It is an inevitable fact of life that the more materially comfortable humans become, the more they will seek luxury and entertainment (a small minority will also seek fulfillment, but this represents a percentage of humanity so small that we can afford to ignore them, except in those circumstances in which we are discussing not ordinary, but extraordinary, people, which is not the case here). In other words, a civilized society finds itself dedicating increasing amounts of energy catering to its emotions instead of to its survival.
The problem with the way most people conceptualize emotions, however, is that they assume they are useful stimuli for guiding decisions. This is a mistake. You do not “have” emotions. You interpret them. Misattribution of experiences is the default human condition.
How do we interpret emotions? Through the lens of environmental cues, past experiences, and personal desires. The problem is, the more we exist to cater to our emotions, the less we can say that our experiences are useful guides in and of themselves for emotional understanding. Emotions guided by past emotions guided by emotional experiences. It creates its own feedback loop, one that begins to drift further and further from objective reality.
The more we are engulfed by this sentimental Charybdis, the more we attempt to clothe our rationalizations in objective language, in a desperate attempt to delude ourselves into believing the validity of our perceptions.
Fairness. Justice. Progress.
Fools. Does anyone truly know what those words mean? How many of us can honestly say that they have asked themselves that question?
Philosophers are misunderstood because they seek to find the answers to the questions that others do not even know can be asked. Neoreactionaries, like all philosophers, are doomed to this fate. We most proceed accordingly.
What most people hold to be unassailably correct knowledge is an illusion, a subconscious impulse masquerading as conscious thought. This is the end result of experiencing emotions without context. Lost like a puppy in the rain who doesn’t even know its state is to be pitied.
The more our environment and our experiences become artificial, the more we become like rats in a lab. We are not the wild, healthy, majestic creatures we think we are. We are like a laboratory experiment that went horribly wrong and now lives a soulless existence, wishing it could beg for death but not knowing how. We spend so much time trying to fill the void but all our efforts merely show us the depth of the maw and in our quest to find the light at the end of the darkness we find ourselves unable to allocate the effort needed to survive.
In due time, the death drive becomes the zeitgeist of all civilizations. The richer and more comfortable a civilization, the more potent this becomes. Rotherham. Ferguson. Ukraine. This is the death-knell. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
It is very hard to kill a civilization that wishes to survive, It is impossible to save one that has already decided to be dead.
Pure, unchecked emotion and the drive for death go hand in hand. The former is the most supremely passive tool for experiencing the world, the latter is the final conclusion of the former; the grand surrender to ultimate totality.
The purely emotional nature of the supreme (dare I say divine?) feminine renders it the counterpart of death. The femme fatale is not only fatale becuaes she is femme, but femme because she is fatale. You cannot have one without the other. Two sides. One coin.
Emotion. Comfort. Death. This is the realm of the feminine.
Struggle. Pain. Life. This is the realm of the masculine.
Yin and Yang. Ice and Fire. Death and Life.
Life is borne from death. Life is defined by the struggle against death. Life will always and inevitably succumb to death.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
COR AUT MORS