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South Place Ethical Society

For another look at Victorian progressivism, let’s take the South Place Ethical Society.

Like the Boden Professorship, it is something I tried to discuss on twitter as a demonstration of the pre-Marxist flowering of harmful progressivism, but I was not able to make my case clearly, and I also made a serious factual error, which I will come to below.

In this instance my route to the subject is not a Featured Article, but my own reminiscences: twenty years ago, I considered myself a Secular Humanist, and went so far as to join SPES (as it then was).

The history of the Society is recorded on both its own website and Wikipedia. It started as a non-conformist church in 1787, became unitarian, and then discarded any belief in a personal god, becoming an “Ethical Society” in 1888.

Towards the end of the 19th Century, the society was associated with campaigns for free education, abolitionism, and womens’ rights. The central aim was to encourage the major churches to follow their example, rejecting belief in the supernatural in favour of secular ethics.

If Max Müller was at the prestigious, respectable mainstream of intellectual progressivism at this time, South Place was the slightly iffy fringe. Think of it as Chomsky to Müller’s Krugman. You could suggest that the members were perhaps taking things a bit too far, without losing your own standing as a right-thinking person, but it was still influential. From its website:

‘The great and the good’!
It would take up too much space here to list all the famous people who have occupied the Society‘s platform and been reported in its journal during all these years, but here is a more-or-less random selection:
Felix Adler, Norman Angell, William Archer, A J Ayer, Annie Besant, C Delisle Burns, Herbert Burrows, W K Clifford, John Drinkwater, G W Foote, John A Hobson, Laurence Housman, Fred Hoyle, Julian Huxley, T H Huxley, Cyril Joad, Margaret Knight, Peter Kropotkin, Joseph McCabe, William Morris, Gilbert Murray, H W Nevinson, S K Ratcliffe, John M Robertson, Bertrand Russell, George Bernard Shaw, Leslie Stephen, Graham Wallas, Sidney Webb, Rebecca West and Israel Zangwill.

My original intent in bringing up the society on twitter was to make two points — first, that today’s progressivism was approaching at a rapid pace throughout the nineteenth century, and wasn’t something triggered in the twentieth. I think that is well supported: the destruction of the family, of the church, of the idea of hierarchy, were all deliberate projects embarked on by influential people in the Victorian era.

My second intended point was that the evolution of a protestant sect into atheist leftists was something home-grown in Britain in the 19th Century, and not a foreign import. That claim is not borne out by a study of the society’s history. On the contrary, from 1864 to 1897, which includes the period when it ceased to be a nominally Christian church and became an explicitly non-religious society, it was run by two American ex-Unitarians: Moncure Conway, after whom the society’s premises and now the organisation itself is named, and Stanton Coit, who organised the wider “Ethical” movement in Britain. Their intellectual inheritance comes straight from Emerson’s Transcendentalism, and their activist background was abolitionism. Conway “was asked by American abolitionists to go to London to convince the United Kingdom that the American Civil War was a war of abolition”.

I never heard about the Society’s American roots during my membership, but then US connections were not popular with British leftists during the administration of the first Bush, so it is not that surprising they preferred to emphasise Fabian connections — which were close: this quote is from the Ethical Movement article:

The short lived Fellowship of the New Life, established in 1883, furnished the London Ethical Society with much of its membership when it disbanded. Those who did not join the Ethical Society made their way to the much more politically active Fabian Society, which was itself a direct offshoot of the Fellowship.

Though I am backpedalling on my claims that Britain produced a form of
extreme leftism in isolation, the importance of the Fabian Society is hard to exaggerate.

Ultimately, the Ethical Movement slightly overreached — its aim of explicitly converting churches to open atheism was not quite subtle enough. That, perhaps, is the purpose of the “slightly iffy fringe”, to make the progressive mainstream look moderate. But all its practical goals were accomplished in the long run.

