#antimodernism

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« Revenons à l'ancien, et ce sera un progrès. »

— Giuseppe Verdi

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[periodicresetofcivilizations]

Europe’s decay stems from liberal-modernist subversion—only a return to Roman hierarchy, sacred war, and anti-democratic revolt can restore Tradition. #Evola #Traditionalism #AntiModernism #ImperialRome #RevoltAgainstTheModernWorld

[periodicresetofcivilizations]

The Call to Resistance: Rebuilding from the Ruins of Modernity

Title: The Call to Resistance: Rebuilding from the Ruins of Modernity

Tags: #Tradition #SpiritualWar #NewOrder #AntiModernism #LegionarySpirit

The End of a Cycle: We stand at the culmination of a degenerative process, where the West has dismantled all legitimate and natural human orders, celebrating materialism and mechanization as "progress." This illusion has led to moral and spiritual decay, leaving us amidst the ruins of a once-great civilization.

The Legionary Spirit: The foundation of resistance lies in the legionary spirit—an unwavering commitment to fight even when the battle seems lost. This spirit embodies loyalty, honor, and a refusal to compromise, serving as the bedrock for a new Order.

Inner Renewal: The core of the struggle is internal. Before any external reconstruction, individuals must regain inner strength, self-discipline, and moral clarity. A new type of man must emerge, guided by resolute principles and a clear vision of life.

Rejection of Modern Myths: The illusions of democracy, liberalism, socialism, and communism are stages of the same degenerative process. These systems, rooted in materialism and egalitarianism, must be rejected entirely. True order can only be restored through a return to hierarchical, spiritual values.

Anti-Bourgeois and Anti-Proletarian: The new Order transcends the false dichotomies of class struggle. It rejects both the bourgeois obsession with security and the proletarian collectivism of Marxism, aspiring instead to a lucid, virile, and structured world governed by higher principles.

The Role of the Elite: The resurgence of tradition depends on the formation of a new elite—a group of individuals united by a shared vision and unwavering loyalty to the idea. This elite must embody the spirit of resistance and serve as a model for others.

The Failure of Nationalism: The naturalistic conception of the nation and fatherland is outdated. True unity is rooted in the idea, not in shared land or language. The state must be the embodiment of higher principles, transcending narrow nationalism.

Cultural Detoxification: Modern culture, poisoned by Darwinism, psychoanalysis, and existentialism, must be purged. These ideologies degrade the human spirit and undermine the possibility of renewal. A new worldview, rooted in transcendence and hierarchy, must replace them.

Spiritual Foundation: A heroic conception of life requires a sense of transcendence. While specific religious dogmas are not essential, the certainty of a higher reality is crucial for fostering unbreakable resolve and absolute commitment.

The Silent Revolution: The true struggle is not for immediate political gains but for the silent, internal revolution that prepares the ground for a new Order. This revolution will manifest externally when the time is ripe, replacing the forces of subversion with a restored hierarchy and authority.

There is no value in indulging in wishful thinking or the illusions of optimism: we are now at the end of a cycle. For centuries, initially imperceptibly and then with the force of an avalanche, multiple processes have dismantled every legitimate and natural human order in the West, corrupting all higher conceptions of life, action, knowledge, and struggle. This descent, with its accelerating momentum and dizzying pace, has been labeled "progress." We have celebrated this so-called progress, deluding ourselves into believing that this civilization—a civilization of materialism and machines—was the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate destiny of history. Yet, the consequences of this process have awakened at least some to its true nature.

It is well known where and under what symbols the forces of potential resistance attempted to organize. On one side, a nation, previously mired in the mediocrity of liberalism, democracy, and constitutional monarchy, dared to adopt the symbol of Rome as the foundation for a new political vision and an ideal of virility and dignity. Similarly, in another nation, medieval traditions of imperium were revived to reaffirm the principles of authority and the primacy of values rooted in blood, race, and the deepest essence of a people. Meanwhile, in other parts of Europe, movements began to align with this direction, and in Asia, a nation of warriors—the samurai—joined the struggle, maintaining its fidelity to a martial tradition centered on the solar empire of divine right, even while adopting the external trappings of modern civilization.

It is not claimed that these movements clearly distinguished the essential from the superficial, that their ideas were embraced by individuals of true understanding, or that they fully overcame the corrupting influences of the very forces they sought to combat. The process of ideological purification would have required time, following the resolution of immediate political challenges. Nevertheless, it was evident that a gathering of forces was underway, posing a direct challenge to the "modern" civilization of democracies—heirs to the French Revolution—and to the even more degraded collectivist civilization of the Fourth Estate, the faceless mass of Communism. Tensions escalated, culminating in armed conflict. The victors were those who wielded overwhelming power, resorting to alliances and ideological manipulations to crush the emerging world that sought to assert its rightful place. Whether our leaders were equal to the task, whether mistakes were made in timing, preparation, or risk assessment, is beside the point. These details do not diminish the deeper significance of the struggle. Nor does it matter that history now turns against the victors, as the democratic powers, having allied with red subversion to pursue total war and unconditional surrender, now face a greater threat from their former allies.

