Emil Cioran
De la France
Paris: L’Herne, 2015
This is a strange, vile little book as only Emil Cioran [2] knew how to produce. It was only recently published, in both the original Romanian and in French translation,[1] [3] having been written in 1941 and left to languish for decades in some cardboard box in the Cioran archives. Cioran wrote the book in the wake of France’s pathetic defeat in 1940, inspired by his conversations in Parisian cafés and his bicycling through the villages of the French countryside. Contemporary political events are quite understated, however. For Cioran, there is no question of engaging in puerile journalism; in his view, France’s decay was many centuries in the making.
I first read the book some time ago and remembered nothing except a feeling of revulsion. I recently reread it, this time taking notes. As so often with Cioran, when I gather my notes, my initial revulsion gives way as I see the bigger picture and glimmers of hope, and the work ends up being strangely endearing to me.
I don’t know if the author ever meant for the text, which was written in pencil, to be published at all, let alone in its current form. It seems likely it was written in a few inspired bursts of Cioran’s brilliant and morbid Muse. It is a conversion note. Before 1941, Cioran thought in German, had wished he could have been German, and wrote in Romanian, oscillating between despair and the mad hope that a new barbarism could save Romania from irrelevance and Europe from decadence. After 1945, Cioran had settled into his Parisian home and would henceforth write exclusively in French, as a “lucid” aesthete of nihilism and decline.
Why would someone want such an intellectual destiny for oneself? On France explains it. This is a prolonged meditation upon France, her greatness, vanity, and decay, a book-long portrait of the past glories and the steady and pathetic decline of a great nation. Cioran has in fact fallen in love with his adoptive land; it is indeed a love letter. His prose is often overwritten, but quite insightful: “I perceive France rightly by all that is rotten within me” (40). France is decadent, lifeless, and over-intellectual, just like himself. The book opens with an apt anonymous quotation in French: “Collection d’exagérations maladives” (a collection of sickly/obsessive exaggerations). Rest assured there is a point to all of this, if one bears with it.
Cioran, like Nietzsche, writes with a kind of visceral identification with human history and the evolution of our consciousness as recorded in our literature and philosophy. For Cioran, how could one live without being part of a great nation? For him, a nation is a social, linguistic, and ethnic reality culminating in a shared psychic reality; a great nation is an agent influencing the course of human history, rather than a collection of individuals. A nation is a kind of conversation, a shared mind, extending across the centuries; at the same time, nations are equally mortal and artificial creations. Hence for Cioran, “France,” “Germany,” and “Romania” are entities which are at once conventional and whose potentialities and defects are intimately felt, about which the stakes could not be higher.
Cioran’s actual observations on France can be stereotypical or overwritten, but they are often on point and insightful. France had been the quintessential nation, a historical agent like no other, “a nation afflicted with good fortune” (28), which had known a stable and “regular” development (unlike the stagnation of the Balkans, or the erratic history of Germany and Russia). France was a nation which had never been “humiliated by comparisons,” whose people had never felt themselves to be “deracinated” by foreign influences, who had never felt the material or psychological need to emigrate (27). France was a world unto itself, psychologically self-sufficient, and in that sense strangely provincial, at the same time setting the tone for the entire world: “France – like ancient Greece – has been a universal province” (24). The nation could happily develop at her own, leisurely pace, for she was the world.
In this sense, all of Europe, and indeed much of the world, existed in France’s shadow. For all those formless populaces which wanted to be nations, France set the tone for what was “normal.” France had been the “soul of Europe,” a cultural and even political hegemon. Cioran delights in the decline of the “Grande Nation”: “From the Frenchmen of the Crusades, they have become the Frenchmen of the kitchen and the bistrot: bien-être and boredom” (53).
I recently had reason to observe that I don’t know what it is like to have been born in a second-rate or failed nation. France’s (and the West’s) standard-setting “normality” is in fact highly exceptional [4].
