qui pourrait perturber l’accumulation et la jouissance de ses possessions» (p22). Il relègue ainsi dans la sphère privée la religion, et se centre ainsi sur lui-même. Or contre cette illusoire sécurité, Schmitt, et c’est là une thèse importante défendue par l’auteur, met au centre de l’existence la certitude de la foi («Seule une certitude qui réduit à néant toutes les sécurités humaines peut satisfaire le besoin de sécurité de Schmitt; seule la certitude d’un pouvoir qui surpasse radicalement tous les pouvoirs dont dispose l’homme peut garantir le centre de gravité morale sans lequel on ne peut mettre un terme à l’arbitraire: la certitude du Dieu qui exige l’obéissance, qui gouverne sans restriction et qui juge en accord avec son propre droit. (…) La source unique à laquelle s’alimentent l’indignation et la polémique de Schmitt est sa résolution à défendre le sérieux de la décision morale. Pour Schmitt, cette résolution est la conséquence et l’expression de sa théologie politique» (p24).). Et c’est dans cette foi que s’origine l’exigence d’obéissance et de décision morale. Schmitt croit aussi, comme il l’affirme dans sa Théologie politique, que «la négation du péché originel détruit tout ordre social».
Chez Schmitt, derrière ce terme de «péché originel», il faut lire la nécessité pour l’homme d’avoir toujours à choisir son camp, de s’efforcer de distinguer le bien du mal («Seule une certitude qui réduit à néant toutes les sécurités humaines peut satisfaire le besoin de sécurité de Schmitt; seule la certitude d’un pouvoir qui surpasse radicalement tous les pouvoirs dont dispose l’homme peut garantir le centre de gravité morale sans lequel on ne peut mettre un terme à l’arbitraire: la certitude du Dieu qui exige l’obéissance, qui gouverne sans restriction et qui juge en accord avec son propre droit. (…) La source unique à laquelle s’alimentent l’indignation et la polémique de Schmitt est sa résolution à défendre le sérieux de la décision morale. Pour Schmitt, cette résolution est la conséquence et l’expression de sa théologie politique» (p24).). L’homme est sommé d’agir dans l’histoire en obéissant à la foi («la théologie politique place au centre cette vertu d’obéissance qui, selon le mot d’un de ses plus illustres représentants, «est dans la créature raisonnable la mère et la gardienne de toutes les vertus» (Augustin, Cité de Dieu XII, 14). Par leur ancrage dans l’obéissance absolue, les vertus morales reçoivent un caractère qui leur manquerait autrement.» (p31-32).), et il doit pour cela avant faire preuve de courage et d’humilité. L’auteur montre ainsi que loin de se réduire à la «politique pure», la pensée schmittienne investit la morale en en proposant un modèle aux contours relativement précis.

Chapitre 2: Réflexion sur la conception politique de Schmitt

Dans chapitre II, H. Meier montre que la conception politique de C. Schmitt ne peut être entièrement détachée d’une réflexion sur la vérité et la connaissance. En effet, Schmitt écrit, dans La notion de politique, que le politique «se trouve dans un comportement commandé par l’éventualité effective d’une guerre, dans le clair discernement de la situation propre qu’elle détermine et dans la tâche de distinguer correctement l’ami et l’ennemi». Cela implique que le politique désigne un comportement, une tâche et une connaissance, comme le met en évidence l’auteur. Pour mener à bien l’exigence d’obéissance mise au jour dans le chapitre précédent, il faut une certaine connaissance. Cela semble relativement clair, mais l’auteur va plus loin et défend la thèse selon laquelle non seulement le politique exige la connaissance, mais il veut montrer que l’appréhension du politique pour Schmitt est «essentiellement connaissance de soi» (p46).

La distinction entre l’ami et l’ennemi s’appuie sur une notion existentielle de l’ennemi. L’ennemi présupposé par le concept de politique est une réalité publique et collective, et non un individu sur lequel on s’acharnerait, mu par une haine personnelle. Comme le précise H. Meier, «il n’est déterminé par aucune «abstraction normative» mais renvoie à une donnée de la «réalité existentielle» (…). Il est l’ennemi qui «doit être repoussé» dans le combat existentiel.» (p49). La figure de l’ennemi sert le critère du politique, mais chez Schmitt, selon l’auteur, elle n’est pas le fruit d’une élaboration théorique, voire idéologique, mais elle est ce en face de quoi je suis toujours amené existentiellement à prendre position et elle sert aussi à me déterminer et à me connaître moi-même, sur la base du postulat que c’est en connaissant son ennemi qu’on se connaît soi-même. Grâce à la distinction entre l’agonal et le politique, qui tous deux mettent en jeu la possibilité de ma mort et celle de l’adversaire ou de l’ennemi, mais qui s’opposent sur le sens de la guerre et la destination de l’homme ( Dans une compréhension politique du monde, l’homme ne peut réaliser pleinement sa destinée et sa vocation qu’en s’engageant entièrement et existentiellement pour l’avènement de la domination, de l’ordre et de la paix, tandis que dans la pensée agonale, ce qui compte, c’est moins le but pour lequel on combat que la façon de combattre et d’inscrire ainsi son existence dans le monde. E. Jünger, qui défend une pensée agonale écrit ainsi: «l’essentiel n’est pas ce pour quoi nous nous battons, c’est notre façon de nous battre. (…) L’esprit combattif, l’engagement de la personne, et quand ce serait pour l’idée la plus infime, pèse plus lourd que toute ratiocination sur le bien et le mal» (La guerre comme expérience intérieure).), Schmitt montre qu’il ne s’agit pas de se battre par principe et pour trouver un sens à vie, mais de lutter pour défendre une cause juste, ou mieux la Justice. Et c’est à ce titre que le politique est ce par quoi l’homme apprend à se connaître, à savoir ce qu’il veut être, ce qu’il est et ce qu’il doit être ( H. Meier développe ainsi un commentaire long et précis sur le sens d’une phrase de Theodor Däubler qui revient souvent chez Schmitt: «l’ennemi est la figure de notre propre question». Nous nous connaissons en connaissant notre ennemi et en même temps nous reconnaissons notre ennemi en celui qui nous met en question. L’ennemi, en quelque sorte, est aussi le garant de notre identité. Notre réponse à la question que l’ennemi nous pose est notre engagement existentiel-par un acte de décision – concret dans l’histoire.).

cs-pol.pngLa confrontation politique apparaît comme constitutive de notre identité. A ce titre, elle ne peut pas être seulement spirituelle ou symbolique. Cette confrontation politique trouve son origine dans la foi, qui nous appelle à la décision («La foi selon laquelle le maître de l’histoire nous a assigné notre place historique et notre tâche historique, et selon laquelle nous participons à une histoire providentielle que nos seules forces humaines ne peuvent pas sonder, une telle foi confère à chacun en particulier un poids qui ne lui est accordé dans aucun autre système: l’affirmation ou la réalisation du «propre» est en elle-même élevée au rang d’une mission métaphysique. Etant donné que le plus important est «toujours déjà accompli» et ancré dans le «propre», nous nous insérons dans la totalité compréhensive qui transcende le Je précisément dans la mesure où nous retournons au «propre» et y persévérons. Nous nous souvenons de l’appel qui nous est lancé lorsque nous nous souvenons de «notre propre question»; nous nous montrons prêts à faire notre part lorsque nous engageons ma confrontation avec «l’autre, l’étranger» sur «le même plan que nous» et ce «pour conquérir notre propre mesure, notre propre limite, notre propre forme.»« (p77-78).).

