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mercredi, 04 septembre 2013

Elementos no. 49-50-51-52-53-54

ELEMENTOS Nº 54. LA FALSA IDEOLOGÍA DE LOS DERECHOS HUMANOS
 
 
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Sumario.-


Más allá de los Derechos Humanos. Defender las Libertades, por Alain de Benoist


Reflexiones en torno a los Derechos Humanos, por Charles Champetier


El Derecho de los Hombres, por Guillaume Faye


Derechos Humanos: una ideología para la mundialización, por Rodrigo Agulló


En torno a la Doctrina de los Derechos Humanos, por Erwin Robertson


¿Derechos del hombre?, por Adriano Scianca


¿Son universales los Derechos Humanos?, por François Julien


Los Derechos Humanos  como derechos de propiedad, por Murray Rothbard


La religión de los Derechos Humanos, por Guillaume Faye


Derechos comunes y Derechos personales en Ortega y Gasset, por Alejandro de Haro Honrubia



Derechos Humanos: disyuntiva de nuestro tiempo, por Alberto Buela
 

ELEMENTOS Nº 53.

MISCELÁNEA DE AUTORES DE LA KONSERVATIVE REVOLUTION (Vol. II)

 
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Sumario.-



Gottfried Benn. El doloroso calvario de un inconformista descreído, por Alain de Benoist

“Consideraciones de un apolítico” de Thomas Mann, por Nicolás González Varela

Friedrich Reck, el solitario elitista, por Christine Zeile

Edgar J. Jung, la ambigüedad de la Revolución Conservadora, por Jean-Pierre Faye

Hugo von Hofmannsthal, la voz del simbolismo vienés, por Francisco Arias Solis

El vitalismo e historicismo de Ludwig Klages, por César Águila Cázarez

Edwin Erich Dwinger: dar sentido al sufrimiento, por Ulli Baumgarten

Homenaje a Ernst von Salomón, por Ernesto Milá

Apuntes sin sombra de Hugo von Hofmannsthal, por Otto Cázares

Thomas Mann y el desencantamiento de las tradiciones alemanas, por Fernando Bayón

Friedrich Reck: el hombre que pudo matar a Hitler, por Peio H. Riaño

Otto Strasser y el Frente Negro, por Erik Norling

Ernst Forsthoff y el Estado Total, por Jean-Pierre Faye

Carl Schmitt, ¿teórico del Reich?, por Alejandro Vergara Blanco

 
Oswald Spengler ¿precursor del nacionalsocialismo?, por Javier R. Abella Romero
 

ELEMENTOS Nº 52. LA UTOPÍA IGUALITARIA. CONTRA EL IGUALITARISMO

 
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SUMARIO.-



El totalitarismo igualitario, por Alain de Benoist

Tradición e Igualitarismo, por Laureano Luna

Las falacias del igualitarismo, por Carlos Alberto Montaner

La naturaleza subversiva del igualitarismo, por El Emboscado

Igualitarismo y las élites, por Murray N. Rothbard

La dogmática del igualitarismo, por José María Benavente Barreda

Acerca de la democracia: el igualitarismo, por Eduard Alcántara

Ciencia y desigualdad, por Denes Martos

El igualitarismo democrático como triunfo de la moral cristiano-nihilista en Nietzsche, por Verónica Rosillo Pelayo

Igualitarismo, democracia y plebeyismo en Ortega y Gasset, por Alejandro de Haro Honrubia

Las paradojas vinculadas al igualitarismo y la utopía, por H.C.F. Mansilla

Igualitarismo e Imperio, por William Marina

El igualitarismo es una revuelta contra la Naturaleza, por Murray N. Rothbard

El mito del igualitarismo, por Eugenio Vegas Latapie

El igualitarismo de las masas, según Sloterdijk, por Juan Malpartida
 

ELEMENTOS Nº 51. BICENTENARIO DE SU NACIMIENTO II. WAGNER vs. NIETZSCHE y viceversa

 
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SUMARIO.-


Nietzsche contra Wagner, por Andrés Gómez


Wagner contra Nietzsche. Meditaciones sobre dos mundos enfrentados, por Ramón Bau


Nietzsche y Wagner, por Rüdiger Safranski


Wagner según Nietzsche, por Sergio Méndez Ramos


Nietzsche-Wagner, por Heinrich Köselitz y Ferdinand Avenarius

El desvío nietzscheano de Wagner, por Joseph Victor Widmann


Nietzsche contra Wagner, Wagner contra Offenbach. Una contribución estética al “Caso Wagner”, por Gerardo Argüelles Fernández


Wagner y Nietzsche: la trascendencia nacional o filosófica, por Daniel Alejandro Gómez


Nietzsche-Wagner: Preeminencia de la poesía en la obra de arte total, por Gonzalo Portales

 

ELEMENTOS Nº 49. EMILE CIORAN: LIRISMO FILOSÓFICO

 
 

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SUMARIO


Un hombre asombrado...   y asombroso, por Fernando Savater
 
La revelación de Emile Cioran, por Abel Posse
 
Cioran y la ética de la introspección, por Luis Ochoa Bilbao
 
Cioran: apasionado por la existencia, por Sergio Rivas Salgado
 
Cioran: el alarido lúcido, por Luis Fraga
 
Emile Cioran, el ateo creyente, por Gianfranco Ravasi
 
Sobre E. M. Cioran, por Fernando Savater
 
¿Es Cioran un filósofo?, por Luis Roca Jusmet
 
El inconveniente de ser Cioran, por Augusto Isla
 
Cioran y Eminescu. La plegaria de un dacio, por Vasilica Cotofleac
 
Homenaje a Nicole Parfait, lectora de Cioran, por Rosemary Rizo-Patrón
 
Nicole Porfait y Émile Cioran: el desafío del ser, por Nelson Vallejo-Gómez
 
Emil Cioran y la Revolución Conservadora en Rumanía, por Claudio Mutti
 
Cioran y el fascismo, por José Ignacio Nájera
 
Cioran y la España del desengaño, por Manuel Arranz
 
El concepto de la historia  en Cioran, por Rafael Rattia
 
Entrevista a Simone Boué, esposa de Cioran, sobre Cioran, por Maite Grau
 
Emil Cioran: un escéptico apasionado por la lucidez, por Mijail Malishev
 


Cioran, del rumano al francés, por Edgardo Cozarinsky

dimanche, 07 juillet 2013

El Drama wagneriano

 
El Drama Wagneriano
 

POR
 
H. S. CHAMBERLAIN
 
Prólogo de Javier Nicolás Cintas
 
Vídeo promocional:
 