What matters is this: we now stand amidst a world in ruins.

The question to ask is: do men of strength and resolve still exist among these ruins? And what must they do—what can they still do?

This issue transcends past alliances, as both victors and vanquished now stand on equal footing, with the Second World War reducing Europe to a pawn of external powers and interests. The devastation we witness is primarily moral. We live in an era of moral amnesia and profound disorientation, masked by the rhetoric of consumerism and democracy. Post-war humanity is marked by the loss of character, dignity, ideological decay, the dominance of base interests, and a day-to-day existence. Recognizing this means understanding that the core problem is internal: regaining inner strength, self-discipline, and moral order. Those who believe in purely political solutions or systems, without embodying a new human quality or a clear opposing vision, have failed to learn from recent history. A crucial principle must be clear: even the most theoretically perfect political or social system will fail if its people are morally corrupt. Conversely, a people capable of producing individuals of integrity and instinctive virtue can achieve and sustain a high level of civilization, even with an imperfect political system. We must reject false "political realism" focused solely on programs, partisan issues, and economic solutions. These are secondary. The possibility of salvation lies in the presence of individuals who serve as models, resisting mass demagogy and materialism, and reviving higher sensibilities and values. The true task is to rebuild from the ruins, cultivating a new type of man guided by a resolute spirit, a clear vision of life, and unwavering adherence to fundamental principles.

As spirit, there exists something that can serve as a foundation for the forces of resistance and revival: the legionary spirit. It is the attitude of one who chooses the most arduous path, who fights even when the battle is fundamentally lost, and who embodies the ancient saying: "Loyalty is stronger than fire." Through this spirit, the traditional idea is affirmed. It is the sense of honor and shame—not diluted by weak morals—that creates a profound, existential distinction between beings, akin to the difference between one race and another.

On the other hand, there is the realization of those for whom what was once an end now appears only as a means. They recognize the illusory nature of many myths, yet remain steadfast in their pursuit of what they hold sacred, navigating the boundary between life and death, beyond the realm of the contingent.

These spiritual forms can serve as the foundation for a new unity. The essential task is to grasp, apply, and extend them from wartime to peacetime—especially this peace, which is merely a fleeting respite and a poorly managed disorder—until new distinctions and groupings emerge. This must occur in terms far more fundamental than a mere "party," which is only a temporary tool for political struggles, or even a "movement," if by "movement" we mean a mass phenomenon driven more by quantity than quality, by emotion rather than a rigorous adherence to an idea. What we seek is a silent revolution, unfolding in the depths, where the premises of a new Order are first established internally within individuals. This Order will eventually manifest externally, replacing the forms and forces of a subverted world at the opportune moment. The "style" that must prevail is one of unwavering loyalty to oneself and to an idea, marked by intense focus, rejection of compromise, and total commitment—not only in political struggle but in every aspect of existence: factories, laboratories, universities, the streets, and even personal relationships. We must reach a point where the type of individual we envision, the core of our group, is unmistakable and distinct. Only then can we say, "He is one who embodies the spirit of the movement."

This was the mission of those who envisioned a new Order for Europe, though it was often thwarted by various factors. Today, this mission must be revived. The conditions are now more favorable, as the situation has become clearer. We need only look around, from public squares to Parliament, to see that our calling is being tested and that we are confronted with a clear measure of what we must reject. In a world of mediocrity, where principles like "You have no choice," "Morals can wait until we’ve taken care of our stomachs and our skin," or "These are not times for character" prevail, we must respond firmly: "For us, there is no other way. This is our life, our essence." Any meaningful achievements will not come from the tactics of agitators or political operatives but from the natural prestige and recognition of individuals, both from the past and, more importantly, from the new generation, who embody their ideals with unwavering resolve.

A new essence must gradually emerge, transcending the confines, structures, and social roles of the past. A new archetype must stand before us, serving as a measure of our strength and vocation. It is crucial—indeed, fundamental—to understand that this archetype is unrelated to economic classes or the conflicts they generate. It can manifest in the form of the rich or the poor, the worker or the aristocrat, the businessman or the explorer, the technician, theologian, farmer, or even the politician in the strictest sense. Yet, this new essence will undergo an internal differentiation, reaching its fullness when there is no ambiguity about the vocations and functions to follow or to lead; when a restored symbol of unwavering authority reigns at the heart of new hierarchical orders.