Aussi les «grands sommets» de la politique sont atteints quand l’ennemi providentiel est reconnu. La politique n’atteint son intensité absolue que lorsqu’elle est combat pour la foi, et pas simple combat, guerre limitée et encadrée par le droit des gens moderne (Les croisades sont ainsi l’exemple pour C. Schmitt d’une hostilité particulièrement profonde, c’est-à-dire pour lui authentiquement politique.). C’est pour une communauté de foi, et plus particulièrement pour une communauté de croyants qui se réclame d’une vérité absolue et dernière, au-delà de la raison, que la politique peut être authentique. C’est d’abord pour défendre la foi qu’on tient pour vraie, une foi existentiellement partagée – et qui éventuellement pourrait être une foi non religieuse – que la politique authentique peut exister. C’est ainsi que Schmitt pense défendre la vraie foi catholique contre ces fausses fois qui la mettent en danger et qui sont le libéralisme et le marxisme. Ce qu’on appelle ordinairement ou quotidiennement la politique n’atteint pas l’intensité décisive des «grands sommets», mais n’en est que le reflet.

Chapitre 3: théologie politique, foi et révélation

Dans le troisième chapitre, H. Meier établit l’inextricable connexion entre théologie politique, foi et révélation. Aussi la théologie politique combat-elle l’incroyance comme son ennemi existentiel. Comme le résume l’auteur: «l’hostilité est posée avec la foi en la révélation. (…) la discrimination entre l’ami et l’ennemi trouverait dans la foi en la révélation non seulement sa justification théorique, mais encore son inévitabilité pratique» (p102). Obéir sérieusement à la foi exige, pour Schmitt, d’agir dans l’histoire, ce qui suppose de choisir son camp, c’est-à-dire de distinguer l’ami de l’ennemi. Politique et théologique ont en commun la distinction entre l’ami et l’ennemi; aussi, note l’auteur, «quand le politique est caractérisé grâce à la distinction ami-ennemi comme étant «le degré extrême d’union ou de désunion» (…), alors il n’y a plus d’obstacle au passage sans heurt du politique à la théologie de la révélation. La nécessité politique de distinguer entre l’ami et l’ennemi permet désormais de remonter jusqu’à la constellation ami-ennemi de la Chute, tandis que se révèle le caractère politique de la décision théologique essentielle entre l’obéissance et la désobéissance, entre l’attachement à Dieu et la perte de la foi.» (p104). L’histoire a à voir avec l’avènement du Salut, les fins politiques et théologiques sont indissociables pour Schmitt. La décision entre Dieu et Satan est aussi bien théologique que politique, et lorsque l’ennemi providentiel est identifié comme tel, le théologique et le politique coïncident dans leur définition de l’unique ennemi. Le reste du temps, politique et théologique peuvent ne pas coïncider, dans la mesure où toute confrontation politique ne met pas en jeu la foi en la révélation et où toute décision théologique ne débouche pas nécessairement sur un conflit politique. Et si Schmitt développe une théologie politique, c’est parce que ce qui est fondamental est le théologique (qui toujours requiert la décision et l’engagement de l’homme («la foi met fin à l’incertitude. Pour la foi, seule la source de la certitude, l’origine de la vérité est décisive. La révélation promet une protection si inébranlable contre l’arbitraire humain que, face à elle, l’ignorance semble être d’une importance secondaire.» (p138).)) qui prend parfois, mais pas toujours nécessairement, la forme du politique pour sommer l’homme de se décider.

Puis l’auteur examine la critique de la conception de l’Etat dans la doctrine de Hobbes (dans Le Léviathan dans la doctrine de l’Etat de Thomas Hobbes. Sens et échec d’un symbolisme politique) qu’il étudie en trois points.

Thomas_Hobbes_(portrait).jpgD’une part, Schmitt reproche à Hobbes d’artificialiser l’Etat, d’en faire un Léviathan, un dieu mortel à partir de postulats individualistes. En effet, ce qui donne la force au Léviathan de Hobbes, c’est une somme d’individualités, ce n’est pas quelque chose de transcendant, ou plus précisément, transcendant d’un point de vue juridique, mais pas métaphysique. A cette critique, il faut ajouter que, créé par l’homme, l’Etat n’a aucune caution divine: créateur et créature sont de même nature, ce sont des hommes. Or ces hommes, véritables individus prométhéens, font croire à l’illusion d’un nouveau dieu, né des hommes, et mortels, dont l’engendrement provient du contrat social. Et cette création à partir d’individus et non d’une communauté au sein d’un ordre voulu par Dieu, comme c’était, selon Hobbes, le cas au moyen-âge, perd par là-même sa légitimité aux yeux d’une théologie politique ( C. Schmitt écrit ainsi que: «ce contrat ne s’applique pas à une communauté déjà existante, créée par Dieu, à un ordre préexistant et naturel, comme le veut la conception médiévale, mais que l’Etat, comme ordre et communauté, est le résultat de l’intelligence humaine et de son pouvoir créateur, et qu’il ne peut naître que par le contrat en général.»).

D’autre part, Schmitt critique le geste par lequel l’Etat hobbesien est à lui-même sa propre fin. Autrement dit, cette œuvre que produisent les hommes par le contrat n’est plus au service d’une fin religieuse, d’une vérité révélée, mais, au contraire, est rendu habilité à définir quelles sont les croyances religieuses que doivent avoir les citoyens, qu’est-ce qui doit être considéré comme vrai. Enfin, Schmitt désapprouve le symbole choisi par Hobbes pour figurer l’Etat, le Léviathan.

Comme le note l’auteur, Schmitt pointe la faiblesse et la fragilité de la construction de Hobbes: «C’est un dieu qui promet aux hommes tranquillité, sécurité et ordre pour leur «existence physique ici-bas», mais qui ne sait pas atteindre leurs âmes et qui laisse insatisfaite leur aspiration la plus profonde; un homme dont l’âme artificielle repose sur une transcendance juridique et non métaphysique; un animal dont le pouvoir terrestre incomparable serait en mesure de tenir en lisière «les enfants de l’orgueil» par la peur, mais qui ne pourrait rien contre cette peur qui vient de l’au-delà et qui est inhérente à l’invisible.» (p167). Autrement dit, chez Hobbes, l’Etat peut se faire obéir par la peur de la mort, ce qui rend l’obéissance des hommes relatives à cette vie terrestre, alors que pour Schmitt, ce qui rend décisif et définitif l’engagement politique, c’est qu’il a à voir avec la fin dernière, le salut. Aussi peut-on être prêt ou décidé à mourir pour lutter contre l’ennemi, ce que nous craignons alors le plus est moins la mort violente que l’enfer post mortem. Et on comprend ainsi bien comment le libéralisme est ce qui veut éviter cet engagement, en niant la dimension proprement politique de l’existence humaine.