 
 
Diseño: Fernando Lutz
Maquetación: Manuel Q.
Colaboración y 
correcciones: Pedro Lencina
Colección: Minnesänger
Papel blanco 90gr.
Páginas: 219
Tamaño: 21 x 15 cm
Edición en rústica (cosido) con solapas de 8 cm
P.V.P.: 16 €
(Gastos de envío no incluidos)
ISBN: 978-84-940846-5-2 
 

Canal de Youtube de Ediciones Camzo:
 
Sabadell-CAM:
 
0081 3176 22 0006048819
 
Chamberlain analiza, profundiza, teoriza y debate sobre los pros y contras entre Drama y Ópera, entre Teatro y Drama. No deja ningún resquicio en el que apoyarse o relajarse, va al grano y sin dilación, de ahí el éxito que tuvo este trabajo dentro del mundo musical en general y operístico en particular. Yo me atrevería a definir esta obra como el trabajo definitivo sobre este tema, no superado en los miles de estudios que se han hecho sobre el wagnerismo en cuanto a Weltanschauung.
Javier Nicolás Cintas

“…quizás el mejor libro sobre Wagner escrito nunca”
(The Manchester Guardian, 1923).

ÍNDICE

Prólogo de Javier Nicolás:
La mejor manera de entender a Wagner                                  

Introducción                                                                             

I - Antecedentes históricos                                                       
-         Primeros ensayos                                                           
-         Director de orquesta y autor de óperas. La lucha
entre el poeta y el músico                                                         
-         El problema capital. Su solución. Los dos periodos
De Wagner                                                                               
-         Obras teóricas                                                                

II - Teoría del drama wagneriano                                             

III - Los dramas anteriores a 1848                                             
-         Las hadas y la prohibición de amar                               
-         Rienzi y el Holandés Errante                                        
-         Tannhäuser y Lohengrin                                                          
-         Otros dramas                                                                 

IV - Los dramas posteriores a 1848                                           

V - Tristán e Isolda                                                                    
-         Observaciones preliminares                                          
-         La acción dramática                                                      
-         Relaciones entre la palabra y la música                         

VI - Los Maestros Cantores                                           
-         La acción dramática                                                      
-         Lo convencional y el elemento cómico                        
-         La música                                                                       
-         Resumen sumario                                                                      

VII - El Anillo del Nibelungo                                                    
-         Las dos versiones                                                           
-         La acción dramática                                                      
-         Los teatros y la crítica                                                   
-         Relaciones entre la palabra y la música                         

VIII – Parsifal                                                                
-         Orígenes del poema                                                       
-         La acción dramática                                                      
-         Misticismo, simbolismo, alegoría y religión                   

IX - Arte y Filosofía                                                                  

X - Resumen y conclusión                                            

 
 
SOBRE EL AUTOR
Houston Stewart Chamberlain
(Portsmouth, 1855 - Bayreuth, 1927) Escritor inglés. Hijo de una aristocrática familia inglesa, estudió Ciencias en Ginebra e Historia del arte, Filosofía y Música en Dresde. Atraído tan irresistiblemente por Alemania, que llegó a ser su patria adoptiva, se establece en Viena, donde permanecería durante unos veinte años.
 
La música de Wagner y, singularmente, su bagaje ideológico hallaron en Chamberlain un entusiasta admirador, por lo que dedicó al músico dos monografías,Das Drama Richard Wagners(1892) y Richard Wagner(1895). Se casaría con Eva, la hija menor del músico. Después de este matrimonio se trasladó a Bayreuth, logrando en el año 1916 la nacionalidad alemana.
 
Anteriormente había publicadoLos fundamentos del siglo XIX(1899), donde, siguiendo los pasos de Gobineau, exalta a los alemanes como promotores de la historia moderna. A la gloria del genio germánico dedicó otras obras:Kant(1905),Goethe(1912), y luego, durante el primer conflicto bélico mundial, los dos tomos de propagandaEnsayos de guerra(Kriegsaufsätze, 1915) yNuevos ensayos de guerra(Neue Kriegsaufsätze, 1916).
 
 
Tras el primer ocaso renació con mayor empuje la germanofilia de Chamberlain, que mantuvo correspondencia con Hitler. La obra de Chamberlain, Los fundamentos del siglo XIXfue una de las fuentes de las teorías raciales del filósofo alemán Alfred Rosenberg.
 
ADJUNTAMOS NUESTRO CATÁLOGO EDITORIAL

 

samedi, 01 juin 2013

Parsifal & the Possibility of Transcendence

PARSIFAL-superJumbo.jpg

Wagner Bicentennial Symposium 
Parsifal & the Possibility of Transcendence

By Christopher Pankhurst 

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

In 1878 Nietzsche sent a copy of his book Human, All Too Human to Richard Wagner. At the same time Wagner sent Nietzsche a copy of the verse for his opera Parsifal. Nietzsche was later to write that when received this text, “I felt as if I heard an ominous sound – as if two swords had crossed.”[1] Nietzsche had immediately realized that the two men had drifted irreparably apart. In Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche had made a decisive move against the Western metaphysical tradition and he saw the text of Parsifal as being deeply embedded within that tradition.