This vision is inherently anti-bourgeois and anti-proletarian, free from democratic distortions and 'social' frivolities, as it aspires to a world that is lucid, virile, and structured, governed by men and their guides. It rejects the bourgeois obsession with 'security' and the trivial, standardized, conformist, and domesticated existence. It scorns the lifeless constraints of collectivist and mechanistic systems, as well as ideologies that prioritize vague 'social' values over the heroic and spiritual principles that define the true man, the absolute individual. A pivotal achievement will be the revival of an ethos of active impersonality, where the work itself matters, not the individual. Through this, we learn to see ourselves as secondary, for what truly matters is the function, the responsibility, the task undertaken, and the goal pursued. Where this spirit prevails, many challenges—including those of an economic and social nature—will be resolved, as they remain unsolvable without a corresponding shift in spiritual orientation and the eradication of ideological corruptions that obstruct any return to normality. Indeed, they obscure even the recognition of what normality truly entails.

It is crucial, both for doctrinal clarity and practical action, that the members of the new order clearly recognize the chain of causes and effects, as well as the essential continuity of the current that has shaped the various political forms now clashing in the chaos of modern ideologies. Liberalism, democracy, socialism, radicalism, and ultimately Communism and Bolshevism, are not isolated phenomena but sequential stages of the same degenerative process. This decline began when Western man broke free from tradition, rejected higher symbols of authority and sovereignty, and embraced a false sense of individual liberty, reducing himself to an atomized entity rather than a conscious part of an organic, hierarchical whole. This atomization inevitably led to the tyranny of the masses, where materialism and economic idolatry reign supreme.

This process is irreversible and interconnected. Without the French Revolution and liberalism, constitutionalism and democracy would not have emerged; without democracy, socialism and demagogic nationalism would not have arisen; and without socialism, radicalism and Communism would not have followed. These forms, though often seen in opposition, are fundamentally linked, each paving the way for the next in the same downward spiral. The illusion that democracy and liberalism are antithetical to Communism is as absurd as claiming that dusk is the opposite of night or that a diluted poison is fundamentally different from its concentrated form. The so-called "liberated" governments, particularly in Italy, remain blind to these truths, clinging to outdated political concepts and engaging in a futile dance of parliamentary decadence.

Our stance must be one of radical intransigence, a firm rejection of all forms of political decay, whether from the Left or the so-called Right. There can be no compromise with subversion; any concession today ensures total defeat tomorrow. We must uphold the purity of our ideals and be prepared to act decisively when the time comes.

This also requires rejecting the ideological distortions that have infected even some of our youth, who mistakenly believe that the destruction wrought by modernity serves some greater "progress." They chase after a vague future rather than defending the timeless truths that have always underpinned legitimate social and political order. We must dismiss the notion of "History" as a progressive force; it is men, not abstract historical forces, who shape the world. The label of "reactionary" is meaningless—our position is rooted in positive, original values that do not rely on the false promises of a utopian future.

The supposed antithesis between the "red East" and the "democratic West" is irrelevant to our radical perspective. A potential conflict between these blocs is equally inconsequential. While the immediate threat of Communist victory might seem more dire, both America and Russia represent the same destructive force, albeit in different forms. Americanism, with its cult of materialism, consumerism, and economic growth, is as dangerous as Communism, if not more so, because it operates subtly, eroding tradition and quality through cultural and societal shifts rather than overt coercion. Europe, by embracing Americanism under the guise of democracy, is already on the path to total abdication, a process that may culminate without the need for military conflict. Americanism, whether intentionally or not, paves the way for collectivism, and there is no halting this decline once it has begun.

Our dedication to a radical reconstruction is crucial here, as it rejects not only all forms of Marxist and socialist ideologies but also the pervasive obsession with economics, which we view as a form of collective delusion or possession. The belief that economic factors dominate both individual and collective life, and that the focus on production and material wealth is normal or even desirable, is a grave error. Both capitalism and Marxism are ensnared in this narrow, materialistic worldview. To transcend this, we must reject the notion that human progress is tied to economic systems or the distribution of wealth. Instead, we must affirm that economic concerns, which merely address physical needs, should always remain subordinate in a healthy society. Beyond this, we must uphold a higher order of values—political, spiritual, and heroic—that transcends the categories of "proletarian" or "capitalist." It is within this higher order that true meaning, hierarchy, and dignity are established, culminating in a superior command, an Imperium.

