Belief in “Evolution” is not Necessary for the Dissident Right

Understand the terms used here. This is about evolution in the Darwinian sense: That purely material forces drive all biological change and therefore God is not the creator of the species and the human race. As a Christian I reject Darwinian evolution; the Bible says that God created the living beings, including mankind, and therefore Darwin contradicts Christianity. I do affirm evolution in the other senses, including microevolution, minor variation in already-existing forms caused either by natural selection or by deliberate human interference. I believe it because we see it happening now. But Darwinian evolution, which goes far beyond the observable evidence to postulate that all biological change was non-theistic, is doubtful and unnecessary.

And by “dissident right” I mean the non-mainstream yet non-insane right. Others may try to define the term more narrowly, but since the mainstream right is not helping to restoring a sane society, we need a term for rightists who are on the right path. At the moment, “dissident right” is the best candidate. Continue reading

Alfvén’s Midsommarvaka

Hugo Alfvén (1872 – 1960) jumpstarted the genuinely Swedish school of concert music in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century and sustained his effort during the first half of the Twentieth Century. Following the example of the Russian composers, the ones denominated as “The Mighty Five,” Alfvén assimilated the heady tradition of Swedish folk music to the conventions of symphonic music. Alfvén wrote three “Swedish Rhapsodies.” The first, from 1908, celebrates the vestigially Catholic and vestigially Pagan festival of “May Eve.” The composition imitates Swedish folk-tunes, but all of the thematic material in Midsommarvaka is original to Alfvén. The composition falls on the ear as spontaneous and “natural,” but the score is brilliantly unified. Midsommarvaka is, in effect, a short symphony, in four movements, on Swedish themes. I have loved it since I first heard it in the early 1970s and I am happy to share it with the community of the Orthosphere.

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The Argument From the Enmity of Our Enemies

My heart is of course broken at the disaster inflicted yesterday upon Notre Dame de Paris. All that must be said about the cultural and religious meaning of this catastrophe has already been well said by many commentators of the Right, so I shall not here repeat them. Everyone knows that this was an attack of the Enemy upon the Body of Christ, and upon Christendom, such as she still is. The chorus of the Right has now, rightly, begun to ask why this obvious fact may not be mentioned. And everyone knows the answer to that question, too: Islam, modernism and Liberalism are all bound and determined to destroy Christianity, and Christendom.

One thing only, of the obvious, necessary things that must be said, have I not yet seen anywhere said: Saint Denis, Our Lady, and all the saints, pray for France, for the West, and for her Church.

There is a yet deeper question: why is it, exactly, that Liberalism, modernism, Islam, et alia, are so determined to destroy Christianity?

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Heterodoxy ipso facto Disenchants the World

When there is more than one cult competing for the credence and loyalty of the people, their chthonic cult is by that contest relevated to their conscious attention as an item for consideration that is disparate from their immediate confrontation with the world of their concrete experience. The abstraction of religion from mundane life that necessarily results has the effect of profaning that life; for, on that abstraction, it is not at all any more essentially and prerationally bound by the metaphysics, the ontology, and the deontology of the chthonic cult – or therefore by the normal and customary constraints of its praxis, mores, customs, and ukases – as from time immemorial it had been. It is on the contrary rather something quite other than and independent of what the cult supposes it to be, and about which the cult might be quite wrong. The deliverances of empirical experience are not then called into question; but their traditional cultic interpretations and settlements certainly are. So mundane life is then radically liberated from the cult that had theretofore informed it. It is cut loose; it is adrift; it is in danger. So then likewise are the men who have been set free of any masterful supervision, to make their own way in the world, each to devise his own cult as he sees fit, unconstrained by tradition or mastery or hard won knowledge.

At the first sign of heterodoxy in a culture, then, things have already begun to fall apart radically (for, the cult is the root of the culture). Heterodoxy is the outward schismatic manifestation of the fact that men are already thinking about religion abstractly. They would not be doing so if they apprehended no problems with the orthodox cult. But religion considered consciously as disparate from mere life is by nature vitiated, merely intellectual, sound and fury signifying almost nothing. Its abstraction in thought renders it then malleable; alternatives occur to the questing mind, and by virtue only of that occurrence take on life and probity. The alternatives multiply, and soon their own variations are discovered.

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The Pagan Ordeal of Dominique Venner

Venner 01

[Note: This essay appeared some few years ago in the Sydney Traditionalist Forum, shortly after the death by suicide of its subject. The work of Venner remaining relevant, I re-post the essay here, with a few small changes.]