By the time of Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal Wagner had become immersed in the philosophy of Schopenhauer and he was able to infuse those works with a thoroughly Schopenhauerian atmosphere. In particular, Parsifal was the culmination of Wagner’s life’s work, and with its theme of redemption through compassion it fully articulated his mature Schopenhauerian beliefs. Largely because of Wagner’s lucid expression of this theme, the opera was to become a persistent bête noir of Nietzsche. Although he had previously enjoyed a deep and rewarding friendship with Wagner, Nietzsche came to view Parsifal as the epitome of everything that was wrong with culture, and he continued to gnaw away irritably at it, like a dog with an old bone, for the rest of his sane life.

At the heart of Nietzsche’s criticism of Parsifal is his rejection of the possibility of redemption from this world, and of transcendence to a higher realm. With Schopenhauer, the idea of transcendence had reached its most highly developed articulation within the Western philosophical tradition; after Nietzsche’s attack on Parsifal it became impossible to uncritically accept the possibility of transcendence at all.

With the influence of Schopenhauer, the lucid artistry of Wagner, and the devastating critique by Nietzsche, Parsifal can be seen as a nexus for some of the most important tributaries of 19th century philosophical thought.

Schopenhauer’s philosophy begins with the observation that everything that exists can only be known to us through our senses, through perception. Therefore we have no direct access to an objective, independently existing world. For us the world exists only as representation. This applies not only to objects but also to all of the natural laws that connect objects with each other, such as magnetism and gravitation. Space and time are also not independently existing qualities but are dependent on the perceptual faculties of an observing subject, and so are expressions of the world as representation. The ways in which things interact in space and time are determinable by laws, but these laws themselves all belong to that same plane of phenomenal existence. In other words, even causality belongs to the world of representation. Schopenhauer was a great admirer of many of the mystical works of ancient India such as the Vedas and the Upanishads, and he saw an affinity between them and his own philosophical work. The ancient teaching that this world is Maya, or illusion, is often cited by Schopenhauer as being parallel with his own observation that the world is representation.

So, in the world of representation, objects and forces interact with each other in causally determined ways. The individual observer is himself a part of this interplay, so he is also part of the world of representation; he is one object of representation amongst many, many others. If there was nothing else to this explanation then the individual would find himself to be a mere observer of a world of interacting objects and his actions would simply occur according to deterministic laws. But this is not at all how reality appears to us. We feel that we are agents in the world, that we have a self-determined power of volition. So, whilst we recognize ourselves as existing in the world of representation as an object, we also feel that there is something more to it than this. It seems that the world of representation is insufficient to explain the totality of the world that we experience, that there must be some additional, hidden quality to the world anterior to the world of representation. Otherwise the world would consist merely of “empty phantoms.”[2] For Schopenhauer, this additional something is will.

An individual experiences his own sense of will as the volitional manifestation of particular actions of his body. These do not simply appear to him as occurring due to some causal situation, instead they feel deliberately willed. When he stands up and walks to the window he feels that he is acting in the world, not merely observing it. This sense of volition is precisely the action of the will. As soon as the action is performed it is perceived through the senses and becomes a part of the world of representation. But the initial volition does not arise from the world of representation but from the world of will. So, the individual exists both as will and representation.

From this, Schopenhauer extrapolates that everything that exists in the world as representation also has another, and unconditional, aspect as will. In fact, Schopenhauer’s assertion that everything that exists as representation also consists of will is not merely drawn analogically from the experience of a particular individual but is shown to be a necessary state of existence. This is so because representation alone cannot explain the existence of anything. It is possible to describe the actions of all sorts of phenomena and to explain how they interact with each other but we are left with a puzzle regarding the inner nature of these phenomena. However we choose to measure or describe objects or forces, we are measuring and describing only that part of them that manifests itself as phenomena, that is, the aspect of the object manifested as representation. This form can express extension in space or duration in time but its inner quality, its essence, is hidden from us. This hidden essence is “an insoluble residuum”[3] and cannot be discerned by investigating the form of phenomena but only by recognizing the presence of will as the hidden essence within all forms.

Once we are able to understand that it is will that manifests itself in representation, that it is the hidden essence behind all perceptible forms, then we can see that it is, “the force that shoots and vegetates in the plant, indeed the force by which the crystal is formed, the force that turns the magnet to the North Pole, the force whose shock he encounters from the contact of metals of different kinds, the force that appears in the elective affinities of matter as repulsion and attraction, separation and union, and finally even gravitation, which acts so powerfully in all matter, pulling the stone to the earth and the earth to the sun; all these he will recognize as different only in the phenomenon, but the same according to their inner nature.”[4]

Thus, behind all the apparent plurality of phenomena there is a higher unity which is the will. The world of representation is secondary to this because it is dependent for its existence on a knowing subject and so is conditional. The world of will is unconditional; it exists prior to every manifestation. Thus, the world of will, which expresses a unity between all things which appear distinct, is fundamentally real in a way that the world of representation is not. The world of representation, of all perceptible phenomena, is shrouded in the illusory veil of Maya. When we lift the veil we are left with will.

So human beings, like all other things in the universe, have a “twofold existence,”[5] consisting of both will and representation. In impersonal forces such as gravitation and magnetism the will is not especially developed; it acts blindly and in completely uniform ways. In living things such as plants it has a higher degree of organizational development and expresses itself through life-cycles, growing to seed before dying off. In animals it is more highly developed still, so that each individual creature fights for its own food, territory and mates, and so on. In humans the will has developed to its highest form and has the greatest degree of self-awareness, to the extent that, uniquely, it is able to deny itself. In humans, then, we see the greatest degree of self-awareness. But the will manifested in a world of representation finds itself refracted into untold billions of distinct, causal phenomena. In the midst of this illusory fragmentation the will seeks satiety and fulfilment. But this relentless desire, according to Schopenhauer, can never reach an end.

Because humans live in the world of representation we are only aware of the illusory existence of diverse, discrete individuals. Each of us thinks that he exists as a single and separate entity forever cut off from the inner processes of other individuals. For Schopenhauer, this is pure delusion. The reality is that we are all expressions in causal reality of a deeper and more fundamental unity. The will itself is singular and indivisible and it establishes itself in a bewildering multiplicity of varied forms. So, the perception of a world of distinct and separated objects and forces is illusory and, to this extent, is an error. The hidden truth is that of a single, unified will outside of space and time.