Chapitre 4: l'histoire comme lieu de discernement

Dans le dernier chapitre, centré sur l’histoire comme lieu de discernement dans lequel doit toujours se décider l’homme, l’auteur montre comment morale, politique et révélation sont liées à l’histoire pour permettre une orientation concrète («Pour la théologie politique, l’histoire est le lieu de la mise à l’épreuve du jugement. C’est dans l’histoire qu’il faut distinguer entre Dieu et Satan, l’ami et l’ennemi, le Christ et l’Antéchrist. C’est en elle que l’obéissance, le courage et l’espérance doivent faire leurs preuves. Mais c’est en elle aussi qu’est porté le jugement sur la théologie politique qui se conçoit elle-même à partir de l’obéissance comme action dans l’histoire.» (p177).). L’exemple privilégié par Schmitt pour mesurer un penseur qui se décide à l’histoire dans laquelle il se fait condamné à naviguer est celui de Hobbes. En effet, pour Schmitt, Hobbes prend position, avec piété pour l’Etat moderne, dans un cadre historique précis, celui des luttes confessionnelles, et sa décision en faveur de l’Etat qui neutralise les oppositions religieuses et sécularise la vie est liée à ce contexte historique. Si pour Schmitt, l’Etat n’est plus au XXème siècle une bonne réponse politique à la situation historique, au temps de Hobbes, se déterminer en faveur de cet Etat était la bonne réponse, puisque l’Etat «trancha effectivement à un moment historique donné la querelle au sujet du droit, de la vérité et de la finalité en établissant le «calme, la sécurité et l’ordre» quand rien ne semblait plus urgent que l’établissement du «calme, de la sécurité et de l’ordre»« (p183). En revanche, une fois conçu, l’Etat comme machine ou comme appareil à garantir la sécurité, il peut tomber entre les mains du libéralisme, du bolchévisme ou du nazisme qui peuvent s’en servir pour parvenir à leur fin, d’où sa critique de l’Etat au XXème siècle.

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La question que pose alors l’auteur est celle de l’engagement de Schmitt. Il montre que Schmitt dans les années 1920 et au début des années 1930 commence par soutenir le fascisme mussolinien dans lequel il voit le modèle d’un Etat qui s’efforce de maintenir l’unité nationale et la dignité de l’Etat contre le pluralisme des intérêts économiques. Il oppose ce type d’Etat au libéralisme qu’il considère comme un «système ingénieux de méthodes visant à affaiblir l’Etat» et qui tend à dissoudre en son sein le proprement politique. Il critique l’Etat de droit bourgeois et en particulier le parlementarisme ( Il écrit ainsi dans l’article «l’Etat de droit bourgeois»: «les deux principes de l’Etat de droit bourgeois que sont la liberté de l’individu et la séparation des pouvoirs, sont l’un et l’autre apolitiques. Ils ne contiennent aucune forme d’Etat, mais des méthodes pour mettre en place des entraves à l’Etat.»). Il démasque l’imposture des prétendues démocraties qui n’intègrent pas le peuple, qui ne lui permettent pas d’agir en tant que peuple ( Pour Schmitt, le peuple ne peut être que réuni et homogène (c’est-à-dire non scindé en classes distinctes ou divisé culturellement, religieusement, socialement ou «racialement»). Il estime également que seule l’acclamation permet d’exprimer la volonté du peuple, à l’opposé des méthodes libérales qu’il accuse de falsifier la volonté du peuple.) mais l’atomisent, ne serait-ce que parce qu’au moment de la décision politique, les hommes sont isolés pour voter, alors qu’ils devraient être unis: «ils décident en tant qu’individus et en secret, ils ne décident pas en tant que peuple et publiquement.» (p204). Ce qui fait que les démocraties libérales sont pour lui des démocraties sans démos, sans peuple. Schmitt veut fonder la politique sur un mythe puissant et efficace, et dans cette optique, il estime que le mythe national sur lequel se fonde le fascisme est celui qui donne le plus d’intensité à la foi et au courage (plus, par exemple, que le mythe de la lutte des classes). Ce que souligne l’auteur cependant, c’est que pour Schmitt, tout mythe est à placer sur un plan inférieur à la vérité révélée. Il s’agit donc pour le théologien politique de ne pas croire ce mythe, national ou autre, parce qu’il est éloigné de la vraie foi, mais de l’utiliser pour intensifier la dimension politique de l’existence que tend à effacer le libéralisme européen de son époque.

Comment concilier la décision de Schmitt en faveur du nazisme au printemps 1933? Pour Heinrich Meier, il faut considérer avant tout que cet engagement est fait en tant que théologien politique et non en tant que nationaliste. Il faudrait la lire comme l’essai pour sortir de deux positions antagonistes et qu’il rejette toutes les deux: le libéralisme et le communisme, tous deux adversaires du catholicisme et animés par une commune tradition visant un objectif antipolitique (L’auteur écrit ainsi: «Pendant les dix années, de 1923 à 1933, durant lesquelles Schmitt, empli d’admiration, suivit le parcours de Mussolini, sa conviction que le libéralisme et le marxisme s’accordaient sur l’essentiel ou en ce qui concerne leur «métaphysique» ne fit que se renforcer: l’héritage libéral était toujours déterminant pour le marxisme, qui «n’était qu’une mise en pratique de la pensée libérale du XIXème siècle». La réunion du libéralisme et du marxisme dans la «nouvelle croyance» du temps présent (…) disposant d’un fonds de dogmes communs et poursuivant le même objectif final antipolitique, devait faire apparaître le fascisme et le national socialisme comme les antagonismes les plus résolus.» (p212-213).). A cela s’ajoute, selon l’auteur, l’idée que le nazisme s’appuie sur la croyance au destin et à l’importance d’agir dans l’histoire. Mais peu après cette explication des raisons de l’adhésion de Schmitt au national-socialisme, l’auteur s’attache à montrer que des critiques du régime apparaissent dans ses écrits. On peut ainsi selon l’auteur lire de nombreux passages du livre sur Hobbes comme des critiques indirectes du régime nazi qui ne pouvaient pas ne pas être prises comme telles à l’époque (par exemple, des passages dans lesquels il explique que si l’Etat ne protège pas efficacement les citoyens, le devoir d’obéissance disparaît, ou des passages exposant que si un régime relègue la foi à l’intériorité, le «contre-pouvoir du mutisme et du silence croît».) Cependant, l’auteur prend également soin de distinguer d’un côté l’éloignement de Schmitt du pouvoir nazi en place et de l’autre la persistance de son antisémitisme. Ainsi le livre sur Hobbes est foncièrement antisémite – l’antisémitisme de ce livre ne serait pas qu’un fond, un langage destiné à répondre aux critères de l’époque – comme, du reste, dans de nombreux ouvrages. Et pour l’auteur cet antisémitisme a son origine dans la tradition de l’antijudaïsme chrétien, ce qui n’a pas détaché Schmitt de l’antisémitisme nazi. Au contraire, comme le souligne H. Meier, «on est bien obligé de dire que c’est l’hostilité aux «juifs» qui lie le plus durablement Schmitt au national-socialisme (…) Et il restera fidèle, même après l’effondrement du Troisième Reich, à l’antisémitisme» (p220).