We must also confront and eliminate the misguided ideas that have infiltrated even our own ranks, such as the glorification of a "state of labor," "national socialism," or the "humanism of work." These concepts, along with attempts to reduce politics to economics, reflect a dangerous regression. Similarly, the obsession with "socialization" and the elevation of the "social idea" as a panacea for civilization are misguided. These notions often stem from a degraded political environment and a misunderstanding of the true nature of the "social question." Marxism did not emerge in response to a genuine social issue; rather, the social issue is often artificially created by Marxist agitators. As Lenin himself acknowledged, revolutionary movements are rarely spontaneous but are instead driven by external manipulation.

To move forward, we must focus on ideological deproletarianization, purging the socialist influence from those still untainted. Only then can meaningful reforms be pursued without risk. In this context, the corporative idea can serve as a foundation for reconstruction—not as a bureaucratic system that perpetuates class conflict, but as a means to restore unity and solidarity within businesses. This requires transforming businesses into cohesive, almost military-like entities, led by individuals of responsibility, energy, and competence, who inspire loyalty and collaboration among their workers. The goal is the organic reconstruction of business, free from the demagoguery of unions and the false promises of "social justice." We must revive the dignity, solidarity, and impersonality of ancient guilds, ensuring that each individual finds fulfillment in their rightful role, recognizing their limits and potential for excellence. A craftsman who excels in his craft is superior to a king who fails to uphold his dignity.

Furthermore, we can replace the partisan parliamentary system with a structure based on technical expertise and corporative representation. However, these technical hierarchies must remain subordinate to the higher, integral hierarchy that encompasses the political and spiritual dimensions of the state. The "state of labor" or production is a reductionist concept, akin to reducing a human being to mere physical functions. Our standard must be the integral hierarchical idea, which stands as the true antithesis to both the "East" and the "West." In this, there can be no compromise.

If the ideal of a virile and organic political unity was a cornerstone of the world that was ultimately overwhelmed—and through it, the Roman symbol was revived in Italy—we must also acknowledge instances where this ideal strayed and nearly succumbed to the errors of 'totalitarianism.' This distinction must be clearly understood to avoid conflating the two and to prevent providing ammunition to those who seek to obscure the truth. Hierarchy is not hierarchism; the latter is a recurring malady that must be resisted. The organic conception of society is fundamentally opposed to state-worshiping rigidity and leveling centralization. True unity transcends both individualism and collectivism, emerging only when individuals stand before one another in their natural diversity and dignity. This unity must be spiritual and centrally orienting, adapting its expression to different realms while opposing the rigid, extrinsic relations characteristic of 'totalitarianism.' Within this framework, the dignity and liberty of the human person—misconceived by liberalism in individualistic, egalitarian, and privatized terms—can be fully realized. It is in this spirit that the structures of a new political and social order must be designed, with clarity and solidity.

Such structures require a central, supreme point of reference—a new symbol of sovereignty and authority. This commitment must be unequivocal, free from ideological wavering. The focus here is not primarily on institutional forms but on cultivating a specific climate, a fluidity that animates relationships of loyalty, dedication, and service, devoid of individualistic ambition. This is necessary to transcend the gray, mechanical, and devious nature of the current political and social order. Today’s situation is at an impasse, as those at the top lack the asceticism required for the pure idea. The correct direction is obscured for many, whether due to unfortunate precedents in national traditions or the tragic events of the past. The inadequacy of the monarchical solution is evident, as its remnants are defended only in a hollow, castrated form, such as constitutional parliamentary monarchy. Equally, we must reject the republican idea, as modern republics are products of Jacobinism and the anti-traditional, anti-hierarchical subversion of the 19th century. A nation transitioning from monarchy to republic can only be seen as degraded. In Italy, loyalty to the Salò Republic’s Fascism must not lead us down the false path of republicanism, as this would betray the core ideology of the Fascist Twenty Years—its doctrine of the state as authority, power, and imperium.

This doctrine must be upheld without compromise, refusing to descend to lower levels or align with any faction. The specific form of the symbol can remain undecided for now. The immediate task is to prepare, in silence, the spiritual environment necessary for the resurgence of a superior, untouchable authority. This authority cannot be embodied by a republican president subject to removal, nor by a tribune or populist leader whose power is formless, devoid of higher legitimacy, and reliant on mass appeal. Such figures represent not the antithesis of democracy but its logical conclusion—a manifestation of Spengler’s 'decline of the West.' This serves as a new touchstone for our side: a sensitivity to these distinctions. Carlyle’s 'Valet-World,' governed by the 'Sham-Hero,' must be rejected in favor of a true, transcendent authority.

We must address another point in a similar vein, focusing on the stance to take regarding nationalism and the concept of the fatherland. This discussion is particularly relevant today, as many, in an attempt to salvage what remains, advocate for a sentimental and naturalistic view of the nation. This perspective is alien to the highest European political tradition and conflicts with the idea of the state we have previously discussed. Even setting aside the fact that the notion of the fatherland is invoked by vastly different groups, including those aligned with red subversion, this conception is increasingly outdated. On one hand, we see the emergence of large supranational blocs, while on the other, the need for a unifying European reference point becomes more apparent—one that transcends the narrow particularism inherent in the naturalistic idea of the nation and nationalism.