The Boden Professor of Sanskrit election, 1860

It’s normal to label Wikipedia as part of the liberal propaganda system, which of course it is, but its sheer breadth of scope makes it impossible to turn it into a coherent lie, so a lot of information comes through it that right-thinking people would prefer was kept quiet. Further, I get the faint impression that someone in influence is pushing in a faintly reactionary direction — something that comes through most strongly in the choice of historical “featured articles” that are selected daily.
I was particularly fascinated by the featured article of the 7th of August, The Boden Professor of Sanskrit Election, 1860. That drew comment in some quarters as an amazingly minor and trivial piece of history to be unexpectedly well-documented, but to me, involved as I was in the long and difficult debate within the reactionary movement about the origins of cultural relativism, anti-racism and multiculturalism, it was a bombshell.
That it is not a minor or trivial piece of history is clearly evident from reading the Wikipedia article itself. The merits of the candidates were hotly disputed, the campaigns carried on in national newspapers, recognised on both sides as part of the “culture war” that is today so often denied. When the forces of conservatism won, the law was changed to prevent another such embarrassment occuring in future.
In this story, Max Müller represents the progressive establishment. He was a German Lutheran. His father was a poet, his grandfather a prime minister of Anhalt-Dessau. He wrote a dissertation on the Ethics of the Jewish philosopher Spinoza.
The Wikipedia story presents him as the downtrodden outsider, facing the great entrenched power of tradition and conservatism with nothing but his superior scholarship. The details make clear that everyone important was on his side: senior academics, The Times, the East India Company, and even senior Anglican clergymen, while his opponent Monier Williams relied for his victory on the old rural landowning class, out of power except in a few anachronistic areas such as the Convocation of Oxford University, to which they had shown up as part of the routine of their upbringing. They were due — overdue, in the view of the powers of the time — to be disenfranchised, and in due course were. As Müller himself wrote to his mother, “all the best people voted for me, the Professors almost unanimously, but the vulgus profanum made the majority”.
The social bases of conservatism and progressivism were also represented by the two men: Williams, son of an officer in the East India Company’s army, Müller, grandson of a European Prime Minister.
What’s remarkable about the election is not simply that it was an episode in the culture war between advancing universalism and retreating traditionalism, but that it was openly so, and that it was debated in terms of which side should win the culture war. It was universally understood that the line taken by Oxford University in this matter was of crucial importance for the future. There is no suggestion of academia being remote or isolated from the key cultural and political battlefields:

The Professorship is not for Oxford alone.
It is not for ‘The Continent and America’.
It is for India.
It is for Christianity.
Let us then Vote for the man who is well-known and loved in India, and who, even by the voice of his opponents, is declared to be a trustworthy depositary of the Christian interests of a Christian Foundation.

Today, Müller’s Wikipedia article is three times the length of Williams’, and includes this gem:

The designer Mary Fraser Tytler stated that Müller’s book Chips from a German Workshop (a collection of his essays) was her “Bible”, which helped her to create a multi-cultural sacred imagery.

Christopher Minkowski is the current Boden professor of Sanskrit (under the 1882 rules that removed control of the chair from the Convocation of Oxford graduates and brought it under the control of the University authorities). In his inaugral lecture in 2006, he made reference to the history of the professorship, contrasting the intent behind its original endowment — promotion of missionary Christianity in India — with the contrary attitude represented by Sir William Jones, founder of the Asiatick Society in Calcutta in 1784. Minkowski describes Jones as “the most prominent articulator in his day of a universalizing Enlightenment ideal, believing that the study of the cultural artefacts of ancient civilizations, and especially of India’s ancient civilzation, could provide instruction and edification for modern people. At the same time, he argued that it would be in the interests of good government in India for British rulers to understand the culture of those whom they ruled, and to govern as much as possible through pre-existent cultural forms.”
As to what Wikipedia says about Jones, well, I have to stop somewhere, and he looks well worth an article in his own right. Tutor to the future Earl Spencer (later Home Secretary), friend of Benjamin Franklin and supporter of American independence are minor asides in his biography
Back to Müller and Williams, I don’t want to oversimplify; a claim that Williams represents tradition and Müller the nascent Cathedral is more than supportable, but is subject to interesting qualifications. The mid-nineteenth century in England was the period where the progressive elite was privately shrugging off Christianity as a source of truth for their own use, while not yet abandoning it as the basis of the social order. Williams’ faction is therefore not simply the Tory opposition to progressivism, but also elements of the Whig side whose ideology still centred on the Christian religion rather than the new progressive morality that was beginning to separate itself from it. There was still a large overlap between puritan morality and progressive ideology, but differences were appearing, and the new multiculturalism was one of them. Thus, the bishops were for Müller, while the missionaries were for Williams.
The contradiction survives today in the Church of England and other protestant denominations — pockets of socially conservative Christians sending missionaries to convert the heathens to the True Faith, in spite of a hierarchy over them dedicated to social justice, respect for other religions, and the political debates of the day

Bureaucracy and Power

In my previous post discussing the tension between Bureaucracy and Aristocracy, I was not actually describing two forms of government, but three.