Puis l’auteur s’intéresse à l’interprétation que Schmitt fait de l’histoire en mettant au cœur de cette interprétation le katechon, qu’on trouve dans la seconde lettre de Paul aux Thessaloniciens, et qu’il définit comme «la représentation d’une force qui retarde la fin et qui réprime le mal» ( Schmitt écrit ainsi dans Terre et Mer: «Je crois au katéchon; il représente pour moi la seule possibilité, en tant que chrétien, de comprendre l’histoire et de lui trouver un sens.»). Schmitt expose une vision chrétienne de l’histoire (notamment exposée dans une critique de Meaning in History de Karl Löwith) qu’il entend opposer à celle du progrès défendue par les Lumières, le libéralisme et le marxisme. La Providence ne peut être assimilée aux planifications prométhéennes humaines. La notion de katechon permet d’une part de rendre compte du retard de la parousie – et donc de l’existence perse de l’histoire ( C’est d’ailleurs dans cette perspective que Paul en parle.); d’autre part, elle «protège l’action dans l’histoire contre le découragement et le désespoir face à un processus historique, en apparence tout-puissant, qui progresse vers la fin. Enfin, elle arme à l’inverse l’action dans l’histoire contre le mépris de la politique et de l’histoire en l’assurant de la victoire promise.» (p231-232). En effet, sans le katechon, on est conduit à penser que la fin de l’histoire est imminente et que l’histoire n’a qu’une valeur négligeable.

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Ainsi, l’auteur parvient à montrer efficacement comment morale, politique, vérité révélée et histoire sont liées dans la pensée schmittienne, pensée ayant son centre dans la foi catholique de Schmitt. On ne peut comprendre la genèse des concepts schmittiens et leur portée véritable qu’en ayant à l’esprit cette foi expliquant sa pensée est moins une philosophie politique – si la philosophie doit être pensée comme indépendante de la foi en la révélation – qu’une théologie politique, pour ainsi dire totale en ce qu’elle informe tous les aspects de l’existence. La tentative d’H. Meier d’expliquer et de rendre compte et de l’engagement de Schmitt dans le nazisme –sans évidemment l’excuser ou n’en faire qu’une erreur malencontreuse– par l’antagonisme que ce régime pouvait manifester à l’encontre des autres régimes (libéralisme, marxisme) qui luttaient contre le catholicisme est pertinente, d’autant qu’elle ne le disculpe pas et qu’elle prend soin de souligner son indéfendable antisémitisme. Il faut aussi reconnaître à l’auteur une connaissance extrêmement précise des textes de Schmitt, de leur contexte et des adversaires que vise ce dernier même lorsqu’ils ne sont pas nommés, ce qui contribue à la clarification de maintes argumentations de Schmitt parfois équivoques ou elliptiques.

mardi, 13 mars 2018

Zum 20. Todestag Ernst Jüngers: aus dem Archiv von literaturkritik.de

storm-of-steel-frum-tease_tb5xty.jpg

Zum 20. Todestag Ernst Jüngers: aus dem Archiv von literaturkritik.de

Ex: http://literaturkritik.de

Vor den Beiträgen in der Februar-Ausgabe 2018 zum 20. Todestag Ernst Jüngers (geb. am 29.3.1895, gest. 17.2.1998) sind in literaturkritik.de zahlreiche Rezensionen und Essays erschienen, die sich mit dem umstrittenen Autor, seinem Werk und seiner Rezeption auseinandergesetzt haben. Hier eine Zusammenstellung aus unserem Archiv in chronologischer Anordnung:

Ernst Jüngers Gestaltdenken aus narratologischer Sicht.
Eine neue Studie untersucht „Heliopolis“ und „Eumeswil“
Von Christophe Fricker
Ausgabe 08-2017

Der Chronist des Getöses.
Zur kritischen Edition von Ernst Jüngers „Krieg als inneres Erlebnis. Schriften zum Ersten Weltkrieg“
Von Walter Delabar
Ausgabe 09-2016

Im Gespräch mit einem Titanen.
Christophe Fricker gibt die Gespräche zwischen Ernst Jünger und André Müller heraus
Von Stefan Tuczek
Ausgabe 08-2015

Aporien des Krieges, des Erzählens und der Theorie.
Die lesenswerte Studie „Writing War“ von Daniela Kirschstein widmet sich der Kriegsliteratur von Ernst Jünger, Louis-Ferdinand Céline und Curzio Malaparte
Von Wolfgang M. Schmitt
Ausgabe 07-2015

Günter Grass und Ernst Jünger.
Trotz aller Unterscheide zeigen sich erstaunliche Parallelen im Werk der beiden Schriftsteller
Von Gabriela Ociepa
Ausgabe 05-2015

EJliv1.jpgBiographisches Rohmaterial.
Über Ernst Jüngers „Feldpostbriefe an die Familie 1915–1918“
Von Niels Penke
Ausgabe 12-2014

Die Hoffnung führt weiter als die Furcht.
Tom Schilling liest Ernst Jüngers „In Stahlgewittern“
Von Martin Ingenfeld
Ausgabe 07-2014

Warum eigentlich Ernst Jünger?.
Ein neues Handbuch bereichert die Forschung zu einem umstrittenen Autor
Von Daniel Borgeldt
Ausgabe 07-2014

In allen Lagern Gegner.
Tonaufnahmen von Lesungen und Vorträgen Ernst Jüngers
Von Andreas R. Klose
Ausgabe 03-2014

Stahlgewitter.
Ernst Jünger und der Erste Weltkrieg
Von Helmuth Kiesel
Ausgabe 02-2014

Werkpolitik im Spiegel nordischer Motive.
Niels Penke stellt Ernst Jüngers Schriften in den Kontext der skandinavischen Literatur
Von Maik M. Müller
Ausgabe 01-2014

Tore der Wahrnehmung.
Über eine erstmals veröffentlichte Auswahl des Briefwechsels zwischen Albert Hofmann und Ernst Jünger
Von Volker Strebel
Ausgabe 11-2013

Noch einmal: Der neue revolutionäre Mensch.
Mario Bosincu über „Die Wende Ernst Jüngers“
Von Jerker Spits
Ausgabe 08-2013

Planetarisches aus der Provinz.
Ein Konstanzer Tagungsband nimmt den mittleren und späten Ernst Jünger in den Blick
Von Niels Penke
Ausgabe 04-2013

En vogue in einem kleinen Kreis.
Ernst Jünger aus der Sicht seines französischen Übersetzers Julien Hervier
Von Jerker Spits
Ausgabe 10-2012

Ein zuweilen starrsinniges Beharren auf Unabhängigkeit.
In bislang ausführlichster Weise berichtet der 2011 verstorbene Literaturwissenschaftler Heinz Ludwig Arnold über seine Zeit mit Ernst Jünger
Von Volker Strebel
Ausgabe 06-2012

Zwischen Bewegung und Verharren.
Jan Robert Weber untersucht den ästhetischen Wert von Ernst Jüngers Reisetagebüchern
Von Heide Kunzelmann
Ausgabe 01-2012

