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samedi, 13 novembre 2010

The Rebel: An Interview with Dominique Venner

dominique_venner.jpgThe Rebel:
An Interview with Dominique Venner

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

Translated by Michael O’Meara

Czech translation based on this English translation: here

The noted French nationalist and historian speaks to the personal imperatives of white liberation.

Translator’s Note:

It’s a testament to the abysmal state of our culture that hardly one of Dominique Venner’s more than forty books have been translated into English. Venner is more than a gifted historian who has made major contributions to the most important chapters of modern, especially twentieth-century European history. He’s played a key role in both the development of the European New Right and the “Europeanization” of continental nationalism.

It is his “rebel heart” that explains his engagement in these great struggles, as well as his interests in the Russian Revolution, German fascism, French national socialism, the US Civil War, and the two world wars. The universe found in his works is one reminiscent of Ernst von Salomon’s Die Geächteten — one of the Homeric epics of our age.

The following interview is about the rebel. Unlike the racial conservatives dominant in US white nationalist ranks, European nationalism still bears traces of its revolutionary heritage — opposed as it is not merely to the alien, anti-national forces, but to the entire liberal modernist subversion, of which the United States has been the foremost exemplar.

Question: What is a rebel? Is one born a rebel, or just happens to become one? Are there different types of rebels?

Dominique Venner: It’s possible to be intellectually rebellious, an irritant to the herd, without actually being a rebel. Paul Morand [a diplomat and novelist noted for his anti-Semitism and collaborationism under Vichy] is a good example of this. In his youth, he was something of a free spirit blessed by fortune. His novels were favored with success. But there was nothing rebellious or even defiant in this. It was for having chosen the side of the National Revolution between 1940 and 1944, for persisting in his opposition to the postwar regime, and for feeling like an outsider that made him the rebellious figure we have come to know from his “Journals.”

Another, though different example of this type is Ernst Jünger. Despite being the author of an important rebel treatise on the Cold War, Jünger was never actually a rebel. A nationalist in a period of nationalism; an outsider, like much of polite society, during the Third Reich; linked to the July 20 conspirators, though on principle opposed to assassinating Hitler. Basically for ethical reasons. His itinerary on the margins of fashion made him an “anarch,” this figure he invented and of which after 1932 he was the perfect representative. The anarch is not a rebel. He’s a spectator whose perch is high above the mud below.

Just the opposite of Morand and Jünger, the Irish poet Patrick Pearse was an authentic rebel. He might even be described as a born rebel. When a child, he was drawn to Erin’s long history of rebellion. Later, he associated with the Gaelic Revival, which laid the basis of the armed insurrection. A founding member of the first IRA, he was the real leader of the Easter Uprising in Dublin in 1916. This was why he was shot. He died without knowing that his sacrifice would spur the triumph of his cause.

A fourth, again very different example is Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Until his arrest in 1945, he had been a loyal Soviet, having rarely questioned the system into which he was born and having dutifully done his duty during the war as a reserve officer in the Red Army. His arrest and then his subsequent discovery of the Gulag and the horrors that occurred after 1917, provoked a total reversal, forcing him to challenge a system which he once blindly accepted. This is when he became a rebel — not just against Communist, but capitalist society, both of which he saw as destructive of tradition and opposed to superior life forms.

The reasons that made Pearse a rebel were not the same that made Solzhenitsyn a rebel. It was the shock of certain events, followed by a heroic internal struggle, that made the latter a rebel. What they both have in common, what they discovered through different ways, was the utter incompatibility between their being and the world in which they were thrown. This is the first trait of the rebel. The second is the rejection of fatalism.

Q: What is the difference between rebellion, revolt, dissent, and resistance?

DV: Revolt is a spontaneous movement provoked by an injustice, an ignominy, or a scandal. Child of indignation, revolt is rarely sustained. Dissent, like heresy, is a breaking with a community, whether it be a political, social, religious, or intellectual community. Its motives are often circumstantial and don’t necessarily imply struggle. As to resistance, other than the mythic sense it acquired during the war, it signifies one’s opposition, even passive opposition, to a particular force or system, nothing more. To be a rebel is something else.