But this reality is hidden from us because it does not exist in the perceptual world. So the illusion of a world of many distinct individual objects and forces compels us to constantly strive to achieve union with those things that are separate from us, and which we experience as a lack. The desire for sexual intercourse, hunger for food, and the striving for wealth are all driven by our feeling that we lack those things and we believe that we will achieve happiness and satiety if we obtain them. But as soon as we do achieve one of our desires it begins to lose the appeal that drew us to it in the first place, and we begin to desire other things. This is an endless and inescapable process. It means that the world consists of endless suffering because we are always aware of a lack of something or other, and any fulfilment of desire is always short-lived and leads to the arising of new desires. Longing is eternal, satisfaction brief and illusory.

So, we find ourselves living in a world of illusion and suffering and with an unquenchable thirst for an unknown and hidden world of true unity. One of the primary intimations of this world of unity, according to Schopenhauer, comes from our facility for compassion. Egotism and selfishness derive from the desire to benefit oneself at the expense of others. But the self that benefits from this is, as we have seen, an illusory construct that veils the deeper truth. Compassion and pity begin to erase the boundaries between the illusory phenomena of individuals, and to reveal the hidden unity that actually lies behind appearance. So selfishness reinforces the illusion of discrete phenomena, whereas compassion unveils the truth that everything is the manifestation of an undifferentiated will.

Another way in which we may apprehend this noumenal reality is through art. Art is a means whereby the will is able to objectify itself and this is achieved with reference to Platonic Ideas. Schopenhauer sees these Ideas, which are eternal and unchanging forms outside the incessant becoming and passing away of nature, as “definite grades of the objectification of that will, which forms the in-itself of the world.”[6] In other words, art is able to step outside the individuated world of representation and partake of the undifferentiated world of eternal Ideas. Because art takes us to this noumenal place, we are able to feel a sense of completeness, or rather the absence of willing, whilst we contemplate the art object. With this quieting of the will, suffering recedes, and we are able to apprehend the unity of things.

Schopenhauer singles out music as a special art form quite unlike all the others. Whereas other art forms are concerned with representing the essential and universal elements of things, music is not representational in the same way. Instead, Schopenhauer sees music as being a direct manifestation of will: “Therefore music is by no means like the other arts, namely a copy of the Ideas, but a copy of the will itself, the objectivity of which are the Ideas. For this reason the effect of music is so very much more powerful and penetrating than is that of the other arts, for these others speak only of the shadow, but music of the essence.”[7]

When Wagner discovered Schopenhauer, the effect was utterly revelatory. He had spent years carefully devising a theoretical scheme for opera wherein the text was paramount and the music needed to be subordinated to it. Now he found in Schopenhauer a philosophical explanation of music’s superiority to other art forms, and of its deeper resonance, its natural tendency to articulate the essence of things. Wagner’s conversion first manifested itself in the scores for Die Walküre, Siegfried and Götterdämerung, although the libretti for those works had already been written. Of the three operas fully composed after his conversion to Schopenhauer’s philosophy Parsifal was the one he considered to be “the crowning achievement.”[8]

Wagner’s Parsifal tells the story of the Grail Knights and their King, Amfortas. They are responsible for guarding the Holy Grail and the spear which was used to pierce the side of Christ during His crucifixion. But Amfortas is wounded; he was stabbed with the same spear by the evil magician Klingsor, who then stole it. Amfortas’ wound will now not heal. Klingsor has also disempowered the Knights by seducing them with his flower maidens. Until the Knights can win back the spear, the holy rites seem empty and the land has become wasted. A prophecy has been given by the Grail that the spear will only be won back by one, “made wise through pity, the pure fool.”

Parsifal himself is introduced to the drama when he kills a swan. He does not know why he killed the swan, and it transpires that he is ignorant of his parentage and he does not even know his own name. Evidently, he is the prophesied fool. But Parsifal cannot understand the Grail Knights’ rites, and so he is dismissed as a mere fool, not the prophesied redeemer. He soon finds his way to Klingsor’s castle where Kundry, who is simultaneously a servant of the Knights and one of Klingsor’s maidens, attempts to seduce him. This is the cause of an epiphany for Parsifal. With the arrival of sexual arousal, Parsifal is no longer the innocent fool he was, but he is immediately able to overcome this desire and exercise a will-less compassion. He then becomes the pure fool who will fulfil the prophecy. He wins the spear from Klingsor, which he will use to heal Amfortas’ wound. Klingsor and his castle disappear: they were mere phenomena, and Parsifal has revealed their illusory character.

It transpires that Kundry was present at Christ’s crucifixion and that she mocked Him. She has been trapped in an eternal life of repentance ever since. Now Parsifal, through his compassion, has redeemed her. At the close of the opera, on Good Friday, the sacred rites are once more performed but this time with appropriate numinosity. Parsifal is acknowledged as the Redeemer.

The influence of Schopenhauer throughout Parsifal is absolutely clear. The world of Parsifal is one of ubiquitous and lingering suffering. The Grail Knights are condemned to meaningless ritual because of their failure to remain chaste. By succumbing to sexual desire they are chained to the illusory pleasures of the world, and these pleasures, as Schopenhauer has it, are transient, illusory and outweighed by the greater reality of suffering.

Kundry, through her mockery of Christ, is locked in an eternity of suffering. The significant point to Kundry’s suffering is not that she is being punished for mocking God, but that she suffers due to a lack of compassion. By laughing at the suffering of Christ she failed to recognize that the suffering of one is, in essence, the suffering of all.

The eponymous hero is able to redeem the Grail Knights through compassion, by realizing the hidden reality behind the illusory phenomena conjured by Klingsor. When Parsifal causes Klingsor’s realm to disappear he is banishing the world of mere appearance, with all its beguiling desires and pleasures. The final redemption comes from the realization that compassion reveals the hidden unity behind all phenomena. This redemption is not effected through the divinity of Christ; the Good Friday scene is the fulfilment of this redemption, and the Redeemer is Parsifal. Redemption comes from the acceptance of the singular essence of the will and the unity of all things, not from a supernatural intervention.

