And Yesterday was the Same as Tomorrow, or The Importance of Not Being Very Earnest At All

Dearest friends,

Here is an excellent post by an excellent man.

Here is another!

When Monsieur le Baron was a small child, he learned great tales of princes and kings, warlords and scholars, empires and barbarians. It was all quite lovely. Then Monsieur le Baron grew a little larger and discarded such things as moonbeams and fantasies. Then, even later, Monsieur le Baron found out it was all mostly true.

Still later, Monsieur le Baron was delighted to find his peers were similar, all with their own storied lineages and ancient histories. Now, the neoreactionaries among you may be wondering how one can reconcile an observed reality of most everyone of talent being blueblooded with an ideological claim of human equality.

It’s simple – the peasants were kept down and remain kept down by cisheteroviolent patriarchal oligocapitalist oppression. To free them so that a thousand blossoms may bloom, we must smash the System, man.

One might wonder how such a silly boy could believe such a silly thing.

It’s really quite simple!

Everyone believed it!

Now, a digression.

When the Revolution came to Russia, as it always does and always will come to every country, the nobles rolled out literal red flags and ribbons and the metaphorical red carpet. And while most of the Romanovs either died or fled, one, Natalia Romanov of the Iskander branch, outlived the Revolution, outlived Lenin, outlived Stalin, and ultimately, outlived the entire Soviet Union.

Of all groups, one might expect the nobility to be most resistant to signalling. Their social position is almost as high as it can possibly be. Their wealth is, if not infinite, then usually enough. And if anyone has the clout to tell USG to fuck off, it is those who are independently powerful. Life is pretty good. One might expect these people to put up a resistance, however tepid, to the leftward swim of Cthulhu, since any gain in someone else’s SP must come at their cost. Yet, everywhere one looks, it is highborn sons of illustrious families atop the Cathedral. It is Otto von Habsburg leading the charge of the Eurocrats.

What motivates a nobility?

Some might say power. Some might say the maximization of profit, paid in delicious golden shekels. Some might say social status. And all these things are pretty true.

But I am a natural craven, so I propose yet another answer: first and foremost, they are concerned with the preservation of their own miserable hides. Power is a strange thing in that it must constantly be maintained against others. If one is not growing in strength, one is weakening. This is true of nations, corporations, and ultimately, even individuals. The only security lies in true absolute power, and the only respite from danger is to constantly grow. A shark has to keep swimming or it suffocates. States do not remain in little patchworks but agglomerate into larger and larger empires. Companies devour or crush their rivals by hook and by crook. And nobles? Nobles scheme relentlessly.

To scheme is to speak the language of power. That language is leftism. It is popular to divide the world into Kshatriya and Brahmin, one being hard-nosed realists born to rule and the other being a detached, unworldly priestly class. But in reality, to remain Kshatriya, to remain regnant, one must speak the argot of the day’s leftists – one must be Brahmin as well.  Otherwise, someone else will – and they’ll slit your throat. There are no prizes for dying with dignity. However, he remains tied to certain realities by the Gods of the Copybook Headings and by Gnon. We might call these realities Kshatriya realities. Thus, the true nobleman is two-faced, singing Brahmin lies from one mouth and whispering Kshatriya truths with the other. He is Janus, straddling the line between barbarism and civilization. And it is he that is the true fist of the Revolution.

Looked at this way, most leftists need not be sociopathic status-maximizers at all. They need only be powerful and fearful. There don’t even have to be many or even any sociopathic status maximizers in the modern population – generation N can signal leftism creating the environment which drives generation N+1 to signal leftism to survive which drives generation N+2 to signal leftism etc etc.

Let’s face it, if Bioleninism and its predecessors were only championed by the dregs of society, there would have never been a single Revolution, let alone an eternal and unstoppable leftward Cthulhu swim. These people are dregs for a *reason*. People who can’t even reliably put cheese on a hamburger patty certainly can’t reliably overthrow a government. At least not on their own.

Dennis the Menace, meet Janus the Manus.

So what’s the lesson of the Russian Revolution? It’s bad to be a conservative. It’s okay to be a liberal. It’s good to be a socialist. It’s even better to be a communist.