Dominique Venner (born 16 April 1935) ended his life publicly and dramatically by shooting himself in the mouth before the altar of Our Lady of Notre Dame in Paris six years ago on 21 May 2013. The bullet passed through Venner’s brain and exited the back of his head. In the opening paragraph of a suicide note that he sent to his publisher, Venner sought to justify his action:

I am healthy in body and mind, and I am filled with love for my wife and children.  I love life and expect nothing beyond, if not the perpetuation of my race and my mind.   However, in the evening of my life, facing immense dangers to my French and European homeland, I feel the duty to act as long as I still have strength.  I believe it necessary to sacrifice myself to break the lethargy that plagues us. I give up what life remains to me in order to protest and to found.  I chose a highly symbolic place, the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris, which I respect and admire: She was built by the genius of my ancestors on the site of cults still more ancient, recalling our immemorial origins.

A reader cannot avoid remarking the contradictions in Venner’s testament.  A professed love of life comports itself awkwardly with a gesture of self-annihilation.  One could argue that Venner meant by “life,” not his own, but the collective, trans-personal vitality of his children and their descendants; he refers after all to “the perpetuation of [his] race and [his] mind.”  Seen in that way, his suicide might rise to being a Stoical demonstration, like those of Petronius and Seneca in the time of Nero.  Even so, no few problems remain; not least the dis-relation between Venner’s professed respect and admiration for the “highly symbolic place” of the Lady Church and his having blemished its consecrated precincts with his effluvia.  How moreover would such an act “break the lethargy that plagues us”?  More likely – even patently, looking back on the event – it would merely add to the pernicious confusion of the times.  The explanation of these contradictions is undoubtedly linked to the fact that while Venner acknowledged his belonging to a specifically Christian civilization in its late phase, he never himself identified as an adherent of that faith.  Like his countrymen-contemporaries Guillaume Faye (b. 1949) and Alain de Benoist (b. 1943), Venner espoused Friedrich Nietzsche’s Neo-Pagan view of Christianity as “slave morality,” a religion of defeat and death, and the cause of rather than the antidote to the malaise of modernity unleashed.  Like Nietzsche, whom Venner admired, and who signed his last letters as “The Crucified One,” the suicide might well have been experiencing a revilement of Christ which was, at the same time, a desire to rival and replace Him.  That would account for Venner’s characterization of his act as an instance of “self-sacrifice” and for his references to “cults still more ancient” than the Cult of the Virgin on the Ile de la Cité, with whose pre-Christian religiosity he would have identified in opposition to Christianity.

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The Ctrl-Alt-Del-Right

What is popularly called the Right these days is of course mostly just Right Liberalism; which is to say, Right Leftism. I.e., not Right at all. This had been known in the discourse of reaction since about 2002, when Lawrence Auster, Zippy, James Kalb, Moldbug, et alii, first began writing online.

The Right, period full stop, is not in fact Right. It is rather the “Right.” So have we seen in the last few years the rise of several other sorts of Right, that distinguish themselves from the “Right” with the same urgent animosity that true Communists display in distinguishing themselves from mere liberals and panty-waist Socialists and Social Democrats.

These sorts fall into four categories: the Alt-Right, the Ctrl-Right, the Del-Right, and the Ctrl-Alt-Del-Right. These sorts are all more truly of the Right. But only one of them is right, or therefore Right; so that it integrates, and indeed consolidates, all other sorts of Rightness.

Much has been written of the Alt-Right. The Alt-Right takes the deliverances of the Normal Narrative and turns them upside down. Viz., sexual realism, racial realism, national realism, cultural realism, and so forth, as against the Mass Indiscretion, blindness, and Failure to Notice that is so characteristic of those poor pathetic souls not yet liberated from the Normal Narrative.

Then there is the Del-Right: all the ilk of the anarcho-capitalists, the techno-futurists, the thoughtful realistic libertarians, and especially those souls who find their guts arrayed in horror and disgust against the Swamp, against the Deep State, against the Cathedral, against the Cabal, and so forth – against, that is to say, the Cult of Moloch and his babelarchy – who insist that the first and essential step to restoring social equilibrium and cultural health is to delete the political, cultural and especially bureaucratic accrustations of the last few centuries, at least.

Then again there is the Ctrl-Right, who would restore outwardly, and consecrate, the ancient royal and sacerdotal hierarchy that always anyway, somehow or other – nowadays mostly hidden, a corrupt oligarchy that dare not speak its name – administers social coordination.