There is also an interesting structural resonance with Schopenhauer’s thought. Amfortas’ wound is an analogue of the suffering of Christ: his wound was caused by the same spear that pierced the side of Christ. But when Parsifal enters the drama he shoots a swan with an arrow. The swan is a symbol of the sacred so this image again recapitulates the piercing of Christ. In this way, a threefold analogue of suffering becomes a depiction of the Schoperhauerian idea that the will is a unified whole which merely appears to become separate and distinct in various manifestations. The trinity of pain enfolded into the drama exemplifies the notion that the suffering of Christ is important because it is the suffering of all, even of animals. The importance of Christ for Wagner, as for Schopenhauer, comes from the fact that his story of suffering and redemption through surrendering the will is a universal truth and is a metaphysical reality inherent in all living things.

So, Parsifal is not a Christian work of art, despite what many seem to think. It is a work of art which elaborates a sophisticated piece of secular philosophy. The importance of Parsifal, and perhaps the source of misunderstanding, comes from the fact that it is a secular, atheist work which nonetheless presents the reality of transcendence as a proximate and intimate possession of all living things. The Grail hall is a place where, “Time is one with Space.” When Parsifal approaches this hall with one of the Grail Knights, Gurnemanz, the stage directions indicate that the scene begins to change: “the woods disappear and in the rocky walls a gateway opens, which closes behind them. . . . Gurnemanz turns to Parsifal, who stands as if bewitched.”[9] Clearly, the Grail Knights are guarding a numinous place, or at least a place infused with numinous emanations from the Grail itself, but deeper than this they are guarding the concept of transcendence itself. And, with his portrayal of Schopenhauer’s ideas concerning the possibility of redemption within a secular framework, Wagner himself is guarding the possibility of transcendence against the ongoing decline of Christianity.

When Nietzsche first read Parsifal, and heard the sound of swords clashing, he had come to view the notion of transcendence, whether through religion or through art, as an impossibility. Whilst he had already decisively rejected religion he had gone still further and questioned the notion that there is a metaphysical side to existence at all. Despite his friendship with Wagner and his earlier allegiance to Schopenhauer he had come to the conclusion that such a metaphysical realm, the hidden unity of the will, simply did not exist; or if it did exist, that it was completely unknowable to man and so not worth considering.

Nietzsche had come to realize that Schopenhauer, in working out his philosophical worldview, had taken a number of impermissible steps. When Schopenhauer had described the phenomenal world of appearance as illusory he was entirely correct, but he then went on to assume that there must be a world of ultimate reality, a “real” world distinct from representation, lying anterior to the apparent world. Nietzsche questions why, if we are constantly deceived about the nature of the apparent world, we should give any credence to speculations about a hidden world. In fact, he goes on to question why, if such a world anterior to appearance did in fact exist, it should be assumed to have any greater validity than the world of “mere” appearance: “It is no more than a moral prejudice that truth is worth more than mere appearance; it is even the worst proved assumption there is in the world. Let at least this much be admitted: there would be no life at all if not on the basis of perspective estimates and appearances.”[10]

In addition, when Schopenhauer perceived the will as an intimately known presence within himself he falsely assumed that it was a singular force. From this perception he inferred an undifferentiated reality behind the entire world of appearance. But Nietzsche realizes that the will cannot be described in such a way. For Nietzsche, the will is something that emerges as the result of a conflict of impulses and desires that exist simultaneously within an individual. The act of willing emerges as the effect of the most domineering of these impulses. Crucially, it is the result of a prior battle that gives rise to the act of willing and it is an error to ascribe this will to “the synthetic concept ‘I’.”[11] The individual contains many souls, and the one that wins the battle of the wills becomes identified as the individual’s will. In this respect, Nietzsche has stood Schopenhauer’s thinking on its head. Instead of a unified whole manifesting itself as plurality, Nietzsche perceives a battleground of competing interests, one of which achieves victory and is then assumed to be the volition of an integrated agent. From here it is a short step to the realization that “life simply is will to power.”[12]

This realization reveals another false step in Schopenhauer’s argumentation, or rather a severe error of evaluation. If it is assumed there is a holistic and in some sense “higher” reality behind appearances, then this reality assumes a position of superiority to the world of appearances. In Nietzsche’s terms this means that a fictional world has the whip hand over the real world: “Once the concept ‘nature’ had been devised as the concept antithetical to ‘God’, ‘natural’ had to be the word for ‘reprehensible’ – this entire fictional world has its roots in hatred of the natural (actuality!), it is the expression of a profound disgust with the actual. . . . But that explains everything. Who alone has reason to lie himself out of actuality? He who suffers from it. But to suffer from actuality means to be an abortive actuality. . . . The preponderance of feelings of displeasure over feelings of pleasure is the cause of a fictitious morality and religion: such a preponderance, however, provides the formula for decadence . . .”[13] Although this polemic is aimed at the Christian concept of God, the point is equally applicable to Schopenhauer’s world of will. And, once more, Nietzsche has turned Schopenhauer’s thought on its head. Rather than suffering and want being caused by the splintering of a prior unity into discrete phenomena, Nietzsche sees the presence of suffering in the individual as the cause of the creation of this fictional world of unity. It is simply a palliative created to alleviate dissatisfaction with the real.

Of course, this is no neutral matter of academic philosophy; it is fundamental to knowing whether it is possible or desirable to believe in the existence of a noumenal world, whatever its character might be. The existence or non-existence of such a transcendent world has ultimate implications for questions concerning God, life after death, and so on. And this is why Nietzsche’s attack on Wagner’s perceived decadence was so vociferous: “He flatters every nihilistic (Buddhistic) instinct and disguises it in music; he flatters everything Christian, every religious expression of decadence. Open your ears: everything that ever grew on the soil of impoverished life, all of the counterfeiting of transcendence and beyond, has found its most sublime advocate in Wagner’s art.”[14]

And this is the heart of the matter: the counterfeiting of transcendence. When one becomes a fellow traveler with Nietzsche one realizes the intellectual impossibility of accepting notions of transcendence. The very idea of transcendence itself becomes anathema because it implies a belittling of the here and now, of actuality. Consequently art that posits transcendence as an ultimate aim becomes risible, and the beauty of Wagner’s opera dissipates like Klingsor’s castle.