The principle at stake is paramount. The political level represents superior unities compared to those defined in naturalistic terms, such as nation, fatherland, or people. At this higher level, what unites or divides is the idea—an idea carried by a distinct elite and embodied in the state. Fascist doctrine, faithful to the best European political tradition, prioritized the idea and the state over the nation and the people, recognizing that the latter only gain significance and form within the framework of the state. In times of crisis, like today, it is crucial to adhere firmly to this doctrine. Our true fatherland lies in the idea, not in shared land or language, but in shared principles. This is the foundation.

Against the collectivistic unity of the nation—des enfants de la patrie—which has dominated since the Jacobin revolution, we must uphold an Order: men loyal to principles, embodying a higher authority and legitimacy rooted in the idea. For practical goals, achieving new national solidarity is possible, but not through compromise. The essential precondition is the formation of a group defined by a shared political idea and vision of life. There is no alternative, especially now. Amidst the ruins, we must initiate a process of renewal, where elites and symbols of sovereignty and authority elevate a people to the status of a traditional great state, rising from chaos. Failing to grasp this realism of the idea means remaining in a sub-political realm of naturalism and sentimentalism, if not outright chauvinism.

We must also be cautious when national traditions are invoked to support our idea, as there exists a Masonic and anti-traditional interpretation of history that distorts the Italian national character, emphasizing its most problematic aspects, such as the communal revolts and Guelphism. This tendentious portrayal of an "Italian character" is one we reject, leaving it to those who celebrated the so-called "second Risorgimento" through the partisan movement.

Idea, order, elite, state, men of the Order—these must define our battle lines for as long as possible.

A few words must be said about the problem of culture, though not too many. We do not overvalue culture. What we term a "worldview" is not rooted in books but is an internal form that may be clearer in an uncultured individual than in an "intellectual" or writer. The harmful effects of a "free culture," accessible to all, lie in leaving individuals exposed to myriad influences, even when they lack the capacity to engage with them critically or discern properly.

This is not the place to delve deeply into this issue, except to note that today's youth must internally defend themselves against specific currents. We have previously discussed a style of uprightness and self-mastery, which presupposes a proper understanding. Young people, in particular, must recognize the poison fed to an entire generation through distorted and false visions of life that have weakened their inner strength. These poisons persist in culture, science, sociology, and literature, acting as infectious agents that must be identified and countered. Beyond historical materialism and economism, which we have already addressed, the most significant of these are Darwinism, psychoanalysis, and existentialism.

Against Darwinism, we must reaffirm the fundamental dignity of the human person, recognizing its true place not as a mere animal species differentiated by "natural selection" and tied to primitive origins, but as a being capable of transcending the biological plane. Though Darwinism is less discussed today, its essence endures. The biologistic myth of Darwinism, in various forms, functions as a dogma upheld by the materialism of both Marxist and American civilizations. Modern man has grown accustomed to this degraded view, accepting it as natural.

Against psychoanalysis, we must uphold the ideal of an ego that refuses to abdicate, remaining conscious, autonomous, and sovereign in the face of the subconscious and the chaotic forces of sexuality. This ego is neither "repressed" nor torn apart but achieves a harmonious balance of faculties aligned with a higher purpose. Psychoanalysis has shifted authority from the conscious principle to the subconscious, the irrational, and the "collective unconscious," mirroring the broader societal crisis where the lower undermines the higher. This tendency operates on both individual and societal levels, reinforcing each other.

As for existentialism, even if we distinguish it as a confused philosophy relevant only to narrow circles, it reflects a systematized spiritual crisis. It embodies the fragmented, contradictory human type that experiences freedom as anguish, tragedy, and absurdity, feeling condemned in a valueless world. Yet, Nietzsche pointed the way to reclaiming meaning and establishing an unshakable law and value, even in the face of nihilism, under the banner of a "noble nature."

These lines of overcoming must not remain intellectual abstractions but must be lived and realized in their direct significance for inner life and conduct. True clarity, uprightness, and strength can only be attained by freeing oneself from the influence of these distorted and false ways of thinking.

Let us briefly address a final point: the relationship with the dominant religion. For us, the secular state, in any form, belongs to the past. We particularly reject the so-called "ethical state," a product of a shallow and hollow "Idealist" philosophy that attached itself to Fascism but could just as easily support anti-Fascism through a dialectical sleight of hand. However, while we oppose such ideologies and the secular state, we also find a clerical or clericalizing state equally unacceptable.