By the time of the Enlightenment, French confidence was also grounded in a belief in reason and progress. This was an “acosmic” culture not troubled by the sublimity and dread of metaphysics, too comfortable in reason, a formal classicism, and an “anti-Dionysian” (80) culture of the head, not of the heart,[2] [5] and committed to the “sterile perfection” of writing (24). It became the nation of self-satisfied Alexandrianism.
All that was over and done with. In the late Middle Ages, France had wavered “between the monastery and the salon” (17), before decisively opting for the latter. The French, since the Enlightenment and in particular during the Revolution, were a perfect example of the weakness of “reason” as a guide for a people. France had degenerated from a nation into a mere populace of selfish individualists, hence sterile, and long given to chatter, overrefinement, and gastronomy (one appreciates the overgeneralizations here). The French gave no place to the unconscious, they were not “deep,” and they had become skeptical and unwilling to die for any ideal (38). Because at this time Cioran seems to only have cared for intensity of feeling and belief, he sees the only remaining vitality left in France in Communism and the working class, although her “revolutionary career” was probably over, anyway (73; hence also some Slavophile sentiments, since Cioran never really distinguished between Russians and Communism, 41).
Cioran, a voracious reader with a vast intellectual culture, is extremely critical of French thought and culture throughout history. Cioran foresees a great convergence: France’s bourgeois decadence indicates where all the other nations are heading, and by that decadence she will also really become a “normal” country, as afflicted by doubt and inferiority complexes as all the rest (45, 49). Cioran writes implausibly, “Her decline, obvious for almost a century, has not been opposed by any of her sons with a desperate protest” (63).
By this point, one could fairly accuse the wretch Cioran of sadism. Some kids like to tear the wings off of flies, others just like to watch a once-beautiful flower slowly rot from blight.
Cioran has perhaps only one unambiguously positive thing to say about France, the embrace of fleeting beauty:
France’s divinity: Taste. Good taste.
According to which the world – to exist – must please; must be well-made; consolidate itself aesthetically; have limits; be a graspable enchantment; a sweet flowering [fleurissment] of finitude. (14-15)
He observes that France is “the country of the phenomenon in itself,” of impression, before adding, “If appearances are everything, France is right” (78). Very Zen and very true, no? If life is but a succession of fleeting moments, let them be beautiful.
Cioran luxuriates in France’s decay, and some of the passages are frankly revolting in embellishing – as Alain Soral has complained [6] – spiritual and civilizational rot:
[France] can only live up to [her past] if she accepts her end with style, by masterfully refining a crepuscular culture, by extinguishing herself with intelligence and even with splendor – not without corrupting the freshness of her neighbors or of the world through her decadent infiltrations and dangerous insinuations. (47-48)
There are fecund disintegrations and sterile ones. A great civilization which provincializes itself diminishes its spiritual volume; but, when it spreads the elements of its dissolution, when it universalizes its failure, the twilight retains some symbols of the mind and saves the appearance of nobility. (75)
He also writes, “Of France’s twilight we can only speak in aesthetic terms; we do not feel it, and the French do not feel it either” (59). Well, perhaps a metic could feel this way, but not a Frenchman raised in the knowledge that his country was a great nation among the lights of the world, passed down to us as a sacred patrimony by the sacrifice of millions of French soldiers and peasants. Let us recall Charles de Gaulle’s famous words:
All my life, I have had a certain idea of France. I am inspired in this as much by sentiment as by reason. . . . I instinctively have the impression that Providence has created her for consummate achievements or exemplary misfortunes. If mediocrity marks her deeds and actions, however, I have the feeling of an absurd anomaly, attributable to the faults of the French and not to the genius of the fatherland. But also, the positive side of my mind convinces me that France is only truly herself when she is at the first rank; that only vast enterprises can compensate for the ferments of dispersion which her people carries; that our country, as it is, among the others, as they are us, must, under penalty of death, aim high and stand tall. In short, by my lights, France cannot be France without greatness.