The ‘tension’ is between bureaucratic centralism, where a central authority rules through appointed officials, and aristocracy, where offices belong to a noble class who have some guaranteed degree of independence from the central power.

What we actually have today is neither one nor the other, but a self-perpetuating and largely unaccountable bureaucracy. It is not quite yet a true aristocracy, though it is well on the way, but it is
nearly immune from “political influence”, to the degree it is sometimes openly demanding such immunity.

So when Spandrell comments that there is no alternative to rule by bureaucracy, I am not quite sure what he means. Certainly we have had no aristocratic rule in a modern country for a couple of centuries; the dominant ideology has been set against it. However, it does not seem impossible to have a bureaucracy under genuine central control. I get the impression that prior to World War II, the governments of Britain and the USA were mostly in control of their bureaucracies: they could fire officials and dictate policy.

Moldbug’s interpretation of US history is that the FDR Government was entirely in sympathy with the bureaucracy, and effectively did not end as later governments were not able to divert the Civil Service from the path that FDR set it on.

In Britain, the Civil Service seems to have gained power over approximately the same period, due to a combination of the destruction of the old ruling class in the Great War, and the arrival of Labour politicians, outsiders to the government system, who the Civil Servants were both willing and able to defy.

My answer, therefore, is that it is possible for a government to rule through a bureaucracy, rather than being ruled by it, and that this was the normal situation prior to 1918, and to a lesser degree even up to 1945. If the government were no longer subject to elections and media opinion, it would be in a much stronger position to impose its will on the bureaucrats.

As for aristocratic rule: if the existing civil servants were to mainly hire their own children, we would be there — it is conceivable that we could have a de facto aristocracy within a decade or
two. Replacing the existing bureaucracy with a different aristocracy, such as the old titled families of Britain, is more far-fetched; but given (somehow) the total ideological sea change that it would require, there are no practical obstacles to it functioning.

Democracy affects the tension between the centre and the bureaucracy in two major ways: as above, the precarious position of elected politicians weakens them vis-a-vis their permanent officials (Moldbug’s “rotor/stator” point). Second, the employment of very large numbers of low-ranking officials becomes one of the main forms of vote-buying. The junior officials do not have direct power over policy in the sense that senior civil servants do, but they have democratic power over questions relating to their continued employment and working conditions. In Britain particularly, the Labour party is now overwhelmingly the party of state employees. Without votes, the block power of junior state employees would be vastly diminished.

Admin note: anonymous commenting is now enabled for the blog

Five Tensions

While pondering the tricky questions that have come to be debated within the reaction — such things as the conservation of sovereignty, I was struck by this lecture in a series of Harvard’s online learning that I’ve been working through on Chinese history.

This lecture, covering the Han dynasty, raises a lot of the questions that we’ve already been looking at about how power should be organised in a reactionary state.

(It doesn’t provide answers, which doesn’t matter since I’m not all that concerned with what Harvard thinks the right answers are, but it’s a good look at the questions).
The key slide is 25:

centralization versus regionalism
feudalism versus bureaucracy
hereditary right versus merit
military versus civil interests
inner court versus outer court

The lecturer says, “None of these institutional tensions … is ever stabilized perfectly in Chinese history”

As important as these tensions are, I don’t think there are clear-cut answers to them, even to the closely-related second and third tensions which I’ve previously written about in some detail. I didn’t do more than critique the progressive position which is unequivocally in favour of bureaucracy over feudalism and meritocracy over hereditary right. In attacking that position I did not establish that the reactionary state should adopt the wholly opposite position.

In the absence of simple answers, we can nevertheless talk sensibly about how a reactionary state would handle the tensions.

This whole discussion exists in the context of the long comment chain at Outside In which considered the nature of limitations on power or sovereignty. Crucially, we do not believe we can design a solution to the problems of government. We are not writing a legal constitution for a supreme court to enforce. What I am hoping to produce is constitutional writing in an older sense: a description of how a good government works, that influential people can point to when a question that it addresses becomes relevant, and say, “as described in the collected writings of AnomalyUK, this development which seems to be happening is harmful and should be resisted; rather, the current problems should be addressed in this other way”. It’s not guaranteed to work, but nothing else possibly can. It’s what I mean when I talk about the war of ideas.

To demonstrate, consider yet again the tension between feudalism and
bureaucracy.