A religious dimension is essential as a foundation for a truly heroic conception of life, which is crucial for our group. It is necessary to feel within ourselves the certainty of a higher life beyond this earthly existence, as only those who possess this conviction have an unbreakable and indomitable strength. Such individuals are capable of absolute commitment. Without this sense of transcendence, confronting death and disregarding one's life can only occur in fleeting moments of exaltation or irrational outbursts, lacking the discipline that derives from a higher, autonomous purpose. However, this spirituality, which should animate our people, does not require the rigid dogmas of any specific religious confession. The lifestyle we advocate is not one of Catholic moralism, which seeks merely to domesticate humanity through virtue. Politically, this spirituality fosters skepticism toward elements central to the Christian worldview, such as humanitarianism, equality, love, and forgiveness, prioritizing instead honor and justice.

Certainly, if Catholicism could embrace a capacity for high asceticism and, on that basis, transform faith into the soul of a militant force—akin to the spirit of the Crusades or a new Templar order, resolute against chaos, surrender, subversion, and modern materialism—we would support it without hesitation. Even if it merely adhered to the positions of the Syllabus, it would suffice. However, given the current state of confessional religions, which have largely succumbed to mediocrity, bourgeois values, and modernism, and given the post-conciliar Church's shift toward the Left, a mere reference to the spiritual suffices for us. This spirituality serves as evidence of a transcendent reality, infusing our struggle with a higher purpose and attracting an invisible consecration for a new world of leaders and men.

Here are the essential guidelines for the struggle we must undertake, particularly aimed at the younger generation, so they may carry forward the torch and commitment from those who have not faltered. They must learn from past mistakes, discern clearly, and revise what has been—and continues to be—shaped by contingent circumstances. It is crucial not to stoop to the level of our adversaries, avoid relying on simplistic slogans, and refrain from overemphasizing the past, which, though worthy of remembrance, lacks the contemporary and impersonal force of the guiding idea. Equally important is resisting the allure of false political realism, a weakness inherent in every partisan approach. While our forces must engage in the immediate political struggle to carve out space and counter the unchecked advance of the Left, the true priority lies in forming an elite capable of defining an idea with intellectual rigor and unwavering intensity. This idea must unite us, embodied in the figure of the new man—the man of resistance, who stands firm amidst the ruins. If we emerge from this era of crisis and illusory order, the future will belong to this man alone. The modern world is now overwhelmed by the destiny it has forged. Even if this tide cannot be halted, adhering to these principles will preserve our inner resolve. Whatever unfolds, we will do what must be done, and we will remain part of a fatherland no enemy can ever occupy or destroy.

[bugatsu]

Hundertwasser’s St.Barbra Kirche(church)
It is said that his works are belonged to anti-modernism or postmodernism.
#hundertwasser #barbra #church #antimodernism #postmodernism #bärnbach #travelphotography #travel #austria (Bärnbach)


[tlatlandblog]

Antoine Compagnon

Por Juan José Mendoza | Revista Ñ, 28/10/2017

Entre 1975 y 1976 Antoine Compagnon recibe correspondencia de Barthes. Las cartas conforman un conjunto homogéneo que explican el proceso de reflexiones del seminario sobre el discurso amoroso del que participa como asistente en tiempos en que un joven Antoine se pregunta si será o no escritor. De aquella época Compagnon también conserva la máquina de escribir que Barthes le obsequió para la escritura de su tesis. Es aquella la misma época en que comienza a aparecer el nombre de Compagnon en la revista Tel Quel. En los números 65 y 67, en la primavera y el otoño de 1976, pueden verse artículos suyos, uno sobre los sentidos de la orfandad del lector que será inmediatamente citado por Barthes en su libro sobre el discurso amoroso. De su contacto con el postestructuralismo y con el telquelismo, Compagnon destaca su relación con Barthes. Pero todo aquello ya es para él “una época pasada”. Lo dice después de haber publicado clásicos contemporáneos de la teoría y la crítica como Los Antimodernos (2005) y El demonio de la teoría (1998), dos obras fundamentales para pensar el tiempo de la literatura y los sentidos actuales de la crítica. De paso por Argentina, invitado por el Centro Franco Argentino de Buenos Aires y el Institut français, brindó tres conferencias magistrales, sobre Proust en la Alianza Francesa; sobre Baudelaire y la figura de los traperos en la Universidad Católica Argentina; y sobre los sentidos actuales de la teoría literaria, en la carrera de Letras de la UBA.