Let it be said that Charles de Gaulle, for all his failures [7], passed this conviction on to the more earnest and impressionable minds of the younger generation through this myth – those who only-too-naïvely took their elders’ words at face value, and who could therefore only be shocked by the nation’s decomposition and slouching into mediocrity. And are de Gaulle’s words not also true, to a great extent, for Europeans in general, who always yearn to dedicate themselves heart and soul to a great cause, without which they are prone to living like dogs? And I cannot tell you how many idealistic young Europeans I have met, who are among the best of our race, who dedicate themselves to the Third World, for there can still be found struggle, sacrifice, and emotional depth and intensity, which can only contrast with the superficiality and barrenness – a rare spiritual oblivion – of coddled life in the post-war West.
I can see a point in Cioran’s musing, but there is also something disgusting – and in some respects simply noxious – for both France and Europe. Cioran, in fact, seems torn: generally favoring belief and fanaticism as the antithesis of decadence (hence sympathy for Hitlerism and Bolshevism), but occasionally observing that perhaps Europe needs a bit of doubt, which France could bring (65).
Cioran is convinced of the catastrophic effects of the illusions of “reason” and “progress.” But if France, the pioneer-nation of the Enlightenment, would cease to believe in such follies . . . surely Western man could finally awaken from these self-satisfied, sterilizing slogans! Or, at least, Cioran believes he, as an “intellectual vampire” (60), could be a lucid and fecund writer in this context. He leapfrogs centuries of history:
Hailing from primitive lands, the Wallachian underworld, with the pessimism of youth, and then arriving in an overly ripe civilization, what a source of shivers before such a contrast! Without a past amidst an enormous past . . . From the pasture to the salon, from the shepherd to Alcibiades! (66)
Hence, Cioran loves France because she has fallen from self-assured greatness into a doubt and pessimism much like his own. Whereas he had previously loved Hitlerian Germany for its irrational faith, he now presents France as a mirror image of himself, an entire nihilist country in which he might be able to achieve the highest lucidity:
An entire country which no longer believes in anything, what an exalting and degrading spectacle! To hear them, from the lowest of citizens to the most lucid, say the obvious with detachment: “La France n’exist plus,” “Nous sommes finis,” “Nous n’avons plus d’avenir, “Nous sommes un pays en décadence,” what a reinvigorating lesson, when you are no longer a devotee of delusions! (69)
France is “a consoling space” for Cioran: “With what impatience I have awaited this outcome, so fertile for melancholic inspiration!” (70). The wandering and soon-to-be stateless Cioran wants to limit himself to a particular culture and place: “He who embraces too much falsifies the world, but in the first instance, himself . . . A great soul enclosed in the French forms, what a fecund type of humanity!” (87). France’s comfortable decadence will shield Cioran from his own excesses: “Let her measure cure us of pathetic and fatal wanderings” (32), “A country’s lack of life will protect us against the dangers of life” (88). Crepuscular France will finally give Cioran the opportunity to be in harmony with his time: “Alexandrianism is erudite debauchery as a system, theoretical breathing at the twilight, a moaning of concepts – and the only moment when the soul can harmonize its darkness with the objective unfolding of the culture” (70).
In short, Cioran seizes the opportunity to join a decadent, highly intellectual nation, so as to explore the depths of nihilism and see where one emerges. I can appreciate this kind of personal and philosophical project.
Cioran carves a role out for himself as a fertilizing maggot in the corpse of French civilization. Cioran, not disinterestedly, affirms that the greatness of a nation can be measured by its ability to inspire metics to join and serve it, which I suppose is partly true (92-94). Cioran then foresees his own destiny in this new home:
What would I do if I were French? I would rest in Cynicism. (40)
France needs a pathetic and cynical Paul Valéry, an absolute artist of the void and of lucidity. (48)
My destiny is to wrap myself in the dregs of civilizations. How can I show my strength except by resisting in the midst of rot? The relationship between barbarism and neurasthenia balances this formula. An aesthete of the twilight of cultures, I turn my gaze of storm and dreams upon the dead waters of the mind . . . (65)
To refuse to go extinct, even though we have delighted in the inevitable march towards extinction. (82)
A kind of moribund fury lies in the aesthetes of decadence. (84)
Cioran affirms that decadence can only be overcome, not through sentimental nostalgia or insincere conservatism, but by uncompromisingly going deeper . . . perhaps then nihilism will be transcended? That which is falling ought to be pushed, that which doesn’t kill us, and so on.