The reactionary argument for bureaucracy is the Moldbuggian one that power should be undivided. If subordinates serve at the whim of the sovereign, there is no struggle for power between the subordinates and the sovereign, and therefore no policies adopted for their effect on the balance of power between the two, rather than for their overall effect on the realm. Establishing powers of subordinates that can be exercised in defiance of the sovereign historically tends to lead to civil wars between barons and the crown, and to stripping of assets by aristocracies who get all the benefits of seizures, while the long-term benefits of respecting private property of commoners accrue generally.

The reactionary argument for feudalism is that undivided power is an unrealistic aim; that underlings will in fact be able to exercise power in private interests, since limitations of knowledge and time mean they can never be supervised sufficiently, and therefore, on formalist principles, their powers should be established and exercised openly. This actually reduces the conflict over the extent of their powers compared to the case where the powers are informal and exercised surreptitiously. Further, establishing a formal class of aristocrats stabilises the system by giving a large body of powerful people an interest in preserving it. It breaks the link between educational institutions and political patronage that defines today’s cathedral.

There’s a lot more that can be said on both sides, and it’s worth doing, but for now that serves as an example of how to look at the tensions. In teasing out the arguments, we can link them to circumstances, and show what circumstances favour particular approaches and solutions.

It is easy to see how a state can move between bureaucracy and feudalism. Starting from bureaucracy, if the sovereign is unwilling or unable to overrule his officials, they will consolidate their power, and collectively take control over selection of entrants to their ranks, eventually reaching the stage of being able to hold offices within families. Conversely, a stronger sovereign will bypass established families and institutions, and divert influence to appointed officials of his own choosing, loyal to him personally. Both of these courses are familiar.

What I have argued for most recently is a formally established but weak aristocracy. That would not be immune from either being bypassed or growing more powerful, subject to circumstances and personalities. The justifications for it are:

It provides a pool of officials under higher than normal expectations of loyalty and good behaviour
Hereditary privileges are a reward for loyalty and achievement
It prevents some other institution with an important purpose from becoming a de facto aristocracy

If a strong king can rule well without relying on the aristocracy, that is probably a good thing, but the three justifications above become three dangers. His successors may not have his advantages, and therefore may struggle to find trustworthy underlings either among a disgruntled aristocracy or a competitive and anonymous commons. The powerful may scheme to find ways to privilege their descendants if there is no approved path to do so. Other institutions (educational, media, military) could acquire aristocratic pretensions and compromise their proper function in doing so. If these things start to happen, the cause should not be a mystery.

The Modern Structure

Moldbug’s coining “The Cathedral” has caught on and been the subject of much debate, but his other term “The Modern Structure” less so, which is a shame.
The Modern Structure is the constitution of the United States of America, in the sense that that term was originally used — a description of how the government of that country operates. Other Western Democracies have very similar constitutions.
The centre of the Modern Structure is the Civil Service. They actually carry out the business of government.
In theory, they are under the control of Politicians, but in reality the politicians are at most peers of the civil service, and in many cases completely subservient.
In theory again, the Politicians are controlled by the Electorate. However, the influence of the Electorate is slight: enough to tip the balance occasionally when the issue is close, but not to dictate anything. Further, on any issue, the majority of the electorate are completely ignorant, and depend on the media for information about the issue and how they should vote.
Meanwhile, business has at least as much influence on the politicians, and additionally has direct influence on the civil service (through lobbying and other forms of corruption).
In terms of power over government policy, then, the map of influences look something like this:

That is less than half the story, however. In the long run, what matters is not how the noisy controversies of the moment get resolved, but rather what is or is not controversial in the first place. That is the matter of the dominant ideology — what all the people in this network believe about what is and what should be.
The ideology is not fixed: it has changed enormously over mere decades. Who has influence over ideology?
The high status of the organs of the modern structure make them significant, but there are other important influences, and other directions of influence within the network.
This diagram shows the flows of ideological influence. For this purpose I have broken out of “Education” the most crucial organ of ideological influence — “Elite Academia”. This is where ideology comes from.

It is true that, in a sense, everything influences everything else. However, a fully-connected undirected graph has little information content, so the diagram only shows what I think are the biggest influences on what people believe.
I have left out business from the ideology diagram. My view is that while business and lobbyists are able to significantly affect policy, they has very little influence on what people believe. They perhaps have the capability of causing such influence, but in practice businesses are primarily in competition with each other, and it is much more profitable for each player to spend his influence on favouring his own narrow interests rather than on promoting a general business-oriented ideology. To the extent that a business-oriented ideology exists, it is developed by enthusiasts, and funded more by a few eccentrics such as the Kochs rather than by moneyed interests as a whole.
However, this is a disputed point, so here’s the diagram with them added back in, and with the Conservative media broken out from the respectable media.

