“What is good is always present in our souls, and the soul is good; what is evil has been forced into it from outside.” –Tolstoy
Make the hunt go away as if it never existed:
Tweedledum
said to Alice, "You know very well you're not real."
"I
am real!" said Alice, and began to cry.
"You
won't make yourself a bit realer by crying," Tweedledee remarked.
"There's nothing to cry about."
As I read aphorism 55, I knew I was seeing something that I
had not seen before. To scavenge from dumpsters,
to eat what was left from other men: I remembered my days hunting in the bars. I thought of the foxes begging from cars in Patagonia. Had
it been a bear I would not have been alarmed. The great eagle in the dumpster.
Had the eagle lost his pride? His soul or spirit?
The high modernists dream of a blank slate—they dream of
perfect fields, manicured and irrigated. They dream of perfect cities—Brasilia.
Indeed these schemes seem sinister—yet Scott accounts for the misery yet
reminds that these projects were all set off to improve the condition of
mankind, this social engineering. Yet perhaps they never aimed to improve
anything—perhaps there was a hatred of something in the human spirit, and the
goal of these projects was to kill the heart, soul, spirit of men and women. So
many are miserable, beat down—the energy, the freedom that allows for great
beauty in the human species, that great, beautiful spontaneity that allowed so
many races to spread about the earth, each with their languages and their ways
of living—it is being dominated, consumed, by a cancer. Perhaps this force
initially spread with good intentions, perhaps not. Perhaps it was an accident,
all of it, unintentional.
Yet to truly create this blank slate for these high
modernist schema to succeed, we must unify the hardware—the human body—and
unify the software—language, thoughts, feelings, emotions. Or create hardware that will fit this new unified software. Destroy hunting.
Destroy pride. Destroy love. Destroy family. Make man sick with food and change
his hormones. Make man the blank slate a matrix needs for the final solution
(for details on the final solution, see the end). Overwhelm his senses with
high definition television, mindless programs, sports. Give women their social media for spying, gossip, mind control, and
their new devices to schedule sex time. Destroy womanhood and motherhood.
Obfuscate, frustrate and confuse with doublespeak, doublespeak, doublethink.
Destroy privacy, occupy the attention of a man through the manic paranoia of
social media. Menace, harass, control.
But the great loss of power was when man no longer hunted.
Man is only happy when he roams. From staying in place comes sickness and
depression, illness. In the west the philosophers call themselves anarchists
and they seek freedom, but they do not know where to find it or what it is, but
it is their only hope. They are told their work is menacing and poisonous—but
in the end they know they are fighting for something, they simply do not know
what it is. They know it is there, they know it is truth. In Europe the
Frenchman spoke of authenticity, but he could not quite grasp it although he
knew it was there. The hunt has ended and with it has ended what western man calls
freedom, the thing for which he longs. He longs for it as women once longed for
children. Nothing will take its place. The difference between Proennake and
McCandless was thatProennake spent far more of his days a truly happy and free
man. Yet McCandless, despite his clumsiness, despite his upper-middle class
cluelessness, despite the bus in which he sheltered, had found freedom, or at
least glimpses of it, and that he died, or how he died, meant nothing. He was
making his way out at any cost, a rejection of all the wealth and power and
control and science and certainty his matrix could offer him—as best as he
could, given he was a man running from the bad conscience implanted into him by
his matrix. Proennake walked calmly from his matrix to freedom. McCandless
tripped and fell but I do not criticize the man.
What follows below are only a few portraits from
Zamiatin—already millions were dying from the collectivization plans that began fiercely after the 'revolution.' According to Scott, Lenin won by luck and chance and had no idea there was going to be a revolution so soon. Lenin capitalized on this 'chaos'--and laid down his fantasy. The newly free serfs would face a hell far greater than the royal family. Peasants
revolted and refused to again be serfs. Russia starved--it was just beginning, but 20 million would starve in Russia due to a preference for order and control rather than a loss of control to peasants who would, if given their free ability to do so, feed themselves and others.
Western nihilist is so
easy now that we have taken away hunting and hidden the remnants of its remaining spirit—there is nothing to fight for once the hunt has been taken away. Indeed no
one knew—and yet this Moraline fellow with his eagles casually mentions what may well be a missing link, stated so simply, but matched with a photograph that only the supremely autistic cannot help but stop and realize something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Zarathusra had eagles as
his friends but they did not eat hot pockets. In its place you have
Baudrillard.
The great hope is that there is still energy, symptoms of
great freedom, this energy that remains from the day of the hunt. It is perhaps
not as wild and pure as it once was. Can it return? What must a Western man sacrifice for its return?
But the wild horses in Argentina and how
they run in the pampas. Even the men who have their sheep herds in the Patagonia
of Chile. There is that hope. And then there is the end of man:
Passages from Yevgeny Zamiatin’s We, 1924:
“I
cannot imagine a city which is not surrounded by a Green Wall; I cannot imagine
a life which is not surrounded by the figures of our Tables.” [Note: In 1924
Zamiatin predicted the color green would control and mesmerize men.]
“I
shall be quite frank: even we have not attained the absolute, exact
solution of the problem of happiness. Twice a day, from sixteen to seventeen
o'clock and from twenty-one to twenty-two, our powerful united organism dissolves
into separate cells; these are the personal hours designated by the
Tables. During these hours you would see the curtains discreetly drawn in the
rooms of some; others march slowly over the pavement of the main avenue or sit
at their desks as I sit now. But I firmly believe, let them call me an idealist
and a dreamer, I believe that sooner or later we shall somehow find a place in
the general formula even for these hours. Somehow, all of the 86,400 seconds
will be incorporated in the Tables of Hours.”
“I
suddenly perceived all the music, all the beauty, of this colossal, this
mechanical ballet, illumined by light blue rays of sunshine. Then the thought came:
why beautiful? Why is the dance beautiful? Answer: because it is an unfree movement.
Because the deep meaning of the dance is contained in its absolute, ecstatic submission,
in the ideal non-freedom. If it is true that our ancestors would abandon
themselves in dancing at the
most
inspired moments of their lives (religious mysteries, military parades), then
it means only one thing: the instinct of non-freedom has been characteristic of
human nature from ancient times, and we in our life of today, we are only
consciously-”
“It is clear that the history of
mankind, as far as our knowledge goes, is a history of the transition from
nomadic forms to more sedentary ones. Does it not follow that the
most sedentary form of life
(ours) is at the same time the most perfect one? There was a time when people
rushed from one end of the earth to another, but this was the
prehistoric time when such
things as nations, wars, commerce, different discoveries of different Americas
still existed. Who has need of these things now?”
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