On France seems to be a book-long philosophical exercise. There are well-established traditions in this kind of morbid meditation in both Stoicism and Buddhism, schools which strongly resonated with Cioran. In Stoic analysis, one breaks down an object to its most essential, unappetizing forms so as to overcome our desires with objectivity. As Marcus Aurelius wrote in his Meditations:
When you have savories and fine dishes set before you, you will gain an idea of their nature if you tell yourself that this is the corpse of a fish, and that the corpse of a bird or a pig; or again, that fine Falernian wine is merely grape juice, and this purple robe some sheep’s wool dipped in the blood of a shellfish; and as for sexual intercourse, it is the friction of a piece of gut and, following a sort of convulsion, the expulsion of some mucus. Thoughts such as these reach through to the things themselves and strike to the heart of them, allowing us to see them as they truly are. So follow this practice throughout your life, and where things seem most worthy of your approval, lay them naked, and see how cheap they are, and strip them of the pretenses of which they are so vain. (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.13)
The Buddhists attribute a similar meditative exercise to Gautama: contemplating the various aspects of our being (mind, body, actions, including defecation and urination), breaking down our body into parts, and indeed contemplating our body subject to various degrees of decomposition (notably in the Satipatṭhāna Sutta). By this, one attains a certain objectivity and imperviousness, one is learning to look the truth in the face without flinching.
On France appears to be the fruit of this kind of philosophical exercise. By stripping France of her pretensions and even the usual dignities necessary for a nation or an individual’s self-respect, Cioran sees his new home objectively. This is indeed one of Cioran’s “nay-saying, corrosive books,” a challenge, the overcoming of which will make us stronger.
In the 1920s and ’30s, no one denied the decadence which already afflicted the France of the Third Republic. No one today can deny that all Europe is decadent, unashamed of her impotence and dedicated to the most impoverished materialist and humanitarian principles, consecrated to the Last Man foreseen by Nietzsche, and with no end in sight. Given all this, Cioran’s observations and his challenge remain deeply relevant to us. Cioran is torn, but points to the need for decidedly modern barbarians: “I dream of a culture of oracles in logic, of lucid Pythias . . . and of a man who would control his reflexes with a supplement of life, and not through austerity” (89).
En guise de conclusion, I recall the words of the Buddha:
Just as a sweet-smelling and pleasant lotus grows on a heap of refuse flung on the high road, so a disciple of the Fully Awakened One shines resplendent in wisdom among the blind multitude, the refuse of beings. (Dhammapada, 58-59)
Some translated excerpts from this book will be published at Counter-Currents in the coming days.
Notes
[1] [8] The French edition is incidentally quite elegant and has been printed using blue ink.
[2] [9] Cioran often writes of nations having or lacking vigor “in the blood,” using this word strangely more in a psychological than hereditarian sense.
del.icio.us
Digg
Facebook
Le problème de l’Union européenne est l’inversion de l’idée selon laquelle l’union fait la force. Or je dirais, dans le cas précis : l’union fait la faiblesse. Et ce sur tous les plans.
Avec la guerre froide, cette pression s’est encore accentuée. Même en imaginant un retour sur le devant de la scène politique de bellicistes, qui n’étaient pas au rendez-vous, et pour cause, comment auraient-ils pu mener une guerre ? Le projet européen est d’abord bâti comme un moyen de résister à l’URSS en renforçant la cohésion de l’Ouest. Un des points trop souvent oubliés est le rôle majeur des États-Unis dans la construction européenne. Le plan Marshall n’était pas un geste philanthropique et désintéressé des Américains. Il avait une finalité très précise : renforcer l’Europe de l’Ouest à un moment où elle semblait menacée. La paix s’imposait donc aux Européens. Dans l’ensemble, ils étaient alignés sur les États-Unis, et il était parfaitement raisonnable de l’être. Il y avait une évidence stratégique du renforcement de l’Union à l’intérieur de l’OTAN.