With or without business interests, it is in the network of ideological influence that we see “The Cathedral” — Elite Academia and Respectable Media — at the core. Ideology flows out from them.
It should go without saying, that this is not intended to be the last word: it is my interpretation of what is mostly general knowledge, and there is a lot of room for refinement, correction and expansion.

Conservation of Sovereignty

Nick Land wants us to get to the
bottom of the Moldbuggian precept, “Sovereignty is conserved”.
The response has been a lot of wrangling about definitions. But it
doesn’t look like being resolved, so I’d rather bypass it and get to
specifics.
There are two things that Moldbug might mean. The first is that
someone is always supreme: that if you attempt to limit the
sovereignty of the nominal sovereign, someone else becomes sovereign
in his place. (The second is that sovereignty can be divided but still
“add up” — I will not address that here).
When he talks of the “Council of Nine”, the first meaning is what he
appears to intend. The president is not sovereign: he is subject to
law. Who decides what the law is? — The Supreme Court. Do they have
untrammelled sovereignty? — in theory not, since they also are subject
to law. But they decide what the limitations are on their own power,
not only on the President’s. Therefore, in reality, they are
sovereign.
Does this sovereignty mean they are all-powerful? Clearly not. Their
power can only be exercised through the bureaucracy, the police, the
army, and there are instructions they could issue that would not be
obeyed.
Then again, that is true of every sovereign, up to the most absolute
of monarchs.
Nevertheless there is a difference, in that an instruction of the
Supreme Court might be defied because its subjects believe it has
exceeded its legal role. A truly absolute monarch might be defied for
other reasons, but not for that reason.
It is not clear to what extent historical monarchs were considered
truly absolute in that sense. The question of whether a monarch was in
theory subject to some law, though there was no formal body that could
impose it on him, seems to have been an open one through British
history, with arguments made on both sides. My impression is that the
less absolute view generally had the upper hand, at least from Magna
Carta on.
Note this is the position in favour of “sovereignty is conserved” —
the conclusion is that the sovereignty that the US Supreme Court has
is the same as the sovereignty that Henry VIII had. Not perfect or
complete, but supreme over any formal rival.
At the same time, it makes the conservation of sovereignty less
interesting. It means that a ruler still has practical limitations on
his power, in spite of his sovereignty. The nature and scope of those
limitations are matters of great interest, but are excluded from the
question of sovereignty.
The question that follows is: what is the effect of denying legal
sovereignty to the role of “leader”. On one hand, it might be nothing:
whoever has the legal sovereign is the leader, and a purported leader
without sovereignty is an empty figurehead. On the other hand, it
might be significant — the practical limitations on a sovereign who is
supposed to be a judge rather than a leader are different from the
case where the sovereign and the leader are the same person.