But whilst one listens to the music of Parsifal and becomes immersed in the extraordinarily high level of dramatic development, the possibility of transcendence comes back in to focus and inspires an intuitive yearning to grasp it: the ultimate grail quest. And, in fact, when Nietzsche actually heard Parsifal for the first time he was to write, “Did Wagner ever compose anything better? The finest psychological intelligence and definition of what must be said here, expressed, communicated, the briefest and most direct form for it, every nuance of feeling pared down to an epigram; a clarity in the music as descriptive art, bringing to mind a shield with a design in relief on it; and, finally, a sublime and extraordinary feeling, experience, happening of the soul, at the basis of the music, which does Wagner the highest credit.”[15] Wagner’s desire to present Schopenhauer’s metaphysics in artistic form might appear now to be an item of merely historical interest. But what we know intellectually will not always remain sovereign, and Parsifal is unlikely to be the last time we seriously consider the possibility of transcendence.

Notes

1. Friedrich Nietzsche, Ecce Homo, in Basic Writings of Nietzsche, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: The Modern Library, 1967), 744.

2. Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, trans. E. F. J. Payne (New York: Dover Publications, 1969), vol. 1, 119.

3. Ibid., 124.

4. Ibid., 110.

5. Ibid., 371.

6. Ibid., 170.

7. Ibid., 257.

8. Bryan Magee, Wagner and Philosophy (London: Penguin Books, 2000), 196.

9. Richard Wagner, Parsifal, in Parsifal (Wagner): Opera Guide 34 (London: John Calder, 1986), 96.

10. Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, in Basic Writings of Nietzsche, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: The Modern Library, 1967), 236.

11. Ibid., 216.

12. Ibid., 393.

13. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ, in Twilight of the Idols and The Anti-Christ, trans. R.J. Hollingdale (London: Penguin Books, 1968), 135–36.

14. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner, in Basic Writings of Nietzsche, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: The Modern Library, 1967), 639.

15. Magee, Wagner and Philosophy, 325.

 


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mardi, 23 juin 2009

Il cantore del mito nuovo: Giorgio Locchi

Il cantore del mito nuovo: Giorgio Locchi



… suonava così antico, eppure era così nuovo…

(Richard Wagner, I Maestri Cantori di Norimberga)


di Adriano Scianca (2005) - http://augustomovimento.blogspot.com/


E per ultima venne la “globalizzazione”. In duemila anni di pensiero unico egualitario ci siamo sorbiti: “l’inevitabile” venuta dei tempi messianici, “l’inevitabile” avanzata del progresso tecnico, economico e morale, “l’inevitabile” avvento della società senza classi, “l’inevitabile” trionfo del dominio americano, “l’inevitabile” instaurazione della società multirazziale. Ed ora, appunto, è la “globalizzazione” ad imporsi come “inevitabile”. Il cammino è già tracciato, nulla possiamo contro il Senso della Storia. Certo, l’ingresso trionfale nell’Eden finale va continuamente procrastinato, giacché sempre emergono popoli impertinenti che non apprezzano gli hegelismi in salsa yankee di cui sopra. Ma prima o poi – ce lo dice Bush, ce lo dicono i pacifisti, ce lo dicono gli scienziati, i filosofi e i preti – la storia finirà. È sicuro. Sicuro?


Fine della storia?


È vero: la storia può effettivamente finire. È del tutto plausibile che nel futuro che ci aspetta si possa assistere al triste spettacolo dell’“ultimo uomo” che saltella invitto e trionfante. Ma questo è solo uno dei possibili esiti del divenire storico. L’altro, anch’esso sempre possibile, va nella direzione opposta, verso una rigenerazione della storia attraverso un nuovo mito. Parola di Giorgio Locchi. Romano, laureato in giurisprudenza, corrispondente da Parigi de “Il Tempo” per più di trent’anni, animatore della prima e più geniale Nouvelle Droite, fine conoscitore della filosofia tedesca, della musica classica, della nuova fisica, Locchi ha rappresentato una delle menti più brillanti ed originali del pensiero anti-egualitario successivo alla sconfitta militare europea del ‘45.

Molti giovani promesse del pensiero anticonformista degli anni ‘70 conservano ancora oggi il nitido ricordo delle visite da “Meister Locchi” presso la sua casa di Saint-Cloud, a Parigi, «casa dove molti giovani francesi, italiani e tedeschi si recavano più in pellegrinaggio che in visita; ma simulando indifferenza, nella speranza che Locchi […] fosse come Zarathustra dell’umore giusto per vaticinare anziché, come disgraziatamente faceva più spesso, parlare del tempo o del suo cane o di attualità irrilevanti»1. Le ragioni di una tale venerazione non possono sfuggire anche a chi l’autore romano lo abbia conosciuto solo tramite i suoi testi. Leggere Locchi, infatti, è un’“esperienza di verità”: aprendo il suo Wagner, Nietzsche e il mito sovrumanista – un «grande libro», «uno dei testi classici dell’ermeneutica wagneriana», come lo definisce Paolo Isotta sul… “Corriere della Sera”!2 – ci si trova di fronte al disvelamento (ἀλήθεια, a-letheia) di un sapere originale ed originario. Disvelamento che non può mai essere totale.

L’aristocratica prosa locchiana è infatti ermetica ed allusiva. Il lettore ne è conquistato, nel tentativo di sbirciare tra le righe e cogliere un sapere ulteriore che, se ne è certi, l’autore già possiede ma dispensa con parsimonia
3. Ad aumentare il fascino dell’opera di Locchi, poi, contribuisce anche la vastità dei riferimenti e la diversità degli ambiti toccati: dalle profonde dissertazioni filosofiche alle ampie parentesi musicologiche, dai riferimenti di storia delle religioni alle ardite digressioni sulla fisica e la biologia contemporanea. Chi è abituato alle atmosfere asfittiche di certo neofascismo onanistico o ai tic degli evolomani di stretta osservanza ne è subito rapito.