En revanche, quand Orban parle de la Hongrie chrétienne, son christianisme me semble beaucoup moins eschatologique qu’identitaire. La perspective qu’il mobilise, c’est la défense de la culture chrétienne contre la culture musulmane. Tous les électeurs comprennent que quand on parle de culture chrétienne, on parle d’une culture sans-les-musulmans ! Si vous parlez d’eschatologie aux électeurs de Salvini, je doute même qu’ils sachent de quoi il est question.
De manière générale, oui. Pour ses peuples, l’Union se présente comme un ensemble qui n’a aucun contrôle direct de son environnement direct, au Sud. L’absence de maîtrise de cet environnement est mise en évidence par des flux migratoires incontrôlés.
Je vous recommande le livre de Luuk Van Middelaar : Quand l’Europe improvise (3). C’est un livre passionnant mais accablant par rapport à cet autisme situation bureaucratique. Il le résume en disant en substance : « L’UE ne sait pratiquer qu’une politique de la règle, alors que ce qui lui est demandé est une politique de l’événement ». Ma différence avec lui, qui me rend plus pessimiste, serait que la politique de l’événement ne suffit pas. Elle se contente de faire face à des situations qui s’imposent, alors qu’une politique stratégique est celle qui permet d’anticiper ces événements et de parer à toute éventualité. A ce jour nous n’en avons aucune. Et je ne vois pas par quelles voies le Conseil des chefs d’État qui s’est imposé comme l’instance la moins inadéquate de riposte aux crises, Van Middelaar le montre bien, pourrait en élaborer une.
Droits de l’homme et politique : toute la question est celle de l’alliance des deux termes et du passage de l’un à l’autre. Je ne suis pas critique à l’égard de l’idée des droits de l’homme en elle-même. La question porte sur les conditions de leur utilisation et de leur application : qu’en fait-on ? J’ai assez écrit sur lesdits droits de l’homme pour qu’on ne me suspecte pas de penser qu’il y a mieux à côté ! Qu’on les aime ou non, il faut faire avec. C’est le principe de légitimité inventé par la modernité et qui est en train de devenir planétaire. J’ai bien dit : en train.
Les traces du totalitarisme
Car si l’on est dans une ère post-vérité, c’est donc qu’on est dans une ère post-langage. Certes, déjà les sophistes usaient du langage comme d’un simple outil de pouvoir, au demeurant fort rémunérateur (cf. Les Zemmour qui en font profession et gagnent très bien leur vie, à proportion de leurs outrances – l’outrance est aujourd’hui économiquement rentable) – ce qui tendrait à relativiser le préfixe de « post ».
Among such concessions would be that it is unscientific to form a research community around sociobiology, or to explore the possibility that the individual selection model of evolution may not capture all aspects of natural selection, and that group-level fitness may play a role. After all, this remains the official view of mainstream science, which is a testament to the success of the Left-wing Sociobiological Study Group. This scientific research community arose in response to E. O. Wilson’s Harvard-based sociobiological research circle, and it functioned with the sole purpose of preventing sociobiology ever becoming a scientific discipline.
Growing up in France, I was never attracted to Emil Cioran’s nihilist and pessimistic aesthetic as a writer. Cioran was sometimes presented to us as unflinchingly realistic, as expressing something very deep and true, but too dark to be comfortable with. I recently had the opportunity to read his De l’inconvénient d’être né (On the Trouble with Being Born) and feel I can say something of the man.