Unimportance of Policy

My vision of a reactionary future is a state with a secure but small
government, that insists on its own sovereignty but is otherwise light
in touch; that supports norms of traditional social behaviour but does
not enforce them; that is tolerant of both home-grown and immigrant
minority subcultures but does not permit them to attempt to impose
themselves or their sensitivities on the traditional culture of the
country.
I think that will work well. I want it because I think it will work
well. If I am wrong, and it works badly — under-regulated businesses
pauperise the bulk of the population; immigrant ghettoes subvert the
native culture and cause crime and disorder; other problems I have not
anticipated — then I don’t want it.
Among those of us who call ourselves reactionaries, there are some
with very different visions of a reactionary society. If one of them,
like me, says that they wish to see their vision realised because it
will work well, then we are allies, in spite of our conflicting
visions, because the reactionary principle we share is that neither
they nor I get to decide how a good society is to be achieved. That is
a matter for the legitimate sovereign, not for votes or opinion polls
or TV debates.
I do not hold it at all likely that a newly-installed reactionary
regime will immediately establish a state exactly according to my
particular vision. So be it. A reactionary ruler has a precious
attribute that no non-reactionary ruler can have: his legitimacy is
independent of his policy.
If a ruler imposes heavy wealth taxes, and they drive investment out
of the country, and jobs disappear, and the people become poorer, and
his revenues fall, he can shrug, and say, “that turned out badly”, and
reverse the policy. If a group of radical Wiccanists buy a couple of
square miles of land, set up a private village, permitted by the
policy of religious freedom, and then start sneaking out to bomb
churches, the government can ban their organisations and require
specific licensing for any new religious community. In neither case
will the U-turn in policy undermine the right of the government to
keep on governing.
This shit is difficult, and I don’t expect anyone to get it right
first time. One of the great problems of democracy is that those in
power (whether formal or informal) largely achieve it by associating
themselves with specific policies, and are therefore subject to
overwhelming incentive to hold those same policies regardless of
evidence. The shift of power from politicians to academics was
intended to solve this problem, but it only resulted in turning
academics into politicians, their academic positions tied to the
policies they support, and no more able to recant an error than an
elected representative. A climatologist radically changing his
estimate of the climate sensitivity is in exactly the same position as
a Member of Parliament crossing the floor of the house.
If a new King comes to absolute power, and adopts policies that I
think are bad, I will wait for him to see the bad effects, and fix the
policies. He is far more likely to be responsive to reality than is a
sprawling institutional structure that admits acolytes to its ranks on
the basis of their loyalty to the political campaigns of the
moment. That is the fatal flaw of the Modern Structure: by tying
legitimacy to particular policies, it produces policy based on what
sounds good in an ivory tower, not on what pleases Nature or Nature’s
God when it is applied.
Questions of policy are relevant to reactionaries only as
demonstrations of the failings of the Modern Structure to recognise
failure and respond to it.
Admittedly, the question of what “working well” means is not quite as
clear-cut as I would like. It’s conceivable that the ruler could
decide that the policies I want are working badly, when it seems to me
they are working well. We are all so used to dealing with politicians
who will swear blind that obvious catastrophes are triumphs that I
think we tend to overestimate this problem. A sovereign who benefits
from real success and is harmed by real failure is, in my judgement,
far more likely to assess success and failure more reasonably than a
politician who benefits only from the popular perception of
success. The key difference is that a secure King cares what his
subjects think of the country, not what they think of him. He may
still prefer the effects of policies that are not my own favourites,
but if he does then they are almost sure to be good enough. Good
government is very difficult, and satisficing is a perfectly sane
approach.
Update: I just saw nickbsteve’s latest. He makes a related
point: that while it is in the nature of the Cathedral to make factual errors,
the particular factual errors it makes are not the most important thing, compared
to the mechanisms that cause it to make those errors. I would say that the particular
failing of the Cathedral is not the fact of its making errors, but its relative
inability to correct them, for the reasons above.