Q: What, then, is the essence of a rebel?

DV: A rebel revolts against whatever appears to him illegitimate, fraudulent, or sacrilegious. The rebel is his own law. This is what distinguishes him. His second distinguishing trait is his willingness to engage in struggle, even when there is no hope of success. If he fights a power, it is because he rejects its legitimacy, because he appeals to another legitimacy, to that of soul or spirit.

Q: What historical or literary models of the rebel would you offer?

DV: Sophocles’ Antigone comes first to mind. With her, we enter a space of sacred legitimacy. She is a rebel out of loyalty. She defies Creon’s decrees because of her respect for tradition and the divine law (to bury the dead), which Creon violates. It didn’t mater that Creon had his reasons; their price was sacrilege. Antigone saw herself as justified in her rebellion.

It’s difficult to choose among the many other examples. . . . During the War of Secession, the Yankees designated their Confederate adversaries as rebels: “rebs.” This was good propaganda, but it wasn’t true. The American Constitution implicitly recognized the right of member states to secede. Constitutional forms had been much respected in the South. Robert E. Lee never saw himself as a rebel. After his surrender in April 1865, he sought to reconcile North and South. At this moment, though, the true rebels emerged, those who continued the struggle against the Northern army of occupation and its collaborators.

Certain of these rebels succumbed to banditry, like Jesse James. Others transmitted to their children a tradition that has had a great literary posterity. In The Unvanquished, one of William Faulkner’s most beautiful novels, there is, for example a fascinating portrait of a young Confederate sympathizer, Drusilla, who never doubted the justice of the South’s cause or the illegitimacy of the victors.

Q: How can one be a rebel today?

DV: How can one not! To exist is to defy all that threatens you. To be a rebel is not to accumulate a library of subversive books or to dream of fantastic conspiracies or of taking to the hills. It is to make yourself your own law. To find in yourself what counts. To make sure that you’re never “cured” of your youth. To prefer to put everyone up against the wall rather than to remain supine. To pillage whatever can be converted to your law, without concern for appearance.

By contrast, I would never dream of questioning the futility of seemingly lost struggles. Think of Patrick Pearse. I’ve also spoken of Solzhenitsyn, who personifies the magic sword of which Jünger speaks, “the magic sword that makes tyrants tremble.” In this Solzhenitsyn is unique and inimitable. But he owed this power to someone who was less great than himself. That should give us cause to reflect. In The Gulag Archipelago, he tells the story of his “revelation.”

In 1945, he was in a cell at Boutyrki Prison in Moscow, along with a dozen other prisoners, whose faces were emaciated and whose bodies broken. One of the prisoners, though, was different. He was an old White Guard colonel, Constantin Iassevitch. He had been imprisoned for his role in the Civil War. Solzhenitsyn says the colonel never spoke of his past, but in every facet of his being it was obvious that the struggle had never ended for him. Despite the chaos that reigned in the spirits of the other prisoners, he retained a clear, decisive view of the world around him. This disposition gave his body a presence, a flexibility, an energy that defied its years. He washed himself in freezing cold water each morning, while the other prisoners grew foul in their filth and lament.

A year later, after being transferred to another Moscow prison, Solzhenitsyn learned that the colonel had been executed.

“He had seen through the prison walls with eyes that remained perpetually young. . . . This indomitable loyalty to the cause he had fought had given him a very uncommon power.”

In thinking of this episode, I tell myself that we can never be another Solzhenitsyn, but it’s within the reach of each of us to emulate the old White colonel.