As literally an apatride metic (he would lose his Romanian citizenship in 1946), Cioran, then, did not have much of a choice if he wished to exist a bit in postwar French intellectual life, which went from the fashionable Marxoid Jean-Paul Sartre on the left to the Jewish liberal-conservative Raymond Aron on the right. (I actually would speak highly of Aron’s work on modernity as measured, realistic, and empirical, quite refreshing as far as French writers go. Furthermore he was quite aware of Western decadence and made a convincing case for 
My initial response to De l’inconvénient was annoyance that it had been written (I can quite understand 
En un trabajo anterior ya quisimos hacer una aproximación antropológica al concepto spengleriano de la Técnica[i] . El presente trabajo quiere ser una prolongación del mismo, profundizando en los conceptos spenglerianos sobre la tecnicidad y lo hacemos por medio de un comentario detenido de las páginas de su pequeña obra El Hombre y la Técnica.[ii] Este breve texto spengleriano aclara muchos aspectos de la filosofía, poco sistemática y, a veces, impresionista, del gran pensador alemán, el creador de la magna obra La Decadencia de Occidente. Este breve libro traza un cuadro evolutivo de la técnica en la historia natural y cultural del hombre. Pero hace algo más: esboza de una manera dialéctica el destino fatal de los pueblos de Occidente, pueblos que han desarrollado toda su tecnicidad hasta ponerla en manos de sus enemigos. Este examen detenido de los párrafos enérgicos y vibrantes del librito puede ayudar a comprender la peculiar dialéctica pesimista –a diferencia de la optimista hegeliana- del pensador alemán Oswald Spengler. En vez de alcanzar un progresivo dominio técnico del mundo, encaminado a su mayor comodidad y salud, el hombre y sus antepasados simplemente han ido diferenciando cualidades sensitivo-etológicas desde hace millones de años, cualidades en las que ya está presente la tecnicidad, aun cuando todavía nuestros antepasados no era capaces de fabricar herramientas, o sólo empleaban órganos y partes sensomotoras de su cuerpo para ejercer su dominio. Por ello, en nuestro comentario empleamos el término tecnicidad, contrapuesto a "técnica" para hacer referencia a esas capacidades generales implícitas a la hora de ejercer dominio, control o alteración del propio medio envolvente, con independencia de la existencia de herramientas, armas u otros objetos extra-somáticos. La tecnicidad es la cualidad o el carácter técnico de algo o alguien, y no se debe circunscribir a los productos de las artes humanas o proto-humanas ni al aspecto normativo o envolvente del Espíritu Objetivo. Nuestro comentario, pues, se enmarca en el espacio antropológico. Queremos ahondar en la antropología spengleriana, tal y como llevamos haciendo desde hace unos años. [iii]
Das ist der andre Fehler, der hier vermieden werden muß: Technik ist nicht vom Werkzeug her zu verstehen. Es kommt nicht auf die Herstellung von Dingen an, sondern auf das Verfahren mit ihnen, nicht auf die Waffe, sondern auf den Kampf
"La planta vive; aunque sólo en sentido limitado, es un ser viviente. En realidad, más que vivir puede decirse que en ella y en torno a ella está la vida. “Ella” respira, “ella” se alimenta, “ella” se multiplica; y, sin embargo, no es propiamente más que el escenario de esos procesos, que constituyen una unidad con los procesos de la naturaleza circundante, con el día y la noche, con los rayos del sol y la fermentación del suelo; de suerte que la planta misma no puede ni querer ni elegir. Todo acontece con ella y en ella. Ella no busca ni su lugar propio, ni su alimento, ni las demás plantas con quienes engendra su sucesión. No se mueve, sino que son el viento, el calor, la luz, quienes la mueven." [x]
Esa mirada poderosa, unida a ese sentimiento de poder, es el germen de la Historia. Y la Historia se individualiza. No se trata de una historia de las masas. Las masas no poseen la historia. Antes de alzarse culturas individualizadas, en la fase zoológica y pre-cultural, la Historia la hacen los individuos. El animal de presa destaca y se recorta ante el animal de rebaño. El herbívoro precisa de muchos como él, y entre ellos (como luego, en las sociedades de masas) una muchedumbre de iguales constituye ya el individuo. Ha de verse aquí, en El Hombre y la Técnica, no una teoría, en el sentido riguroso o científico, sino una analogía. Spengler discurre por analogías, y esas analogías presiden toda su filosofía de la historia. Si una Cultura es, toda ella, un ser vivo dotado de su morfología propia y de su propio ciclo vital, un herbívoro es un análogo de un "hombre masa". El hombre masa del siglo XIX y XX es un retroceso hacia la animalización, pero hacia la animalización del escalón inferior, la de la presa, la del cobarde herbívoro.