Lots of Clubs

My answer to the question, “what should reactionaries actually do?”
has been, “build a theory”. I’ve made the argument,
over a few years,
that any kind of actual political activism is harmful. The elite need
to be converted, not defeated, and directly challenging them for power
will never achieve that.
However, that answer is very unsatisfying for some people. There are
people out there who want to get rid of democracy and politicians, but
are not inclined to write books or follow a dozen blogs worth of
reactionary theory. Their obvious outlet would be a fascist movement,
but some may understand the shortcomings and flaws of that approach.
People who are looking for the Modern Structure to be replaced when it
fails by something more traditional should, most of all, get
together. This is
Heubeck
again, but even his “book clubs” are too narrow an approach. Video
clubs, sports clubs, craft clubs, dining clubs — any of these
contribute to the culture as long as they stick to three rules: have
some kind of traditionalist orientation, be selective in membership,
and prohibit political participation.
Obviously, with there not being a hierarchy to give orders, some of
these clubs could fall away from virtue and become democratic,
fascist, or just clubs. Is that worse than not forming them? Today we
have nothing; if we succeed in this, we can start to weaken the
democratic culture at its edges.
There are those who say, that since we are in favour of hierarchy,
that our movement should start by being hierarchical — as if the first
step in overthrowing democracy is for someone to appoint himself King,
and then look for subjects. It won’t work that way. The people have to
want a King before they can have one. Not that this is a bottom-up
movement, either: the people will demand a King when the elite tell
them to. Influencing the elite will be a slow process, but the major
aim is to make the unthinkable
thinkable,
and having numbers of ordinary respectable people is a way to do that.
Shunning politics is the most important value. That means not just
parties and elections, but single-issue campaigns, demonstrations, and
the like. Adding more fascists just tells the elite that they need to
crack down harder on fascists. Adding more normal-seeming people who
just chuckle when you talk to them about political issues and say they
don’t care for pretending to know how to rule a country, they’d rather
just have a King, might have a small creeping effect on what ideas are
considered unthinkable.
Publicity is a different matter. Once you have a viable organisation,
it is good to get some exposure, but the exposure should be centred on
the club’s activity. The anti-political aspect should be an incidental
matter.
There is a catch there, in that selective membership may be illegal in
some jurisdictions. In that circumstance, it is necessary to be less
formal. The club should have no assets, no bank account. It can still
have officers, but paperwork should be minimised, expenditures should
be raised on an ad-hoc basis, any bookings of premises or equipment
should be done as a personal transaction by a member. If the club is
attacked by the authorities for not being inclusive enough, do not
whine or fight, just go away, and go informal. (If the club is just
criticised, not actually attacked, shrug and carry on). Both the
attack and the lack of response serve our purpose — they show that the
members are just ordinary people who are not political extremists, but
who want to socialise in a way that is not allowed or approved by the
state.
If it does start to go wrong — progressives are accidentally admitted
and start to take over — deal with the problem quietly or not at
all. Better to abandon it, wait a few months, and start again, than
get in a big public split between “right-thinking people” and
“extremists”. The same if the club becomes associated with right-wing
activists. Politics cannot be allowed. It’s just about OK for members
to vote in elections if they’re quiet about it, but it must be
prohibited for a member to be publicly associated with any party or
campaign.
The fact that these clubs are neither talking shops for theorists nor
political cadres does not mean than the members need to be stupid. At
the very least, the “no politics” rule needs to be defended. The
members should know who the reactionary theorists are, and should be
aware that the brazen competition for power between interest groups is
both a barrier to solving the real problems of the state, and a
necessary feature of democracy. They should know that they are
excluding themselves from the political process not out of defeatism,
but as a method of undermining the legitimacy of the régime.
That is not much to ask. Just this morning, @UK_Resistance, which
appears to be a straightforward nationalist account, tweeted,
“Proud to be disenfranchised working class”. I was
impressed. Recognising and accepting disenfranchisement is the way of
creating an alternative basis of legitimacy for a non-progressive
ruler.
The Jack Donovan quote
used by the Radish
is another strong way of putting it: “I’m not advocating apathy. I
don’t want you to stop caring. I want you to stop believing. I want
you to withdraw your consent. The best thing you can do for your
country — for the men around you, for the future — is to let the
system tear itself apart.”

Chances of success

What are the Reaction’s chances of success? An answer given by several commenters in Foseti’s big thread is: none. The Cathedral is too strong.

“not only does the Cathedral monopolise status (whilst also being
kind of grey and awful in most people’s eyes, I’d say), but things
that identify as ‘right’, and overtly countenance inequality,
authority, tradition etc. have been consistently losing for hundreds
of years. Sensible people steer clear of loser ideologies.” — James G
“there is absolutely no way any contrarian ideas can ever be ‘made
cool’ in today’s world. The Cathedral has an absolute iron monopoly
on manufacturing cool, and trying to counter its propaganda machinery with your own attempts at ‘cool’ is like challenging all the demons of Hell hoping that you’ll scare them away by saying ‘boo’ loudly.” — Vladimir
“The ‘serious people’ are conditioned to run from anything that even smacks of reactionary thought. The ‘serious people’ would like
nothing better than to see our ideas outlawed. There’s precious
little status to be found here…” — survivingbabel

I think that assessment underestimates both the intensity of actual practical ineffectiveness of the establishment, and how recent a phenomenon that lack of effectiveness is. We hold that the underlying ideological faults in the establishment go back centuries, and the truth of that should not blind us to the fact that up until a few decades ago, it was nevertheless practically very effective.

During the time that it was, despite its philosophical flaws, able to successfully run a civilisation, it was indeed very hard to attract well-socialised people to a rival ideology. That period is over, and what was previously impossible is now becoming a realistic goal. See, for instance, the flourishing of radical Islam within Europe. Islam is not, in fact, a progressive ideology. True, progressives are forced by their ideology into giving it more space and encouragement than they ought, but that is not the same thing as actually wanting liberal youths to convert to a political belief system that involves religious law, patriarchy, strictly enforced rules about sex, etc. etc. Islam wins by exploiting the contradictions in progressivism.

The liberal ideology is also forced to make concessions to us. They claim to believe in science, in free political debate, in respect for the individual. When they defy those principles to attack us, they weaken themselves.

And, at the same time, their failures are becoming bigger and more obvious. Take one example: at some point in our lifetime, it will become obvious to everyone that the great Global Warming scare was false. When that happens, the debates that happened, the books that were written, will still be around in memories and on bookshelves.

