Tuesday, 24 November 2015


I see you are using the circuitous route of medicine to attain your first ideal, the physiological understanding of man, while I secretly nurse the hope of arriving by the same route at my own original objective, philosophy.

Freud, letter to Fliess, 1896

Even when I have moved away from observation, I have carefully avoided any contact with philosophy proper.

Freud, An Autobiographical Study, 1925

The mistake was always to say Herr Doctor Freud. Psychoanalysis was never the answer, except for a few bored, neurotic fin de siècle housewives. It would take a book to show that Freud was one of the greatest philosophers who ever lived, and we only have 1,000 words, as well as other, more immediately distracting problems to attend to just now. He might be in bad odour with feminists and other idiots, but the Viennese neurobiologist who invented psychoanalysis, discovered the unconscious, had his books burned by the Nazis and wrote his doctoral thesis on the neurology of the dogfish might be the best qualified clinician to put the 21st century on the couch and explain why we are where we are.

Freud it was who made famous the theory of recapitulation (it was actually Ernst Haeckel’s theory), otherwise known as the formula ontogeny = phylogeny. Simply, the theory states that the developmental stages of a child reflect the evolutionary history of that child’s species. It has fallen out of favour now, but then we live in increasingly stupid times. It is always worth going through the trash discarded by an idiot generation.

We will waste no time on whether or not recapitulation theory is right or wrong. Its analysis does not admit to scientific rigour, and we can obtain no answer, even a falsifiable one, worth the name of scientific. What we will do is to assume that our political, social, ideological and cultural leaders – and we have them, unfortunately – believe that it is the case that we represent, here in the West, peak maturity for our species, with all the intellectual, physical, moral and other qualities honed to a point which is not yet perfect (incipit Socialism) but is on its way pending a few adjustments of which social engineering is capable. Simplistically, the bosses believe in recapitulation theory. If they didn’t, they would have read Plato, and possibly got things right, instead of reading Fukuyama and getting the world so tragically wrong.

We are not mature adults in the West. We’re not even well-balanced children. We are children, but the type who wear rubber hats, bite their own fingers till the blood comes, crash their heads against the institution walls for attention, all snot, dribble and tantrums. We will do anything for candy now, hate other children who we think have more than us, and leave ourselves wide open to the malevolent machinations of nurse, who has psychological problems of her own and means us no good. To teach us a lesson, she is now letting other children into the ward, and these kids have really got problems.

Although there is no Rousseauesque, golden, pre-lapsarian age to which we might look back and try to emulate – the traditional role of childhood in poetry, for example – we spend a lot of our time trying to emulate children. Walk any Western street that isn’t on Mohammedan lockdown, and tell me what you see. Adults dressed as children, men in sports shoes and big colourful T-shirts with funny pictures on the front. Everyone is playing with a toy of some sort, toys which we think represent a technological advance because we don’t know and don’t care what the Ancient Greek word technē means. Everyone is making an unrestrained noise. Vocabulary is limited. God help us, the children are awake on what has been a half-century long Christmas morning. Was Christmas morning.

Because right now we had better think pretty hard about recapitulation. It is time to grow up, and fast, because nurse is preparing the syringe, and we don’t know and don’t understand what is inside. Flick, flick, tap, tap, squirt…

When I was a child, says Corinthians 13:11, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. This is the time. It’s time to ring the playground bell – discarded in actual schools after the 1967 Plowden Report that helped destroy British education – and tell the children to line up because you have to tell them something.

As an adult, you have to tell Liberal Progressivists that their ideas are going to destroy the West, the greatest civilisation that has ever existed. You have to tell egalitarians that all men were not born equal – no, nor woman neither – and there is a natural hierarchy which will not be gainsaid. You have to tell Socialists that you cannot engineer humanity to perfection because we are not machines – contra Descartes and La Mettrie – and the appropriate model for mankind is the Goethean organic not the Leninist automaton. You have to tell the hip social ‘scientists’ that genotype and phenotype are what produce social problems, not poverty, patriarchy or racism. You have to tell the political elites that miscegenation is not the way to safeguard your children’s future. You must inform those young people holding banners decorated with flowers and bearing the legend WELCOME REFUGEES! that the answer to their white guilt is not an Islamic Reich. You must make it clear to Western media that acting as pimps for the hookers of the political class will not improve the lot of mankind but make it substantially worse. You must act like adults, not children.

Read Freud. In fact, read all the writers who have been cast out as pharmakos, as verboten, as haram. Read Nietzsche, Heidegger, Spengler, Evola, Faye, Plato… With Freud, however, you may be struck by the fact that the key text to understanding the dying West – and the West is dying - is not Civilisation and its Discontents but the essays on infantile neurosis.

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