El hombre es artífice de su táctica vital [Der Mensch ist der Schöpfer seiner Lebenstaktik geworden]. Esta palabra, "táctica", es crucial para comprender la gran analogía belicista que recorre por igual la filosofía de la naturaleza y la filosofía de la historia spenglerianas. De esa creación libre brota, no obstante, un plano nuevo de coacción y de condena sobre los aprendices de brujo que son los humanos. El Espíritu Objetivo podrá verse, hegelianamente, como un fruto de la libertad esencial de los hombres, pero, a la par, se alza como envoltorio determinante y coactivo que canaliza y bloquea los cursos en principio libres de los sujetos. Es una libertad que se auto-restringe al devenir objetivo. La cultura no es ya, sin más, el Reino de la Libertad confrontado al Reino de la Necesidad (material y físico-química). La optimista dualidad kantiana, como en general la optimista y felicitaría dualidad teológico-cristiana de la que partía, ya ha quedado atrás. De la cultura también procede un destino, una fatalidad [Verhängnis].
La forma o figura [Gestalt] de la mano determina la de la herramienta, y viceversa. La garra no precisa de herramientas. Cuando la garra del simio comienza a tomar palos y emplearlos, inicial y esencialmente como armas, ésta garra ya deviene mano. Y en este momento ya nace un nuevo tipo de depredador: no es sólo el depredador de los ojos, con un pensamiento ocular, sino un pensar de la mano. Ojo y manos, en el plano sensomotor, representan por analogía la doble faceta del pensar humano, el plano cognoscitivo: el pensar intelectual (relaciones causa-efecto) y el pensar práctico (relaciones medio-fin).
Der ursprüngliche Zweck des Sprechens ist die Durchführung einer Tat nach Absicht, Zeit, Ort, Mitteln. Die klare, eindeutige Fassung derselben ist das Erste, und aus der Schwierigkeit, sich verständlich zu machen, den eigenen Willen anderen aufzuerlegen, ergibt sich die Technik derGrammatik, die Technik der Bildung von Sätzen und Satzarten, des richtigen Befehlens, Fragens, Antwortens, der Ausbildung von Wortklassen auf Grund der praktischen, nicht der theoretischen Absichten und Ziele. Das theoretische Nachdenken hat am Entstehen des Sprechens in Sätzen so gut wie gar keinen Anteil. Alles Sprechen ist praktischer Natur und geht vom »Denken der Hand« aus.
Spengler se sitúa resueltamente entre los filósofos anti-igualitarios, en la misma línea de los clásicos Platón y Aristóteles y seguida por Nietzsche. La diferencia entre los hombres es un "hecho" [Tatsache] acerca del cual cabe poca o nula discusión. La vida práctica de los individuos sólo empieza a comprenderse en el seno de una organización, cuya decadencia civilizada es "masa", pero cuya existencia "en forma" se denomina Estado. El origen del Estado estriba en esa tecnicidad devenida en forma de organización militar. En la milicia existe ya un Estado in nuce. La organización de la empresa humana, especialmente ante enemigos potenciales exteriores, es el Ejército, la institución que encarna la tecnicidad elevada al plano institucional, objetivo-espiritual: […] der Staat ist die innere Ordnung eines Volkes für den äußeren Zweck. Der Staat ist als Form, als Möglichkeit, was die Geschichte eines Volkes als Wirklichkeit ist. Geschichte aber ist Kriegsgeschichte, damals wie heute. Politik ist nur der vorübergehende Ersatz des Krieges durch den Kampf mit geistigeren Waffen. Und die Mannschaft eines Volkes ist ursprünglich gleichbedeutend mit seinem Heer. Der Charakter des freien Raubtieres ist in wesentlichen Zügen vom einzelnen auf das organisierte Volk übergegangen, das Tier mit einer Seele und vielen Händen. Regierungs-, Kriegs- und diplomatische Technik haben dieselbe Wurzel und zu allen Zeiten eine tief innerliche Verwandtschaft.