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Zum Oberlehrer ungeeignet.
Thomas Amos legt in der bewährten Reihe der Rowohlt-Monografien eine Biografie Ernst Jüngers mit Ecken und Kanten vor
Von Volker Strebel
Ausgabe 01-2012

Instrumentalisierter Tötungstrieb.
Michael Gratzke untersucht die Grundfiguren des Heldentums bei Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Heinrich von Kleist, Theodor Fontane, Ernst Jünger und Heiner Müller
Von Erhard Jöst
Ausgabe 06-2011

Der kanonische Rang eines Klassikers.
Ernst Jünger – mehr als eine Bilanz in einem neuen Sammelband
Von Gabriele Guerra
Ausgabe 05-2011

EJb2.jpgErnst Jüngers Rhodos-Reisen von 1938, 1964 und 1981
Ausgabe 01-2011

Totale Tinte.
Ohne Anlass wird Ernst Jünger vom Deutschen Literaturarchiv Marbach als einer der „wichtigsten Schriftsteller der Moderne“ vorgestellt – und Helmuth Kiesel beglückt uns mit seiner Erst-Edition der „Tagebücher 1914-1918“
Von Jan Süselbeck
Ausgabe 01-2011

Der verborgene Prophet.
Ernst Jüngers politische Theologie zwischen Autorität und Repräsentation
Von Gabriele Guerra
Ausgabe 01-2010

Eine gute Zeit für Drogen.
Wiederbegegnung mit Ernst Jüngers „Annäherungen“
Von Christophe Fricker
Ausgabe 01-2009

Kriegsträumer.
Lars Koch zu Walter Flex und Ernst Jünger als Repräsentanten der Gegenmoderne
Von Walter Delabar
Ausgabe 12-2008

Fotoalbum für Wehrsport-Fans.
Nils Fabiansson hat Schauplätze von Ernst Jüngers Kriegstagebuch „In Stahlgewittern“ aufgesucht
Von Jan Süselbeck
Ausgabe 03-2008

Nach dem Fazit.
Hans Blumenberg über Ernst Jünger
Von Kai Köhler
Ausgabe 03-2008

Hochmut und Leutseligkeit auf dem Dorf.
Ernst Jünger in neueren Biografien und Monografien
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 03-2008

EJB3.jpgSpringtime for Ernst Jünger.
Über Heimo Schwilks Jünger-Biografie
Von Philipp Steglich
Ausgabe 03-2008

Freunde unter sich.
Günther Nicolin editiert den Briefwechsel von Ernst Jünger und Stefan Andres
Von Torsten Mergen
Ausgabe 06-2007

Unterhaltung über Mescalin.
Die späte Begegnung der beiden Einzelgänger Gottfried Benn und Ernst Jünger: Jetzt wurde der schmale Briefwechsel vorgelegt
Von Volker Strebel
Ausgabe 07-2006

Deutschsein als Amt.
Zum Briefwechsel Ernst Jüngers und Friedrich Hielschers
Von Volker Strebel
Ausgabe 12-2005

Ernst Jünger: Politik – Mythos – Kunst
Ausgabe 12-2004

„Wie kein anderer erfährt er den Weltkrieg sogleich metaphysisch.“.
Martin Heideggers Bemerkungen zu Ernst Jünger
Von Stephan Günzel
Ausgabe 08-2004

Teilnehmen, Anteil nehmen.
Michael E. Sallinger begeistert sich für Ernst Jünger und seinesgleichen
Von Viktor Schlawenz
Ausgabe 08-2004

Zwischen Traum und Trauma.
Michael Gnädingers Studie zum Frühwerk Ernst Jüngers
Von Helmut Kaffenberger
Ausgabe 04-2004

„Wann hat dieser Scheißkrieg ein Ende“?.
Der britische Germanist John King gewährt Einblicke in die originalen Kriegstagebücher Ernst Jüngers
Von Jerker Spits
Ausgabe 12-2003

Vor und nach dem Rochenstich.
Mit Band 22 ist die Ausgabe der „Gesammelten Werke“ Ernst Jüngers abgeschlossen
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 12-2003

EJB4.jpgStratege im Hintergrund.
Ernst Jüngers Briefwechsel mit Gerhard Nebel
Von Gunther Nickel
Ausgabe 11-2003

Ernst Jünger – verzettelt und verzeichnet.
Nicolai Riedels Ernst Jünger-Bibliographie und Tobias Wimbauers „Personenregister“
Von Gunther Nickel
Ausgabe 07-2003

Die Psychoanalyse des körperlichen und gestischen Agierens.
Über ein neues Paradigma für Psychotherapie und Kulturwissenschaften mit einem Ausblick auf Ernst Jüngers „In Stahlgewittern“
Von Harald Weilnböck
Ausgabe 03-2003

Literarische Adaption des Griechentums.
Annette Rinks Studie über Ernst Jüngers Antike-Rezeption
Von Reinhard Wilczek
Ausgabe 11-2002

Schönheit des Untergangs.
Roswitha Schieb untersucht Körper- und Kollektivbilder bei Ernst Jünger, Hans Henny Jahnn und Peter Weiss
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 11-2002

Eine Welt sinnloser Bezüge.
Ulrich Prill entdeckt Ernst Jünger als homo ludens
Von Helge Schmid
Ausgabe 11-2002

Ich befand mich einfach in einer anderen Dimension.
Ernst Jünger im Gespräch mit Antonio Gnoli und Franco Volpi
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 11-2002

Ich fühle, dass meine Wurzeln hier sind.
Ein Bildband über Ernst Jünger in Oberschwaben
Von Helge Schmid
Ausgabe 11-2002

EJB5.jpgDer Einzelne nach der Kehre.
Jörg Sader untersucht Ernst Jüngers „Strahlungen“
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 11-2002

Starke Frauen, intrigante Männer.
Ernst Jüngers Dramenfragment „Prinzessin Tarakanowa“
Von Christina Ujma
Ausgabe 11-2002

Ernst Jünger in Berlin 1927-1933
Ausgabe 01-2002

Ernst Jünger in Wilflingen
Ausgabe 01-2002

Zwischen Subjektivität und Authentizität.
Volker Mergenthaler zum poetologischen Problem narrativer Kriegsbegegnung im Frühwerk Ernst Jüngers
Von Reinhard Wilczek
Ausgabe 01-2002

Ambiguität des Figürlichen.
Julia Draganovic untersucht das metaphysische Grundkonzept in Ernst Jüngers Prosa
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 01-2002

Exotische Lesefrüchte eines Jahrhundert-Autors.
Thomas Pekars Studie über Ernst Jüngers Orient-Rezeption
Von Reinhard Wilczek
Ausgabe 01-2002

Führung durch Stahlgewitter und Waldgänge.
Steffen Martus gibt einen exzellenten Überblick über das Werk Ernst Jüngers
Von Stephan Landshuter
Ausgabe 01-2002

Autor und Sekretär, Verehrer und Gegner.
Ernst Jünger in einer Festschrift und in einer Streitschrift
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 01-2002

Garantiert politisch unkorrekt.
Ernst Jüngers politische Publizistik aus den Jahren 1919 bis 1933
Von Gunther Nickel
Ausgabe 01-2002

Großer Übergang und päpstlicher Segen.
Ernst Jüngers Werkausgabe in den Supplementbänden 19 und 20
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 01-2002