La libertà storica


Il punto di partenza del pensiero locchiano è il rifiuto di ogni determinismo storico, ovvero l’idea che «la storia – il divenire storico dell’uomo – scaturisca dalla storicità stessa dell’uomo, cioè dalla libertà storica dell’uomo e dall’esercizio sempre rinnovato che di questa libertà storica, di generazione in generazione, fanno personalità umane differenti»4. È il rifiuto della “logica dell’inevitabile”. La storia è sempre aperta e determinabile dalla volontà umana. Due sono, a livello macro-storico, gli esiti possibili, i poli opposti verso cui indirizzare il divenire: la tendenza egualitarista e la tendenza sovrumanista, esemplificate da Nietzsche con i due mitemi del trionfo dell’ultimo uomo e dell’avvento del superuomo (o, se si preferisce, dell’“oltreuomo”, come è stato rinominato da Vattimo nell’intento illusorio di depotenziarne la carica rivoluzionaria). Il filosofo della volontà di potenza afferma la libertà storica dell’uomo tramite l’annuncio della morte di Dio: chi ha acquisito la consapevolezza che “Dio è morto” «non crede più di essere governato da una legge storica che lo trascende e lo conduce, con l’umanità intera, verso un fine – ed una fine – della storia predeterminato ab aeterno o a principio; bensì sa ormai che è l’uomo stesso, in ogni “presente” della storia, a stabilire conflittualmente la legge con cui determinare l’avvenire dell’umanità»5.

Tutto ciò porta Locchi ad individuare una vera e propria “teoria aperta della storia”. Il futuro, in questa prospettiva, non è mai stabilito una volta per tutte, rimane costantemente da decidere. Non solo: anche il passato non è chiuso. Il passato, infatti, non è ciò che è avvenuto una volta per tutte, un mero dato inerte che l’uomo può studiare come fosse un puro oggetto. Esso, al contrario, è interpretazione eternamente cangiante. Il tempo storico, lo stiamo vedendo a poco a poco, assume un carattere tridimensionale, sferico, essendo caratterizzato da interpretazioni del passato, impegni nell’attualità e progetti per l’avvenire eternamente in movimento. L’origine mitica finisce per proiettarsi nel futuro, in funzione eversiva nei confronti dell’attualità. Le diverse prospettive che ne fuoriescono finiscono per scontrarsi dando vita al conflitto epocale.


Il conflitto epocale


Il “conflitto epocale” è dato dallo scontro di due tendenze antagoniste. Si è già detto quale siano le tendenze della nostra epoca: egualitarismo e sovrumanismo. Ogni tendenza attraversa tre fasi: quella mitica (in cui sorge una nuova visione del mondo in modo ancora istintuale, come sentimento del mondo non razionalizzato e quindi come unità dei contrari), quella ideologica (in cui la tendenza, affermandosi storicamente, comincia a riflettere su se stessa e quindi si divide in differenti ideologie apparentemente contrapposte tra loro) e quella autocritica o sintetica (in cui la tendenza prende atto della sua divisione ideologica e cerca di ricreare artificialmente la propria unità originaria). E se l’egualitarismo (oggi in fase “sintetica”) è la tendenza storica dominante da duemila anni, la prima espressione “mitica” del sovrumanismo va ricercata nei movimenti fascisti europei.

Il fascismo, per Locchi, non può essere compreso che alla luce della “predicazione sovrumanista” di Nietzsche e Wagner
6 e della “volgarizzazione” di tali tesi ad opera degli intellettuali della Rivoluzione Conservatrice (che, quindi, cessa di essere un’entità “innocente”, astrattamente separata dalle sue realizzazioni pratiche, come vorrebbe certo neodestrismo debole). Fascismo come espressione politica del Nuovo Mito comparso nell’ottocento da qualche parte tra Bayreuth e Sils Maria, quindi. Un qualcosa di nuovo, dunque. Ma, wagnerianamente, anche un qualcosa di antico.

Il fascismo, infatti, rappresenta anche la piena assunzione del “residuopagano che il cristianesimo non è riuscito a cancellare e che è sopravvissuto nell’inconscio collettivo europeo. Un fenomeno rivoluzionario, insomma, che si richiama ad un passato quanto più possibile ancestrale ed arcaico, proiettandolo nel futuro per sovvertire il presente. Lo scopo, nella lunga durata, è quello di far «regredire oltre la soglia memoriale» la Weltanschauung cristiana, versando significati nuovi nei significanti vecchi di matrice biblica, così come originariamente il cristianesimo “falsificò” i termini pagani per veicolare la propria visione del mondo in un linguaggio che non risultasse incomprensibile alle genti europee. È il progetto che il Parsifal wagneriano esprime con la formula «redimere il redentore»
7.


Il male americano


Ma il primo tentativo di agire concretamente nella storia da parte della tendenza sovrumanista, come sappiamo, è sfociato nella sconfitta militare europea del 1945. Una sconfitta che ha posto il vecchio continente tra le fauci della tenaglia costruita a Yalta. In quel periodo, è bene ricordarlo, troppi eredi del mondo uscito perdente dal secondo conflitto mondiale pensarono di rinverdire la loro militanza sostenendo uno dei due bracci della tenaglia a scapito dell’altro, vagheggiando di un Occidente “bianco” che altro non poteva essere se non la “terra della sera” (Abend-land) in cui veder tramontare ogni speranza di rinascita europea. Scelsero, quei “fascisti” vecchi o nuovi, la tattica del “male minore”. Che, notoriamente, non è altro che la tattica dell’“utile idiota” vista… dall’utile idiota.