La decadencia de Occidente se ilumina plenamente mirando esta civilización bajo el aspecto de la técnica. La técnica, nacida en toda cultura humana básicamente como arma y como potenciación del ojo y la mano depredadora, ya en fase mecanista pasa a ser la tumba de la civilización que con más energía y saña la desarrolló, la civilización europea de Occidente. Otros pueblos se beneficiarán de aquellos logros de la cultura fáustica. Los frailes escolásticos europeos, en torno a los siglos XII y XIII introdujeron el verdadero Renacimiento[xxvi]. Spengler no duda en llamarlos "vikingos del espíritu". Sin miedo a navegar todo lo lejos posible, y con el mismo afán dominador de sus antecedentes piráticos y navegantes, fueron aquellos escolásticos de la cultura fáustica quienes sentaron las bases de la ciencia moderna, mucho tiempo antes de Galileo, Copérnico, Descartes o Newton. Un Mundo y un Dios entendidos en términos de fuerza, energía, y una naturaleza entendida como botín y campo para la conquista. Los vikingos del espíritu, los escolásticos medievales, impulsaron el verdadero Renacimiento y la primera fase científico-técnica de la cultura fáustica. Ellos prepararon el terreno para la segunda oleada de descubrimientos, y con los descubrimientos, las conquistas. Los conquistadores españoles fueron, a ojos de Spengler, los nuevos vikingos, los herederos de la "sangre nórdica", destinados a revolucionar el mundo, como hicieran, unos siglos antes, sus antepasados.
The third reason Fukuyama gives for emulating the Star Wars cantina comes from biology. Diversity, he informs us, is “crucial to [biological] resilience” and “the motor of evolution itself.” Amazingly, Fukuyama does not see that this is actually an argument for racial and cultural homogeneity and separatism. For when two distinct species occupy the same ecological niche, the result is the destruction of biological diversity through extinction or hybridization. If human biological and cultural diversity are values, then ethnonationalism follows as a matter of course, for ethnonationalism creates barriers to the chief causes of biological extinction, namely habitat loss, competition from invasive species, hybridization, and predation.
Putnam studied 41 communities in the United States, ranging from highly diverse to highly homogeneous, and found that social trust was strongly correlated with homogeneity and social distrust with diversity. Putnam eliminated other possible causes for variations in social trust and concluded that “diversity per se has a major effect.”
These are the mechanisms preferred by civic nationalists like Fukuyama.
Maar zeventig jaar later blijkt dat de na de Tweede Wereld Oorlog tot standaarddoctrine verheven historisch-materialistische mythologie van ‘vooruitgang’ en ‘maakbaarheid’ – de socialistische variant in het ‘Oostblok’ en de liberale variant in het ‘Westblok’ – de Westerse beschaving aan de rand van de ondergang heeft gebracht. Na de val van het 
Some aspects of the intellectual heritage of German legal philosopher Carl Schmitt (1888-1985) have already been dealt with by the author in general terms
Et c’est en regardant la question de la religion que l’on peut commencer à comprendre la Weltanschauung russe, l’Idée russe. L’Occident, pendant les derniers siècles, a lentement apostasié le christianisme, cette apostasie s’accélérant à partir des années 60. Aujourd’hui l’Occident souligne l’étendue de sa rébellion contre Dieu en célébrant des choses comme l’homosexualité, en appelant bien ce qui est mal et mal ce qui est bien.
Berdiaev reproche à Nietzsche d’être une métonymie de l’Occident :
Lucian, in response to the poet’s fancy, intends to compose an account in which there is no pretense at truth, and which will surpass the work of the poets because he, at least, has openly declared himself a liar. His goal is to provide a pleasant literary spectacle for the entertainment of his highly educated audience, not unlike the various gladiatorial matches that took place in his own day. But, by describing “myth-making” (mythologeo) in this way, he has misunderstood and therefore, unjustly butchered the goal of the poet, the historian, and the philosopher. For the goal of the ancient myth-maker is not to create an entertaining story or a perfectly accurate description, but to explore and explain aspects of the human experience.