Ernst Jünger als Nietzsche-Rezipient.
Die Nihilismusthese ist die Leitlinie seines Schaffens
Von Ursula Homann
Ausgabe 02-2001

Momente der Selbstbegegnung.
Ernst Jüngers Tagebuch und Briefwechsel
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 10-2000

EJB6.pngUnsere Total-Kalamität.
Ernst Jüngers Briefwechsel mit Carl Schmitt
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 10-2000

Saulus und Paulus.
Elliot Y. Neamans Studie über Ernst Jünger und die post-faschistische Literaturpolitik
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 10-2000

Elementar nützlich.
Tobias Wimbauers Personenregister der Tagebücher Ernst Jüngers
Von Helge Schmid
Ausgabe 10-2000

Trauma, Drogenrausch, Gewaltrausch.
Klaus Gauger über drei liminale Zustände in Ernst Jüngers Werk
Von Helge Schmid
Ausgabe 10-2000

Das Ende der Heldenzeit.
Dirk Blotzheim untersucht Ernst Jüngers Frühwerk
Von Lutz Hagestedt
Ausgabe 10-2000

Ich werde plötzlich dumpf, erbreche draußen.
Armin Mohler berichtet über seine Jahre mit Ernst Jünger
Von Kai Köhler
Ausgabe 10-2000

Die durchgedrückte Brust des Melancholikers.
Die Ernst Jünger-Biografie von Paul Noack
Von Oliver Jahn
Ausgabe 10-2000

Bildhauer, bleib bei deinen Skulpturen.
Serge D. Mangin und seine „Annäherungen an Ernst Jünger 1990 – 1998“
Von Oliver Jahn
Ausgabe 10-2000

Zum 20. Todestag von Ernst Jünger

ernst_juengerMangin.jpg

Zum 20. Todestag von Ernst Jünger

Ex: https://www.der-dritte-weg.info

Auch heute noch, zwanzig Jahre nach seinem Tod, ist es kein leichtes Unterfangen über Leben, Werk und Wirken des Jahrhundertschriftstellers zu schreiben. Zu widersprüchlich scheinen seine Worte und seine Taten zu sein, zu wechselhaft seine Gedanken und Sätze. Ernst Jünger, das ist der hochdekorierte Stoßtruppführer des ersten Weltkriegs, der radikale Nationalist der Zwischenkriegszeit, der innere Emigrant während des dritten Reiches und schließlich der kategoriensprengende Denker der zweiten Hälfte des letzten Jahrhunderts. Es kann bereits am Anfang dieses Artikels gesagt werden, dass man keinesfalls eine befriedigende oder abschließende Betrachtung Jüngers – auch aus nationalrevolutionärer Perspektive – in diesem begrenzten Platz liefern kann, sondern allenfalls eine Annäherung. Wie soll man auch einen Soldaten, Schriftsteller und Denker, dessen Leben 103 Jahre währte, dessen Gesamtausgabe (wo nicht einmal alle Werke und Aufsätze drin enthalten sind!) nicht weniger als 23 dicke Bände füllt und der nicht nur zwei Weltkriege, sondern, die BRÖ mit eingerechnet, sechs deutsche Staaten gesehen hat, in einem einzigen Artikel gerecht werden? Als ältestes von fünf Kindern 1895 geboren, erlebte Jünger noch die letzten Jahre des deutschen Kaiserreiches, welches ihn durchaus noch für den Rest seines Lebens prägen sollte. Der Weg des schlechten Schülers, aber begeisterten Lesers, sollte ihn zunächst in den Wandervogel und später durch die halbe Welt führen.

Dass Jünger vor allem ein „abenteuerliches Herz“, wie eines seiner Werke heißt, war, zeigte sich bereits 1913, als der grade 18 Jährige nach Frankreich entfloh und sich zur Fremdenlegion meldete. Einzig dem diplomatischen Geschick seines Vaters ist es geschuldet, dass sich Jünger als Kriegsfreiwilliger nach Ablegung seines Notabiturs 1914 in den ersten Weltkrieg auf deutscher Seite melden konnte und er nicht als Fremdenlegionär gegen das eigene Vaterland zu Felde ziehen musste. Mehr als 20 Jahre später beschrieb Jünger in seinen „Afrikanischen Spiele“ seine Zeit bei der Fremdenlegion. Bereits am ersten Kriegstag begann er mit dem Schreiben seines später weltberühmt werdenden Tagebuchs. Schonungslos und objektiv, und doch mit einer lebendigen Sprache und einer, wie er schrieb, „trunkenen Stimmung aus Rosen und Blut“ beschrieb er in seinem als „In Stahlgewittern“ veröffentlichtem Tagebuch seine Kriegserlebnisse. Der „ruhige Leutnant“ machte sich in vierjährigem Einsatz an der Westfront einen Namen, durchquerte alle bekannten westlichen Schlachtfelder des ersten Weltkriegs und ging mit fast stoischer Haltung durch „Feuer und Blut“, wie eines seiner weiteren Werke über den ersten Weltkrieg heißt.

Es entstand ein neuer Mensch, ein neuer Lebenswille. Ihn kennzeichnete die nervige Härte des Kämpfers, der Ausdruck der einsameren Verantwortung, der seelischen Verlassenheit. In diesem Ringen … bewährte sich sein Rang. Der Weg, den er ging, war schmal und gefährlich, aber es war ein Weg, der in die Zukunft führte … Der Anblick des Gegners bringt neben letztem Grauen auch Erlösung von schwerem, unerträglichem Druck. Das ist die Wollust des Blutes, die über dem Kriege hängt wie ein rotes Sturmsegel über schwarzer Galeere, an grenzenlosem Schwunge, nur dem Eros verwandt“, schrieb Jünger in seinem ersten literarischen Gehversuch. Den Krieg hatte, laut ihm, der deutsche Frontsoldat wie einen Wein genossen und war auch nach seinem Ende immer noch davon berauscht, ein Ausdruck, der sicherlich auf viele der entlassenen Soldaten und kommenden Freikorpskämpfer zutrifft. Für ihn gewann der Kampf neben der Zerstörung und des Todes auch eine metaphysische Bedeutung, wie er in „Der Kampf als inneres Erlebnis“ darzustellen versuchte. Für ihn war derjenige, der beim Krieg nur die Verneinung, nur das eigene Leiden und nicht die Bejahung empfunden habe, ein Sklave, der lediglich ein äußeres, aber kein inneres Erlebnis hatte.

EJ-mangin.jpg

Doch in den Stahlgewittern der Materialschlachten gewann er nicht nur seine Ansichten über Krieg und Frieden, sondern auch den Beginn seiner technikkritischen Anschauungen, die ihn sein Leben lang als einer der wenigen Kontinuitäten begleiten sollte. Die Materialschlachten, Artilleriegeschosse und Panzer reduzierten den Krieg zum Handwerk und den Krieger zu einem namen- und gesichtslosen Objekt. Die Ansichten, ob der Soldat doch über die Materie siegen kann oder ob diese ihn dominiert, schwankt immer wieder in seinen Werken und in denen seiner Zeitgenossen. Die vier Hauptwerke Jüngers über sein „Bruderschaftstrinken mit dem Tod“, „In Stahlgewittern“, „Feuer und Blut“, „Der Kampf als inneres Erlebnis“ und „Wäldchen 125“ zeugen nicht nur von diesen Gedanken, sondern gehören wohl auch zu den literarisch besten Beschreibungen der Erlebnisse des feldgrauen Soldaten des ersten Weltkriegs. Es ist eine Mischung aus Heldenmut, Eros, Sprachkraft, Tod und Leben, die ihm bei vielen Pazifisten bis heute in den Ruf eines Kriegstreibers bringt.