In questo contesto, sarà proprio Locchi (non da solo, né per primo: si pensi solo a Jean Thiriart) a denunciare le insidie del “male americano”. E Il male americano è anche il titolo di un libro tratto da un articolo comparso su Nouvelle Ecole nel 1975 a firma Robert De Herte ed Hans-Jürgen Nigra, pseudonimi rispettivamente di Alain de Benoist e dello stesso Locchi. Tale testo contribuirà in maniera decisiva a depurare il corpus dottrinale della Nuova Destra di ogni suggestione occidentalista. Del resto, i due autori cortocircuiteranno la logica dei blocchi citando una frase di Jean Cau: «Nell’ordine dei colonialismi, è prima di tutto non essendo americani oggi che non saremo russi domani». C’è una grande saggezza in tutto ciò. Ne Il male americano l’America è descritta più nella sua ideologia implicita, nel suo way of life, che nella sua prassi criminale. Un’ideologia fatta di moralismo puritano, di disprezzo per ogni idea di politica, tradizione o autorità, di mentalità utilitarista, di conformismo e mancanza di stile, di odio freudiano contro l’Europa. Ciò che soprattutto interessa agli autori è l’influenza della Bibbia nella mentalità collettiva statunitense, senza la quale sarebbero inconcepibili i deliri neocons dell’attuale gestione. Ed inoltre – il ricordo del ‘68 è ancora caldo – non manca la ripetuta sottolineatura della sostanziale convergenza tra la contestazione sinistrorsa ed i miti di oltre-Atlantico. New York come capitale del neo-marxismo: ce n’è abbastanza per distinguere il testo di Locchi/De Benoist dalle denunce “progressiste” dei vari Noam Chomsky (che pure, beninteso, hanno anch’esse la loro funzione).


La terra dei figli


Ma “il male americano” è soprattutto un male dell’Europa. Oggi che la Guerra Fredda è finita e all’ordine di Yalta è subentrato il feroce solipsismo armato di uno pseudo-impero fanatico e usuraio, ce ne accorgiamo più che mai. L’Europa: il grande malato della storia contemporanea. Ma anche un’idea-forza, un mito, un ripiego sulle origini che è progetto d’avvenire, come vuole la logica del tempo sferico.





In questo senso, i riferimenti all’avventura indoeuropea o all’Imperium romano, alle poleis greche piuttosto che al medioevo ghibellino servono come materiale grezzo da cui forgiare qualcosa di nuovo, qualcosa che non si è mai visto. «Se si vuol parlare d’Europa, progettare una Europa, bisogna pensare all’Europa come a qualcosa che ancora non è mai stato, qualcosa il cui senso e la cui identità restano da inventare. L’Europa non è stata e non può essere una “patria”, una “terra dei padri”; essa soltanto può essere progettata, per dirla con Nietzsche, come “terra dei figli”»8. Se nostalgia dev’esserci, allora che sia “nostalgia dell’avvenire”, come nello (stranamente felice) slogan missino di qualche tempo fa. Questo mondo che crede nella fine della storia sta forse assistendo semplicemente alla fine della propria storia. Per il resto, nulla è scritto. Sprofonderemo anche noi fra le rovine putride di questa decadenza al neon? Oppure avremo la forza di forgiare il nostro destino attraverso l’istituzione di un “nuovo inizio”? A decidere sarà solo la saldezza della nostra fedeltà, la profondità della nostra azione, la tenacia della nostra volontà.


Note


(
1) Stefano Vaj, Introduzione a Giorgio Locchi, Espressione e repressione del principio sovrumanista. Tra gli intellettuali influenzati da Locchi ricordiamo, oltre allo stesso Vaj, tutto il nucleo fondante della Novelle Droite anni ‘70/80, da De Benoist a Faye, Steukers, Vial, Krebs, ma anche Gennaro Malgieri ed Annalisa Terranova, oggi in AN. Spunti locchiani emergono anche in tempi recenti in Giovanni Damiano e Francesco Boco. Non possiamo non citare, inoltre, Paolo Isotta, critico musicale del “Corriere della Sera” (!), cui Maurizio Cabona riuscì a far redigere un entusiastico saggio introduttivo al libro su Nietzsche e Wagner e che anche ultimamente (vedi nota successiva) è tornato a citare Locchi proprio sulle colonne del maggiore quotidiano italiano.

(
2) Paolo Isotta, “La Rivoluzione di Wagner”, ne “Il Corriere della Sera” del 04/04/2005.

(
3) Va detto, inoltre, che tra le carte lasciate da Locchi si trova diverso materiale inedito, tra cui un saggio su Martin Heidegger probabilmente e sfortunatamente destinato a non vedere mai la luce.

(
4) Da Wagner, Nietzsche e il mito sovrumanista.

(
5) Ibidem.

(
6) Grande merito di Locchi è del resto il fatto stesso di aver riscoperto le potenzialità rivoluzionarie dell’opera wagneriana in un ambiente che continuava a pensare al compositore tedesco nell’ottica della duplice “scomunica” nietzschana ed evoliana.

(
7) Gli indoeuropei, la filosofia greca, Nietzsche, la Konservative Revolution, il fascismo, l’Europa: il lettore attento avrà già scorto, dietro a simili riferimenti, l’ombra possente di Adriano Romualdi. Eppure, incredibilmente, Locchi sviluppò il suo pensiero del tutto autonomamente da Romualdi. Anzi, sarà solo grazie ad alcuni giovani italiani recatisi da lui in visita a Parigi che il filosofo conoscerà l’opera del giovane pensatore morto prematuramente. Senza mancare di sottolineare l’oggettiva convergenza di vedute. Per gli amanti della rete (e i poliglotti), segnaliamo la presenza, in Internet, di un testo in spagnolo (La esencia del fascismo como fenómeno europeo. Conferencia-Homenaje a Adriano Romualdi) che riproduce un discorso di Locchi pronunciato proprio in onore del compianto autore di Julius Evola: l’uomo e l’opera. Ignoriamo le circostanze cui far risalire tale discorso.

(
8) Da L’Europa: non è eredità ma missione futura.