Monthly Archives: January 2018

Going Down


Once you get past all the rhetoric about diversity, all the rationalization . . . it’s pretty clear that the Western canon had to be devalued to make room for women.

The reality is that women have contributed nothing to any field of creative endeavor. Womanly virtues lie elsewhere. They are the keepers of the hearth, patrons of the decorative arts, enchantresses.

But now, for the sake of mollifying shrews, we are required to pretend that the canon is discredited by its lack of diversity, a diversity measured in crude demographic terms completely divorced from aesthetic considerations. In a decomposing culture, where virility has been undermined and displaced by technology, the canon is unable to summon defenders and is overwhelmed by the hordes of mediocre opportunists whose self-elevation depends on the debasement of what they themselves could never hope to achieve. We have to get rid of Rubens to make room for Tracy Emin.

Opening the door of the canon to women did not simply enlarge it; it destroyed it altogether, making it permeable to all the inferior, malformed, vapid, ugly things it was designed to exclude. No vessel stays afloat once it begins to admit water under the rubric of inclusion.

The West’s inability to value and safeguard its own heritage is the surest sign that it is a moribund civilization. The day of woman arrives when men have become too weak to rule her. But her triumph is short-lived because she helms a sinking ship.

Trump as Wrecking Ball

Orlov is always on the money:

There are some people in the US who wish for a better president: one who would actually fix things. But what if no such person could exist, even in theory? What if what the country needs now is a nice big swinging wrecking ball, to knock down all of the buildings that have become unsafe and should be condemned? You can paint your wrecking ball any color you like, so that it looks pretty while hanging still, but paint tends to rub off on first contact with the brick walls of reality. In the end, all that matters is that the condemned building collapses. Once it does, it becomes possible to clear the rubble and build something better in its place.

Class vs Identity

Could it be stated more clearly:

Our identity is the least important thing about us. And yet, it is the thing we have become most committed to talking about. From the standpoint of a left politics, this is a profound mistake since what it means is that the political left — increasingly invested in the celebration of diversity and the redress of historical grievance — has converted itself into the accomplice rather than the opponent of the right. Diversity has become the left’s way of doing neoliberalism, and antiracism has become the left’s contribution to enhancing market efficiency. The old Socialist leader Eugene Debs used to be criticized for being unwilling to interest himself in any social reform that didn’t involve attacking economic inequality. The situation now is almost exactly the opposite; the left today obsessively interests itself in issues that have nothing to do with economic inequality.

Only one quibble: The “Left’s” preference for pseudo-diversity over economic justice is not an oversight or a mistake. It reflects the reality that since the late ’60s, the “Left” has been captive to the interests of entitled, social climbing yuppies, the perfect exemplar of which is Hillary Clinton. It’s not a bug but a feature.

Céline


How can one fail to see that everything denounced by Céline at the end of the Thirties is true and even worse since then?

Quite. And the current squalid kerfuffle over the publication of his retroactively criminalized pamphlets merely adds to the evidence of how little the country that claims his genius deserves it. But then, what country could possibly stake a legitimate claim to Céline, the quintessential vagabond, the man who seemed to have a knack for making himself unwelcome wherever he went?

To really appreciate Céline, you have like him to lack roots in the modern world, to be a traitor to every party, to be intellectually and culturally homeless. Céline’s made himself an untouchable out of dogged loyalty to what he saw, touched, heard, smelled, tasted. His undoing was the the result of his steadfast refusal to lie. You sense that this refusal did not arise from some abstract moral principle. It came from artistic pride. Céline refused to lie because he was an aesthete of the highest order, uninterested in finding beauty by keeping his head upturned and contemplating the heavens but possessed by a fury to give form to the chaos encroaching from all sides. The lesson of his work is that beauty is not in the world but in suffering it, in enduring it, in voyaging to the end of the night.

Along with Nietzsche, he is one of the, perhaps, handful of writers who matter to me.

Uncommon


Liberalism is the contemporary form of aristocratic pretension–it’s what the better people are obliged to profess in order to pass themselves off as quality.

The panoply of liberal tropes have one thing in common: the pretense to uncommon moral refinement. Being a liberal consists largely in making a display of your exquisite sensitivity. This is often referred to as virtue-signalling and it is, but it is important to be clear about what precise virtue liberal virtue signalling signals. Invariably, it is the possession of an uncommon sensitivity to the plight of the uncommon, which liberal rhetoric designates as “marginal.” Liberal fervor is at root a fervor to achieve uncommonness, to be recognized as special, as a member of an elite.

Today, the easiest way to achieve this uncommonness is by professing support for the empowerment (phallicization) of women and the disempowerment (castration) of men. The very perversity of this position guarantees its exclusivity. You notice this quality of perverse exclusivity in everything that liberals profess to value, be it food, art, clothes, cars, or beer. Even when liberals admit to liking things that ordinary people like, they make a point of encapsulating their appreciation in irony. The commonest, kitchiest things are rescued from their commonness and consumed uncommonly, in a way that is superior to the way ordinary, dumb mortals consume them.

The paradox of how liberals, who are predominantly white, can profess disdain for white men is resolved if we understand that liberals see themselves as exempted from that debased racial category by virtue of their morally superior sensibility. For liberals, hatred of white man is not self-hatred but a means to achieve elevation above the commoners.

Likewise, the seeming paradox of privileged liberals posing as victims of “patriarchy,” racism, and “heteronormative” prejudice is resolved when we understand that what liberals understand by oppression is their lingering sense of their own phoniness. This is what the peasants have to answer for–that they make liberals feel bad about themselves. The entire liberal project is essentially an attempt to legislate the normalization of phoniness.

The liberal nightmare is that one of these days the commoners will rise up and force their inclusion in political discourse, which to liberals would be tantamount to ravishment. Perhaps this ravishment is something liberals secretly crave, hoping it would free them from the narcissistic prison of their hoity-toity uncommonness. That would explain the liberal obsession with sexual harassment, an obsession that combines an exaggerated estimation of the hysteric’s allure with a covert longing for a rough man to rescue her from her frigid loneliness.

Money Talks


The pressure to make gender a commodifiable choice testifies ultimately to capitalism’s drive to endow money with the ultimate power to define reality. In 1844, Marx had already understood this:

That which is for me through the medium of money–that for which I can pay (i.e., which money can buy)–that am I myself, the possessor of the money. The extent of the power of money is the extent of my power. Money’s properties are my–the possessor’s–properties and essential powers. Thus, what I am and am capable of is by no means determined by my individuality. I am ugly, but I can buy for myself the most beautiful of women. Therefore I am not ugly, for the effect of ugliness–its deterrent power–is nullified by money. I, according to my individual characteristics, am lame, but money furnishes me with twenty-four feet. Therefore I am not lame. I am bad, dishonest, unscrupulous, stupid; but money is honoured, and hence its possessor. Money is the supreme good, therefore its possessor is good.

Today we see just how far this power of money to nullify reality can extend. But we also see how the putative Left, which at its inception defined itself in virile opposition to capitalism, has become the primary agent of capitalism’s effeminizing corruption. For today the Left stands for nothing but the “progressive” normalization of moneyed indulgence and its freakish outcomes.