Foto: Guillaume Boccara

Releer a Proust

Impulsado por la idea tan proustiana de regresar al pasado, Compagnon construye su concepto de los “antimodernos” -seres desencantados con su propio tiempo-. Quizá ese desencanto con el presente lo haya llevado a Campagnon a emprender este año un regreso a los 60, al momento en que, hace cincuenta años, (re)leyó por primera vez a Proust: “Nabokov decía que a Proust nunca se lo lee por primera vez, sino que en todo caso se lo relee por primera vez”. En efecto, muchos de algún modo ya conocen algo de Proust antes de tener acceso a él: la magdalena, la sensación de encontrar en su obra las resonancias de algo familiar. Pero eso no siempre fue así. Hasta amigos íntimos de Proust no encontraron muy comprensibles las páginas de En busca del tiempo perdido. Y tuvo también Proust serias dificultades para editar su obra gracias al desdén de los editores de la época. De los siete tomos de su voluminosa obra, tres se editaron luego de su muerte en 1922. Y tuvieron que pasar algunas décadas hasta comenzar a ocupar el lugar que la historia les tenía reservado. Así es como en los años 30 en Francia Proust pasó de ser un escritor difícil de comprender a ser considerado un escritor pasado de moda.

Para Compagnon su primer acercamiento al autor de La Recherche en los 60 coincide con el momento en que Marcel se convierte en Proust. Si se analizan los títulos de los libros, es en aquellos años cuando Proust empieza a aparecer sin Marcel en las portadas. Un caso ilustrativo es un libro de Deleuze, que en 1964 se titula “Marcel Proust et les signes” y que para su reedición de 1970 pasa a llamarse “Proust et les signes”. Ese es el momento de la “proustificación de Proust”. Aquel momento, que es el tiempo de la vanguardia, de Tel Quel, del postestructuralismo y del mayo francés, para Compagnon es también el tiempo de Proust. Porque es la época en que terminan de morir quienes lo conocieron. El detalle es importante. Porque para Compagnon es la distancia lo que produce lecturas: “cuando se está lejos se escribe sobre los textos; cuando se está cerca se escribe sobre la vida. La cercanía produce biografías, la distancia produce crítica literaria”. Eso explica para Compagnon por qué a Proust se lo pudo leer mucho antes en otros países que en Francia. Esta misma idea también computa para el propio Compagnon, quien prefiere no hacer usufructo de su amistad con Barthes ni de sus participaciones en Tel Quel. Escritores como Alain Robbe-Grillet, quien junto con Nathalie Sarraute leerá a Proust como un escritor moderno, dirá de aquellos que no comprendieron el Nouveau Roman que en todo caso se trató de una incomprensión heredada: quienes no comprendieron el Nouveau Roman son los mismos que tampoco comprendieron a Proust, a Joyce y a Virginia Woolf. En la lectura hay siempre malentendidos.

En la retaguardia de la vanguardia

Los anacronismos que embargan la lectura de Proust ligan con varias de las ideas que Compagnon moviliza para construir su noción de los Antimodernos. En 1971 Barthes declaraba que su deseo era situarse “en la retaguardia de la vanguardia” y a continuación explicaba que “ser de vanguardia significa saber lo que está muerto; ser de retaguardia significa amarlo todavía”. En Les Chiffonniers de Paris [Los Traperos de París, Gallimard, 2017] Compagnon retoma aquella convicción para pensar la figura anacrónica de los traperos en la historia literaria. Sobre su reciente libro dialoga el mediodía del 19 de octubre en la UCA. El trapero es un personaje que aparece en muchas obras de la literatura y el teatro del siglo XIX. Pero desde 1880, con la invención del tacho de basura, el trapero es una figura que decae y desaparece. Siempre son determinadas invenciones técnicas las que pasan a relevo a determinados oficios. Los traperos son sobrevivientes que se pasan a ese oficio luego de haber sobrevivido a los ejércitos de Bonaparte. De allí que aparezcan en las ilustraciones de la época posando con el bastón con que recogen la basura de la misma manera en que antes habían marchado llevando el fusil en sus tiempos de soldados. Del hecho en común de que tanto traperos como poetas pasen sus horas vagando sin rumbo por la ciudad, tomará Benjamin la idea para pensar el concepto de flâneur. Pero a diferencia de Benjamin, que lo concebía como una figura revolucionaria, el trapero es para Compagnon una figura servil, que puede ser un soplón de policía o un amigo de poderosos.