Then at last there is the Ctrl-Alt-Del-Right. That’s us: reboot; all of the other sorts of more truly Right, integrated and so kicked up a notch or three.

NB that because the orthospherean Ctrl-Alt-Del-Right [man, that’s hard to type!] includes and subsumes the other sorts, it administers in the process some necessary corrections and adjustments of each, so that they all fit together coordinately and harmoniously.

Great Mother: All Talk

Great Mother

The Neolithic GREAT MOTHER

This is an extended comment on JMSmith’s previous post. I once taught a senior seminar in “advanced literary criticism.” I asked the students to read Rene Guenon, T. S. Eliot, Jose Ortega , and Roger Scruton. At the end of the semester an obviously “offended” female student asked me, “Where is the voice of women?” I retorted, “Where is it not?” And, “You ask the wrong question — where is the voice of TRUTH?” Followed by hostile silence. Truth was not familiar to to complainer. She only knew how to talk, talk, and talk.

Notice that the Neolithic image has no face and is therefore not an individual, but only a type. Notice that it is enveloped in the grossness of its own corporeality. Obesity seems to be one of the criteria for admission to my campus. The Prez of my campus has recently said in a radio interview that he or she has directed the administration to lower admissions-standards so as to recruit a nucleus of “students with drive.” The enrollment of my classes includes many undergraduates with “drive,” whatever that is, who refuse to read. A large number of students seem to have the “drive” to over-eat. As far as I can discern, weight-reduction-programs, although health-positive, have no place in the diversity-agenda.

“Drive.” Even in Freudian psychology, as crude as it is, The “drives” are relegated to baseness. The “drives” are what provoke the “discontented” to anti-civilizational rage when civilization, as it must, thwarts them. A recruitment-program that seeks to enlarge the nucleus of the discontented is an anti-civilizational agenda.

A conspicuously placed poster in the main corridor of the Campus Center appends numerous autographs around the crudely written slogan, “The Future Belongs to Women.” Not if they omit to liaise with men.  And if I were twenty, with many I would not, under any circumstances, liaise. One liaises with women who exhibit spiritual acuity, moderation, and compliance with the structure of reality. I would not liaise, for example, with Occasional-Cortex. Or her peers. Or the obese Great Mother pictured above. So much for the human race. There were sexy girls in my youth, who could converse, or play the piano, or speak French, as opposed to talk, talk, and talk. Of course, one could speak French with them. And one could converse with them, rather than talk, talk and talk.

In 1974, Liz and I went to see an Italian-language film — it was Fellini’s  Amarcord — in downtown San Diego, and afterwards, in a restaurant in Torry Pines, we exchanged intelligent conversation about what we had recently viewed. Liz, who could play Bach on the piano, was culturally acute and politically unbiased. We never spoke of politics. The film that we mutually appreciated would be banned under the contemporary regulations of witch-hunting political correctness. In it, men and women behaved like men and women.

Outward is Upward: The Anthropology of the Martian Romance (Part II)

Jegga Amazing Cover

Amazing Stories November 1943

I continue my “Anthropology of the Martian Romance.”  The previous installment dealt with the seminal Martian Romance, A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs and its background in the studies of East Asian shamanic practices and later of the planet Mars undertaken in the early years of the Twentieth Century by Percival Lowell.  In this second part of “Outward is Upward” I discuss a little-known but impressive addition to the Martian Romance, David Reed’s Empire of Jegga, and a late addition, Leigh Brackett’s Queen of the Martian Catacombs, later republished as The Black Amazon of Mars.  While I confine myself to a sub-sub genre of science fiction, I believe that my interpretations are applicable to mid-Twentieth Century genre across the board. I take genre seriously. Genre offers, as I put it in Part I, “a colorful promise of redemption.”