Oft hielt ein Fähnlein eherner Gesellen sich endlose Tage im Gewölk der Schlacht, verbissen in ein unbekanntes Stückchen Graben oder eine Reihe von Trichtern, wie sich Schiffbrüchige im Orkan an zertrümmerte Masten klammern. In ihrer Mitte hatte der Tod seine Feldherrnstandarte in den Boden gestoßen. Leichenfelder vor ihnen, von ihren Geschossen gemäht, neben und zwischen ihnen die Leichen der Kameraden, Tod selbst in ihren Augen, die seltsam starr in eingefallenen Gesichtern lagen, diesen Gesichtern, die an die grausige Realistik alter Kreuzigungsbilder erinnerten. Fast verschmachtet hockten sie in der Verwesung, die unerträglich wurde, wenn wieder einer der Eisenstürme den erstarrten Totentanz aufrührte und die mürben Körper hoch in die Lüfte schleuderte … Man zog ja über das Grausige hinweg mit genagelten Stiefeln, ehern und blutgewohnt. Und doch fühlte man, wie etwas um die verwaisten Kamine strich und einem den Hals zuschnürte, so eisig, daß man schlucken mußte. Man war ja ein Träger des Krieges, rücksichtslos und verwegen, hatte manchen umgelegt, über den man weitergeschritten war mit starken Gefühlen in der Brust. Doch dies war wie ein Kinderwimmern aus wilden Mooren, eine gespenstische Klage wie das Glockengeläut des versunkenen Vineta über Meer und Mittag. Gleich dem Untergang jener übermütigen Stadt spürte man das hoffnungslose Versinken einer Kultur, erschauernd vor der Erkenntnis, im Strudel mit hinabgerissen zu werden“, heißt es etwa im „Kampf als inneres Erlebnis“.

Selbst am Ende seines Lebens sollte er sich nie von diesen Darstellungen distanzieren, noch als Greis antwortete er französischen Journalisten, dass sein schrecklichstes Erlebnis im ersten Weltkrieg gewesen sei, dass Deutschland ihn verloren habe. Eine Aussage, die umso höher zu bewerten ist, wenn man bedenkt, dass der junge Stoßtruppführer vierzehn Verwundungen erlitt. Mit Ende des Krieges begann auch der wohl bis heute umstrittenste Abschnitt seines Lebens. Während sich zahlreiche andere Soldaten zu den Freikorps meldete , diente der Kriegsheld zunächst in der Reichswehr. Zwar soll er, laut eigener Aussage, einmal eine kurze Zeit bei dem berühmten Freikorpsführer Roßbach gewesen sein, allerdings habe ihn die Landknechtartigkeit vieler Freikorpskämpfer abgeschreckt. In die folgenden Jahren folgen nicht nur seine zahlreichen Artikel in radikalnationalistischen Zeitschriften – zusammengefasst gibt es sie heutzutage als „Politische Publizistik“ zu erwerben – sondern auch seine Zeit als Bohemien. Neben literarische Studien, nationalistischen Büchern und Artikeln gab es auch Jüngers erste Drogenerfahrungen, die er in seiner Erzählung „Polnischer Karpfen“ behandelt. (Später sollten weitere Experimente, speziell zusammen mit dem Erfinder von LSD, folgen.) Jünger, so viel sei an dieser Stelle gesagt, ergab sich aber nicht dem in der Weimarer Schandrepublik propagierten Drogenkonsum zur Erhöhung der Lust und des Rausches wegen, sondern eher aus transzendenten Abenteuerlust.

Während der Kampfzeit der Nationalisten gegen die Novemberverbrecher wurde Jünger einer der Wortführer des „Neuen Nationalismus“. Sätze wie „Der Tag, an dem der parlamentarische Staat unter unserem Zugriff zusammenstürzt, und an dem wir die nationale Diktatur ausrufen, wird unser höchster Festtag sein.“ begeisterten zahllose nationale Aktivisten. Doch grade auch seine nationalistische Zeit wirft neue Fragen in Mysterium Jüngers auf. War er auf der einen Seite radikaler Nationalist – die NSDAP lehnte er später u. A. deswegen ab, weil diese einen legalen Weg beschritt, er wollte die bewaffnete Revolution – und erklärter Todfeind der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft, so führte er, während Hunderte Nationalisten im Straßenkampf ihr Leben ließen, selbst ein bürgerliches Leben. Noch 1926 sandte er Adolf Hitler sein Buch „Feuer und Blut“ mit der Widmung „Dem nationalen Führer Adolf Hitler“ und sprach sich in verschiedenen Beiträgen positiv über die NSDAP und den Nationalsozialismus aus. Erst die Entwicklung zur Massenpartei sowie eine wirtschaftspolitische Orientierung von Jünger an den Bolschewismus entfremdeten ihn der NSDAP, der er schließlich sogar vorwarf, verbürgerlicht zu sein.

EJ-breker.jpg

Als vermeintlich sein höchster Feiertag gekommen war und der parlamentarische Staat am 30. Januar 1933 zerbrach, stellte sich Jünger nicht der neuen nationalen Regierung zur Verfügung, sondern begab sich in die „innere Emigration“. Vom Nationalsozialismus trennte ihn zwar der Rassegedanke (den Jünger als materialistisch ablehnte) , auch war die NSDAP eine Massenpartei, während sich Jünger in einem, wie man es wohl heute aus unserer Sicht beurteilen kann, „Elitenwahn“ befand, dennoch waren die Übereinstimmungen zwischen dem dritten Reich und Jüngers nationaler Visionen weit größer als die Differenzen. Es wird wohl für immer ein Rätsel bleiben, wieso Jünger nicht wie andere seiner Zeit und einiger seiner engen Freunde – etwa Heidegger, Benn oder Schmitt – zumindest versuchte, die neue Zeit mitzugestalten, sondern sich von Beginn an abseits hielt. Unzweifelhaft war ihm der Totalitarismus des dritten Reiches nicht genehm, dennoch muss man wohl als Nationalist das Urteil ziehen, dass für Jünger mehr der Weg als das Erreichen des Ziels entscheidend gewesen war. Dazu kommt seine Ende der 20er-Jahre einsetzende Entwicklung weg von der politischen Publizistik hin zur reinen literarischen Betätigung. Allerdings sollte er eine gewisse nationale Einstellung sein Leben lang beibehalten, zwar nicht mehr in ihrer ursprünglichen Radikalität, aber dennoch vorhanden.