La vocación por los anacronismos que moviliza el trabajo de Campagnon vuelve a aparecer en la tarde del 19 de octubre en su conferencia en la carrera de Letras de la UBA. Allí la modernidad se presenta para él, en efecto, como una institución que hace de la invención de novedades un valor. Pero desde el punto de vista formal, en literatura son pocas las novedades que existen: “no ha habido tantas invenciones reales o giros técnicos en literatura. Y son pocas las cosas que pasan en la literatura francesa entre Zola y Proust”. Entre los inventores de novedades literarias sobresalen autores como Baudelaire, por la invención de los poemas en prosa; o Mallarmé, por la invención del verso libre; o André Breton, por su aporte de la escritura automática. Saliendo de la literatura francesa emergen las obras de Joyce y de Virginia Woolf por la disposición del monólogo interior. Estas invenciones estéticas produjeron una mayor complejidad y dificultad en el camino de las artes del siglo XX. Ante esa complejidad el camino de muchos sin embargo ha sido el retroceso. De allí que Compagnon también vaticina que el tiempo de la autonomía literaria se está cerrando. Si la literatura se transformó a lo largo de los siglos, también lo hizo para transformar a los lectores. Si seguimos sus razonamientos, se advierte que ahora otras innovaciones técnicas que no proceden de la literatura están transformando la sensibilidad lectora. Y de allí también que la literatura, frente a tantos nuevos tipos de “creación” de subjetividades como Internet, las redes sociales o las series, ya no compita con la creación de nuevas sensibilidades. Montaigne, que fue capaz de crear un género como el ensayo, creó también la sensibilidad de lectores que navegaban entre volúmenes y se formaban con la lectura. Muchos escritores de manuscritos, escritores de la edad de la imprenta como Proust, anticiparon mediante la reescritura y el collage de sus textos muchos de los cambios culturales que después impusieron los medios audiovisuales y la era digital. Acaso la práctica del collage, mediante el agregado permanente de reescrituras y fragmentos a los manuscritos y a las pruebas de galeras, funcionó como la preparación cultural para un nuevo tipo de sensibilidad.

El razonamiento de Compagnon nos lleva a preguntar si en el presente Internet emerge como la generación o no de nuevos tipos de sensibilidades. La pregunta acerca de si la emergencia de la era digital suspende o no la innovación literaria apareció como una idea fuerza en la conferencia. Para Compagnon son pocas las cosas que suceden en la literatura francesa entre Zolá y Proust; y también son pocas las cosas que parecen suceder después del Nouveau Roman y de Tel Quel, las últimas vanguardias de la literatura francesa. En parte quizá su tesis se deba a las vacilaciones de la literatura frente a ciertas transformaciones técnicas que nos recuerdan a otros momentos de pasajes anteriores. Como aquel pasaje de 1830, cuando apareció la pluma metálica, que en un primer momento dividió las aguas respecto de su uso entre los escritores. Eso fue antes de que todos los escritores se pasen a ella. Flaubert tenía en su escritorio una pecera con doscientas plumas de gansos y decía que ese era su principal tesoro. Los Miserables, publicada en 1862, fue escrita por Víctor Hugo en pluma de ganso. Alejandro Dumas, con quien Hugo fundó en los años 30 el Théâtre de la Renaissance, está entre los primeros autores que se pasaron a la pluma metálica. Una nueva pluma para una nueva escritura industrial. El caso de la pluma metálica muestra las contradicciones que la literatura siempre mantuvo con la innovación.

Pero no es en estos cambios donde deben buscarse algo más fundamental. Para Compagnon la crisis de la literatura coincide con la crisis de la teoría. Porque para ser un verdadero inventor se debe ser también un teórico del invento. En efecto, para inventar el verso libre, Mallarmé concibió su texto sobre la crisis del verso. Para la invención de la escritura automática, el surrealismo pergeñó sus cadáveres exquisitos y sus manifiestos colectivos. Estas invenciones y esta disponibilidad para la teoría y la historia por parte de los escritores y sus camaradas más cercanos, también hicieron que la literatura del siglo XX se vuelva algo más difícil. Analizando obras como las de Vargas Llosa, Compagnon nota que con el correr de los años sus obras se vuelven más simples, como si en lugar de radicalizar la escritura, los escritores estuvieran retrocediendo. Él advierte que en las primeras novelas de Vargas Llosa había cosas de Faulkner y de Balzac e incluso una mayor experimentación con diversas técnicas. Las ideas de Compagnon sirven para comprender mejor la excesiva celebración de la industria de escritores jóvenes que escriben como si fueran autores del siglo XIX. Campagnon recordó con ironía que “antes se esperaba que un escritor fuera también un gran lector. Ahora ya no se espera eso. En la mayoría de los países la prensa literaria está desapareciendo. Y todos leemos un poco menos”. Ni como Proust, ni como Flaubert, ni como Faulkner. Muchos escritores contemporáneos escriben como en el siglo XIX y antes de todos ellos. Y si bien en literatura nada es lineal y no todo es progresivo, como diría Nathalie Sarraute: si no avanzamos, retrocedemos.

[redhotrabbit]

#antimodernism #papacy #feastday #catholicism #giuseppesarto