And best of all is to be NKVD, carrying out the will of the Red Tsar. That is beautiful Natalia’s little magic trick to outlive an entire regime.

This is how you end up with a Cathedral full of heretics. Even in its decay, the organ pipes of the Cathedral sing a terrible and beautiful melody, the sublime musical cacophony of a thousand artillery shells, thermite bombs, and automatic rifles ringing out in unity, the undulating growl of countless treasure ships laden heavy with tribute bound for the Throne, upon which sits, by the Grace of Our Lord, God-Emperor Trump, flanked by legions of Kshatriya-Brahmin, the perfected thoroughbreds of centuries of eugenic breeding, heretic-evangelists who have pledged their lives and sovereign honor to the Empire and its Cathedral, the mightiest and most prosperous the world has ever known. There is much virtue even in a dying empire.

And sure, each generation will see fewer and fewer Warrior-Brahmin and more and more evil fat black ladies as the tension between Cathedral ideology and lived reality continues to grind. But this is a slow fall, and it may go unnoticed until one day a hollow-eyed Odoacer wanders the ruins of a once great empire.

But! But! But, you might object, Monsieur le Baron, isn’t it the case that these less leftist governments were much, much better at the business of government? If all of the elite could come together and repudiate this insane nonsense (and it is insane nonsense, because that’s better to signal loyalty), or at least 50% of it, everyone would be better off. Great! Wonderful! Bring on the Restoration.

I have even taken the liberty of preparing a letter for you announcing the Restoration. Here:

Dear Peasants,

You are all zoosmells and the ugly. We, the upper middle class, hereby renounce that wretched republican name and resume our glorious existence as the divine aristocracy, doer of all good things. Please report to your nearest liquidation center for dysgenic counteraction. There will be free food and refreshments, followed by death.

By order of,
Louis LXIV, the Super Mario Sunshine King

If people prioritized the collective good over individual rationality, Communism might have actually stood a chance of working.

Political catallaxy is the phenomena by which humans spontaneously arrange themselves into organizations which make everyone involved miserable.

Sure, a powerful king can arrest such signalling spirals. But those guys are few and far between. Court politics was known as treacherous for a reason.

Lest we idealize the past, my problems were my grandfather’s problems and my grandfather’s grandfather’s problems. And at the end of the day, my grandfather was shot.

Although, there was less shit on the streets.

And the wine was better.

In unfortunate sobriety,
Monsieur le Baron

An Introduction, or Churls of the World Unite

Dearest friends,

Come in, come in.

Your presence is welcome and appreciated.

What is this little corner about?

Well, do permit me to tell you a tale – it’ll only take a moment of your time.

Like many of you, in years past, I went to a reasonably respectable school. And in this school, I had reasonably respectable opinions. And I went about my reasonable and respectable business, stopping only to go to my classes a reasonable amount of the time or to eat a respectable meal at a reasonable price.

In my classes, I learned many reasonable things using the power of my reason, all in the service of giving me respectable work so that I might be a respectable fellow. I rather respected this goal, as I wished nothing more than to walk the same path my forebears had walked for a hundred generations. This was, I thought, a very reasonable wish.

Now, in this respectable school, there was a certain set of rules, rules which everyone felt reasonably reasonable. After all, they spoke of little but respect and the importance of respecting others, all of whom were, of course, also very respectable persons to begin with. And yet… something felt very faintly unreasonable about the reasonable rules. Yours truly, being a passable student as well as a strapping young lad, knew very well that curiosity killed cat and man alike. But, regardless, I decided to satisfy this urge – after all, wasn’t the university a place to slake such thirsts? A reasonable thing to think.

So I asked around. Immediately, I found someone else who agreed. While one man might easily be crazy, it was a rarer thing for two fellows to independently come to the same lunacy. A comfort indeed. This could have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

I asked more people. And the more people I asked, the more it seems no one really believed the reasonable code was very reasonable at all. In this crowd of priests was not one believer, even though, being student officials, they were often the ones tasked with enforcing the reasonable code. What was merely curious now became intensely curious.

I must admit that this was the beginning of my descent into being the churlish fellow I am now.

If you value your dignity, turn back now.

Yours Unhappily,
Monsieur le Baron