This is a new thing — by the time that the failures of, say, female suffrage or decolonisation had become obvious, the accurate predictions made in advance had become obscure and mostly forgotten. After twenty years, the argument over AGW is still current, and in twenty years time, the scientific establishment will be completely discredited by it.

There are numerous other areas where things are not only worse than ever before, but getting worse at an increasing rate. The speed of disaster is the crucial thing: it outstrips the Cathedral’s ability to rewrite history. Given enough time between a failed policy and its results, the policy can be painted as a right-wing aberration committed against the better judgement of progressives, or else so totally established that any alternative is unthinkable, despite the failure of the chosen policy. That works over a scale of fifty years, but not over fifteen.

The only thing that can save the Cathedral is conservatism, a moderating of the headlong progressive rush that can slow the rate of failure down so that the old methods will work. That has happened before when the rate of leftward movement became dangerous to the whole structure. But, while the effectiveness of its rule has deteriorated, the ability of the left to emasculate and marginalise conservatism has increased. The chances of a Thatcher or Reagan appearing in the next decade or so to slow the rate of decline and provide a scapegoat for some of the failures looks very slim. The worse things get, the more likely it is that some serious conservatism might appear to staunch the bleeding. If it can’t happen in ten years, maybe it will happen in twenty. But if it can happen, that means that the Cathedral’s monopoly of cool, and, more importantly, respectability, has already frayed. If a long-excluded conservatism can gain status, then so can we. And if it can’t then the decline continues to gather pace and the failings of the state continue to become more obvious.

In the end, we don’t need to beat the left. We only need to beat the right — a much easier goal. The only thing that can save The Cathedral is conservatism. We can stop it.

Antidisestablishmentarianism

I wrote before, that while religion can be a force for reaction,
Religion, or at any rate Christianity,
should not be
the primary basis of a reactionary state. There are too many factions
(even within nominally hierarchical churches like the Catholic
Church). If the mechanisms for resolving religious disagreement come
to dictate government policy, that perverts religion and destabilises
government.
The liberal approach to this problem is to separate church and state —
to guarantee the church’s independence from the state. This can be
fairly workable, but it can reach absurd lengths: the currently
dominant interpretation in the USA is that the state cannot act in any
way out of religious motive. No genuinely religious person would
willingly tolerate that, and it has only come about because the
irreligious, or, more accurately, the adepts of a religion that has
managed to classify itself as a non-religion, have taken all power in
the state. (It also interprets a 220-year-old law in direct
contradiction to the way it was understood and followed for the first
150 years of its existence, which is an insult to logic and to the
concept of law, but that’s not important right now).
The problem with separation is that church and state become
rivals. Bishops can become a dangerous example of the kind of
over-mighty subject
I wrote about two years ago — people with substantial real power that
is not formalised within the state. My recommendation for other
“mighty subjects” is to require them to accept a state position of
honour which puts them under supervision by the sovereign. This is
problematic in the case of a clergyman who can properly claim to be
serving a higher power than the sovereign.
The solution that England found was to put the whole church under the
nominal control of the state. That doesn’t mean that the Queen is the
High Priestess, and she doesn’t routinely rule on doctrinal matters,
but it does mean that in the case of a serious disagreement between
church and state, state wins. If you don’t want an actual theocracy,
that is what has to happen.
In order to work, the relationship between church and state has to go
both ways. If the church is to survive under state control, the
sovereign, and the large part of the leaders of the state, have to be
supporters of the church.
There is still room for religious freedom, but that’s not the same as
all religions being treated equally. If you want to be high in
government, you should be a member of the established church, or else
be very exceptional. If your dissenting religion involves human
sacrifice, or advocates overthrowing the state or the established
church, then it will be suppressed like any other criminal or
seditious organisation.
It is in the interest of state and society for there to be an
established religion in which the majority of the population
participate. Normal behaviour should include regular religious
observance.
There might even be a case for small fines for non-observance. Or
maybe better, the state-backed social insurance / welfare system could
be run through the church — dissenting churches can go and set up
their own. There is great social value in giving the nation a venue of
shared ritual, and atheists can put up with sitting through an hour of
drivel once a week, particularly if they know they are not the only
ones just going through the motions. Just think of all the other
things you sit through for the sake of fitting in socially.
Note that, like many reactionary proposals, this one is targeted at a
particular people in a particular place. The Church of England would
probably not be appropriate for a small
research/manufacturing-oriented colony on a seastead. It is
appropriate for England. The principles underlying the argument are
more broadly applicable, and even the seastead should have some
established pattern of ritual.