So wie es über seine Tätigkeiten in der Novemberrepublik zahlreiche Vorwürfe von den späteren Kriegssiegern und liberalen Nachkriegsgenerationen gab, so gibt es über seine Zeit im dritten Reich und insbesondere im zweiten Weltkrieg solche von nationalistischer Seite. Jünger hielt auch während der Zeit der nationalsozialistischen Regierung Kontakt zu Staatsfeinden wie Ernst Niekisch, was ihn ins Visier der Polizei geraten ließ. Doch handelt es sich dabei nicht um einen im eigentlichen Sinne widerständigen Kontakt, Jünger hielt vielmehr den intellektuellen Austausch mit dem ihm befreundeten Niekisch. Später sollte er einen solchen auch mit dem französischen Faschisten und Kollaborateur Pierre Drieu la Rochelle, zu dem ihm ebenfalls eine Freundschaft verband, pflegen. Überhaupt muss Jünger mehr als Denker und Schriftsteller und weniger als politischer Mensch angesehen werden. Als solcher hatte er auch Kontakt zu dem Widerstandskreis des 20. Juli 1944, allerdings ohne sich an den Planungen zum Attentat auf Adolf Hitler zu beteiligen oder genaueres zu wissen. Zwar war Jünger ohne Zweifel ein Gegner des Krieges, in dem sein einziger Sohn fiel, politische Attentate lehnte er allerdings schon aus Prinzip ab.

Er hatte sich in den Jahren seiner „inneren Emigration“ zunehmend zum Selbstbildnis seiner literarischen Gestalt des Anarchen bzw. des Waldgängers entwickelt, einer Person, die sich aus dem Laufe der Geschichte heraushält und versucht, seinen eigenen Weg abseits der großen Ereignisse zu gehen. Seine oft als Anti-NS Schrift beschriebenen Marmorklippen sind ebenfalls Teil dieser Entwicklung, die Marmorklippen sind aber eher als generell antitotalitäres Buch zu verstehen, als explizit gegen das dritte Reich gerichtet. Adolf Hitler selbst hielt die zwölf Jahre durchgehend persönlich seine schützende Hand über Jünger, mit dem er in der Kampfzeit noch signierte Bücher austauschte. Nach dem 8. Mai 1945 erhielt Jünger über einige Jahre ein Publikationsverbot, bevor er sein literarisches Schaffen weiterführen konnte. Damit gelangen ihm nicht nur Bestseller, sondern sogar die Verleihung des Goethe-Preises, wobei zahlreiche linke und linksradikale Akteure der bundesrepublikanischen Kulturlandschaft gegen Jünger zu Felde zogen.

Über Jahrzehnte zog sich die Diskussion um ihn und seine Werke, auch heute noch ist sie nicht abgeschlossen. Unabhängig von den Inhalten seiner Werke mussten aber die meisten Kulturkritiker die hohe literarische Qualität des wohl umstrittensten deutschen Autoren überhaupt würdigen. Ein abschließendes Fazit zu Jünger wird sich wohl nie finden lassen: Abenteurer und doch verharrend in einem bürgerlichen Leben, radikaler Nationalist und doch Gegner des dritten Reiches, Kriegsheld und Denker, Schriftsteller und Philosoph, zu groß sind die Widersprüche und die Richtungswechsel, die Jünger eingeschlagen hat. Am ehesten lässt er sich wohl noch als romantischer Abenteurer beurteilen, er selbst gefiel sich in der Rolle des Seismografen, der die Ereignisse seiner Zeit beobachtet und schilderte, statt sie zu gestalten. Ob man ihn ablehnt – und wenn ja aus welchen Gründen – oder ob man sich von seinen Werken begeistern lässt, vor 20 Jahren starb unzweifelhaft einer der Großen der deutschen Kulturlandschaft.

 

mardi, 06 mars 2018

EUROPA - Volume I, II & III (R. Steuckers)

robert steuckers,synergies européennes,europe,affaires européennes

EUROPA - Volume I, II & III

(10 janvier 2018)

I : VALEURS ET RACINES PROFONDES DE L'EUROPE

Les valeurs qui nous déterminent ou devraient encore et toujours nous déterminer sont nées aux périodes axiales de l’histoire, nous expliquait Karl Jaspers. Pour l’Europe et pour les peuples de souche européenne, Jaspers situait cette émergence de valeurs dans l’antiquité, aux époques de Zoroastre ou de Socrate.

Pour la Grèce, nous situerions cette émergence à l’ère homérique. D’autres filons philosophiques voient la naissance de valeurs fondatrices en Europe à d’autres époques, portée par d’autres figures individuelles ou collectives : Marc-Aurèle, Maître Eckhart, Sohrawârdî, Nietzsche…

Il s’agit désormais, à une époque de nihilisme profond, de vide, de ressusciter ces valeurs fondamentales et traditionnelles par un combat métapolitique permanent et vigilant, créant tout à la fois une rétivité sociale, politique et militante, dirigée contre les vecteurs du nihilisme délétère, et, chez chacun des combattants politiques ou métapolitiques, du plus humble au plus prestigieux, une force intérieure tranquille, inaccessible aux séductions perverses de la modernité dévoyée.

II : DE L'EURASIE AUX PÉRIPHÉRIES, UNE GÉOPOLITIQUE CONTINENTALE

Les deux guerres mondiales du XXème siècle nous ont appris que seuls comptaient sur l’échiquier planétaire les grands espaces, théorisés par les écoles géopolitiques et par le juriste Carl Schmitt.

Pour l’Europe, il s’agit de s’insérer dans un espace eurasien qui englobe la Sibérie russe, comme au temps de l’alliance tacite entre Louis XVI, Marie-Thérèse et Catherine II ou comme au temps, trop bref, de la Sainte-Alliance post-napoléonienne.

Cette convergence eurasienne implique un regard bienveillant sur les espaces perse, indien ou chinois (confucéen), de façon à créer un monde multipolaire où le politique repose sur des assises éthiques traditionnelles et solides, sur les longues mémoires, sur la plus grande profondeur temporelle possible.

III : L'EUROPE, UN BALCON SUR LE MONDE

L’Europe, c’est d’abord une identité anthropologique. Mais c’est aussi une réalité géographique : une presqu’île à l’ouest d’une masse continentale eurasienne, perpétuellement assiégée, depuis les Huns, les Avars ou les Ottomans jusqu’aux faux réfugiés économiques arrivant aujourd’hui à Lampedusa ou à Lesbos.

Une Europe réveillée doit connaître son passé tragique, son passé de sous-continent et d’humanité assiégée, doit se remémorer la volonté de combattre de ses générations antérieures et les ressorts religieux et idéologiques de ses voisins, amis ou ennemis. Il n’y a pas de politique cohérente possible, pas d’avenir stable, sans longue mémoire.

Ce livre entend surtout, et de manière didactique, fournir les éléments de cette mémoire qu’il faudra impérativement, impérialement, retrouver, sous peine de mort, de disparition dans la honte et la misère.

 Editions BIOS
Directeur: Laurent Hocq
 
Retrouvez nous sur :
 
 
 
+33 7 70 27 00 46
laurent.hocq@editionsbios.fr
 
Janvier 2018
Trois volumes d'un total de 996 pages
ISBN : 979-10-94233-01-6
75.00 €
(chaque volume peut s'acquérir individuellement au prix de 25 euros chacun)
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