II. Epistemological Displacement in Reed’s Empire of Jegga. Burroughs’ example, no less than his success, provoked many writers to imitate him. Knock-offs of A Princess quickly became legion. Burroughs even imitated himself, launching new series of books whose action takes place on the planet Venus, on the moon, in a vast cavern at the center of the Earth, or on an extra-solar planet away across the galaxy.  In his Venus series, Burroughs might have been imitating one of his imitators, Otis Adelbert Kline (1891 – 1946), whose “Planet of Peril” trilogy, set on the next planet inward from Earth, saw serial publication in Argosy All-Story Weekly between 1929 and 1931.  The first of Burroughs’ Venusian tales, Pirates of Venus, only appeared in 1932.  Kline wrote his own Martian novels in the early 1930s.  If Kline’s romances had come back into print after many decades, as they have, it would be a case of their riding on Burroughsian coat-tails.  Kline’s prose is certainly entertaining, but it lacks the symbolic richness of Burroughs’ prose.  Now imitation is not only flattery; it is also the index of a market.  In its turn, a market is the index of a desire or need.  The desire or need arises from the subject’s proprioception of alienation or maladjustment.  In the case of maladjustment, however, the subject senses the condition not so much as his own but rather as a deforming affliction in the external social world.  That deformation is modernity, which in rejecting Tradition drastically diminishes the opportunity of proper self-placement that the archaic rites of passage facilitate.  The world of getting and spending obviously exerts on John Carter no attraction whatsoever, but Carter nevertheless seems incapable of bitterness.  Stalwartness belongs to Carter’s Percival-like character.  Nick Brewster, the protagonist of David V. Reed’s Empire of Jegga (Amazing Stories November 1943), presents himself at first, in contrast to Carter, as a materialist, even a hedonist, and womanizer.  Not only in its protagonist, but in the fullness of its details, Reed (1924 – 1989) appears to have conceived Empire initially as an anti-Princess of Mars, but his story is nevertheless a version, or perhaps an inversion, of Burroughs’ saga about John Carter.

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Outward is Upward: The Anthropology of the Martian Romance (Part I)

Planet Stories Triple

Planet Stories: The Stubborn Home of the Martian Romance

Introduction. This essay takes for granted a number of premises: For example, that Twentieth-Century genre literature, even when it is a purely commercial endeavor with the author being remunerated according to word-count, often resurrects types of thinking, not least the mythic and sacred modes of thought, that the doctrines of modernity reject and that the organs of modernity attempt to suppress.  A related premise is that these modes of thought, or states of mind, through the symbols associated with them, articulate an image of full humanity, especially of full masculine humanity, unavailable elsewhere in which many people wish to participate, even if it were only vicariously.  In the liberal-modern, rationalistic view, such vicarious participation in archaic processes and dramas belongs to an escapist and antisocial attitude, the participants in which the representatives of the prevailing order admonish and chastise with the aim of shaming them into re-assimilating themselves to a prescriptive, but highly unnatural, set of norms.  While it is true that stock formulas govern the unfolding action of genre narrative, those formulas stand, perhaps startlingly so, emphatically outside the horizon of any Post-Enlightenment order.  They are in many ways both dissentient from and critical of that order.  Not least, the generic formulas derive from the paradigms of archaic heroism, known from the Homeric epics and especially from the medieval Germanic and Celtic sagas, which in turn carry with them the patterns of ritual processes in general and of ritual initiation in particular.  This initiatic pattern invariably entails the confrontation of the subject or initiand with a transcendent mystery, where-through the protagonist acquires manly status, wisdom, and on occasion a help-meet, and either earns acknowledgment from a community that has previously ignored him or reconciles himself to a status as permanent outsider by virtue of his proper and self-validating achievements.

Who was he?  In the first half of the Twentieth Century, the historical period that this exposition addresses, he was an office worker, a bank teller, a low-level civic bureaucrat, a technician in a factory, or a high school physics teacher in his mid- to late-twenties, a bachelor but interested in marriage, whose five-day-a-week, eight- or ten-hours-a-day routine while it bought him a living, replenished him spiritually not at all.  Aware of his confinement in stultifying routine and chafing at it; living in a city, likely in an efficiency apartment, with few opportunities of escape; and possessing an educated imagination, on which the demands of his employment never drew, he sought compensation.  He might look for it in the movie house, but film appealed largely to a female audience, which merely dragged the male along and required him to buy the popcorn and soft drinks.  He might take night classes in the city college or subscribe to a correspondence course.  He might join the Elks or the Rotarians.  He might affiliate himself with the Technocracy movement or join a rifle-club.  His plight was not, however, the Marxist alienation of the worker, but a condition much more profound than that, lying entirely outside the horizon of economics.  A colorful promise of redemption existed in his day, however, of which he no doubt frequently caught sight: The corner news stand, with its rack on rack of garish periodicals.  Those racks sometimes loomed providentially, rising up like a sign to the initiand, who did not yet know himself as the initiand, rather in the way that the Holy Grail appears in Arthur’s castle, lighting up the hall “seven times greater than before.”[i]

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