French Original: “Aujourd’hui, comment ne pas être rebelle?

mercredi, 29 septembre 2010

La aventura del rebelde



Ex: http://imperium-revolucion-conservadora.blogspot.com/

La existencia de una supuesta tendencia humana hacia la igualdad, la nivelación en todos los órdenes, fenómeno que Ratheneau calificaba como la invasión vertical de los bárbaros o la revolución por lo bajo (Revolution von unten) de Spengler, es una afirmación rigurosamente inexacta. El hombre es un ser naturalmente inconformista, competitivo y ambicioso, al menos, en un sentido progresivo y evolutivo. El mito de la igualdad deja paso a la lucha eterna por la diferenciación. Y este concepto dinámico se integra en la sociedad mediante dos polos opuestos que originan en ella un movimiento de tensión-extensión: minorías y masas, formadas por hombres-señores o por hombres-esclavos, estos últimos seres mediocres en los que se repite un tipo genérico definido de antemano por los valores imperantes de la moral burguesa o progresista triunfante en cada momento o por los dictados de la modernidad, siervos de una civilización decadente que pugna por la nueva nivelación-igualación consistente en rebajar o disminuir a los que se sitúan por encima atrayéndolos a un estrato inferior. El combate por la libertad cede ante la búsqueda de una felicidad gratuita.
Nietzsche expuso su antítesis entre una “moral de señores”, aristocrática, propia del espiritualismo en sentido europeo intrahistórico, y una “moral de esclavos”, de resentimiento, que correspondería al cristianismo, al bolchevismo y al capitalismo demoliberal. Es la naturaleza la que establece separaciones entre los individuos “espirituales”, los más fuertes y enérgicos y los “mediocres”, que son mayoría frente a “los menos”, una “casta” que anuncia el advenimiento del “superhombre” (Übermensch). El “mensajero del nihilismo” fue un predicador militante contra el orden caduco y la moral convencional, pero lo hacía desde un profundo individualismo que se oponía a las distintas formas de dominio ejercidas sobre las masas con el oscuro objetivo de anular toda personalidad.
Y es aquí cuando percibimos que la figura solitaria, dramática y patética del rebelde, del anticonformista, parece haber desaparecido de la sociedad posmoderna. El declive del romanticismo y el advenimiento de la sociedad de masas han puesto de manifiesto la crisis del héroe, del intelectual comprometido con la disensión y la protesta, reduciéndolo a un mero personaje de ficción literaria. El neoconformista interpreta toda renovación como un atentado contra su seguridad. Atemorizado por el riesgo y la responsabilidad inherente al difícil ejercicio de la libertad personal, aprieta filas con el modelo colectivo. Es el hombre heterodirigido de Riesman o el hombre masa de Ortega y Gasset. Sin embargo, a lo largo del pasado siglo, diversos movimientos han respondido, intuitivamente en la mayoría de las ocasiones, enérgicamente las menos, contra esta homogeneización de las formas de vida.
Durante la década de los cincuenta aparecieron los llamados jóvenes airados o generación beat, espíritus extravagantes caracterizados por sus deseos de romper con las reglas del orden constituido. Forman un grupo promiscuo de bohemios, artistas fracasados, vagabundos, toxicómanos, asociales inadaptados y genios incomprendidos. Mezclan, en extraña confusión, ciertos gestos incomformistas respecto al sexo, las drogas, la amistad, con actitudes intolerantes hacia las formas de vida social, familiar e individual establecidas. Viven en pequeñas comunidades, desprecian el dinero, el trabajo, la moral y la política. Su culto a la rebelión anárquica se resuelve en una técnica existencial autodestructiva que suele concluir en el psiquiátrico, el reformatorio o el presidio. Los beats, en medio de la alucinación y el desespero intelectual, degeneron en lo absurdo, porque absurdo era el mundo en el que estaban obligados a vivir.
Marcuse, símbolo de la protesta estudiantil de los sesenta, intuía la contracultura como una gran negación y, como toda actitud negativa, suponía la afirmación de unos valores opuestos a la cultura en su sentido clásico. El mayo francés, con su imaginación al poder, dio vida efímera al fenómeno de la contracultura.: su temporalidad se debió, sin duda, a su carácter de negación, «porque aquel que reacciona contra algo afirmado no tiene iniciativa en la acción», en expresión de Evola. La contracultura intentó construir una alternativa diferente al futuro tecno-industrial, renovando la caduca cultura occidental a través de una revolución psicológica de la automarginalidad.
Por otra parte, la infracultura delincuente constituye una auténtica anticultura, cuyo código de honor consiste en trastornar las normas justas –o, al menos, aceptadas colectivamente- de la cultura dominante, a través de la ritualización de la hostilidad gratuita y el vandalismo, erigidos como principios éticos que no se dirigen a la obtención de un lucro inmediato, sino a la posesión del placer por lo ilícito, del riesgo por la violación de un tabú. Su comportamiento es incontrolado, carente de toda lógica, y su actuación es hedonista, inmediata, no programada, lo que la diferencia de la delincuencia profesional. Este tipo de rebelde fracasado, surgido de los sectores menos favorecidos –ahora la extracción se produce también entre los niños pijos consentidos-, ve en la propiedad ajena el símbolo tangible del éxito, razón por la cual su apropiación o destrucción constituye una singular venganza, un camino más sencillo que el de la autodisciplina, el sacrificio o el valor del trabajo.
La cultura urbana, a través de expresiones musicales como el rock y sus más modernos ritmos afroamericanos y de sus depresiones alucinógenas –mezcla de drogas, alcohol, música e imágenes estereotipadas-, ha creado nuevos tipos de protesta uniformada, es decir, una paradójica protesta neoconformista, totalmente absorbida por el sistema y por las corrientes de la moda. En nuestro país, este fenómeno de hastío moral degeneró en la movida, un mero gesto contradictorio expresado por las vías del espectáculo huero y el sensacionalismo absurdo. La movida, de repente, reaccionando en sentido contrario a la ley física que le dió su nombre, se detuvo. La vaciedad de su contenido provocó su muerte prematura.
De todo lo anterior se desprende que los hijos de la posmodernidad han aprendido una lección: la inutilidad del acto de protesta institucionalizado y la conveniencia de aceptar las leyes de la sociedad capitalista. Y he aquí que el antiguo revolucionario cambia de uniforme y se entrega en manos de la ambición desmedida, de la competitividad, el consumismo y la seducción. Es el prototipo del nuevo burgués descrito por Alain de Benoist. Mientras los medios de comunicación difunden este tipo humano robotizado, la publicidad lo eleva al altar como único ejemplo de valores eternos que merece la pena imitar. La fórmula lucro-especulación más placer teledigirido, divulgada por la estética urbana, fría y despersonalizada, ha triunfado finalmente.
En el lado opuesto se sitúan, incómodos y descolgados del tren pseudoprogresista, los nuevos bárbaros, personajes que parecen extraídos de los mitos de la literatura fantástica. Son auténticos rebeldes que rechazan, a veces cruentamente, el código cultural y moral hegemónico. Retorno a las formas naturales, gusto por el misticismo, espíritu de combate, tendencia al caudillismo y al sectarismo organizativo, pretensiones literarias y filosóficas, actuación marginal, a veces incluso extremista, son las líneas básicas que los definen, como si constituyesen una recreación de las bestias rubias de Nietzsche. Su inconfesable propósito es sustituir el espacio cibernético de Spielberg por la espada mágica de Tolkien.
Pero también hoy nos encontramos con un nuevo tipo de rebelde, que lucha por hacerse un sitio en el bestiario de la sociedad tecno-industrial. Es el hombre duro, incombustible emocional y espiritualmente, eternamente en camino, en constante metamorfosis nietzscheana, que ejerce su profesión como actividad no especulativa, que defiende su ámbito familiar y relacional como último e inviolable reducto de su intimidad, que participa con actitud militante en la formación de la opinión pública, que en fin, subraya sus rasgos propios frente a la masa y que está dispuesto a sacrificar su individualismo en aras de valores comunitarios superiores. No es hombre de protestas gratuitas o solemnidades falsamente revolucionarias. Busca la autenticidad a través de la resistencia a lo habitual, como un gerrillero schmittiano, aunque esta resistencia sea dolorosa y desgarradora porque se dirige, sobre todo, hacia el interior de sí mismo. En ocasiones también, su dramática existencia y el repudio de la sociedad demoliberal, le acercan a la revolución nihilista de los nuevos bárbaros. Este proyecto humano es aventura, destino no propuesto, la dimensión heróica y trágica del rebelde de Jünger, del nuevo hombre que resulta enormemente peligroso para el inmovilismo.
[Publicado en ElManifiesto.com]