“There are only three professions fit for a man: king, poet and captain. Unfortunately, I am not a poet.”
–Là-haut, un roi au-dessus des nuages
In a previous article, I introduced George Bataille’s Principle of Loss, the principle by which the immaterial rules over the material, and concluded that total expenditure must be at the heart of the Restoration. Due to the expansiveness of the Principle of Loss and the arbitrary forms that total expenditure may take, it is unclear as to how it will manifest itself within the project of civilization. In order to remedy this oversight—to concretize the theory—I propose an ambitious application of the Principle of Loss which would breach a gap at the very core of the Restoration: the establishment of the reactionary anti-hero as social technology, as living philosophical project and as total aesthetic manifestation.
What exactly is the gap at the heart of the Restoration? It is the dichotomy within the Restoration ethos which dictates that on one side there are the forces of civilization, and on the other the barbarians—on one side the worthy and on the other the unworthy. When the reactionary styles himself as a force of civilization, a force of order, and aspires to become worthy, he points to Augustus and Richelieu, Bismarck and Marcus Aurelius and says: “These are my heroes—the philosopher-kings—these are the men I must emulate; these are our thousand statesmen.”
The narrative is ancient and compelling—order and chaos; Saint George and the Dragon.
The Restoration is a barricade. The reactionary, clad in armor, draws a line into the bosom of the earth. He builds walls whose stones are the tales of great men. All within is order, all without, chaos. He warms himself at the fire of his masters—Plato and Cicero, Caesar and Charlemagne are the light in the darkness of his night. He stares into the abyss. Pitch black, absolute silence.
It is not a breeze which disturbs this silence, but the soft scratching of guitar strings—coming from somewhere beyond the walls. More and more distinct, he makes out the charming laugh of a woman and a coarse voice singing off key, then the sound of hooves sinking into mud. From the night emerges a cavalier on a skinny, tired steed. He approaches the barricade, stops his singing, dismounts his steed, and grabs the leather flask from his saddlebag. Handing the canteen to the reactionary, he greets in his raucous but comforting voice: “Good evening, Dear Friend”. The reactionary, stunned, eeks out a salutation and grabs the flask. It is more piss than wine. The cavalier taps him a little too hard on the shoulder and says: “I have come from a journey to the end of the night.”
This is our anti-hero.
When we think of a Golden Age, we tend to think of a time period. However, this concept is incorrect. The Golden Age is not a time but a place. A Restoration occurs where the worthy occupy the seats of power, the lecture halls of universities, and pews of chapels. But what happens outside the grids of power? As in our allegorical story, chaos lurks where the Restoration cannot reach. There may be pickpockets on the steps of the palace and prostitutes beneath the glorious monuments. The portraits on the coins may change, but the crassness of human existence is permanent. Even the Golden Age has its villains.
The case for a Restoration anti-hero must necessarily be made based on a clear understanding of power and its limits. The problem with the barricade is that it is more than a place of refuge—it is an outpost from which chaos must be managed. Thus, any competent Restorer understands the importance of men who have journeyed to the end of the night; men who are at ease with the unkempt and unwashed masses, men who can move speedily between all the layers of society. This relationship between the glory and purity of imperial power and its coziness with clandestine elements has oft been neglected.
However, a cursory look at the historical emergence of great empires reveals more than ample evidence to support the case for an anti-hero.
The best and clearest examples of the conviviality between imperial power and its anti-heroes can be found in the experiences and efforts which led to the establishment of the Spanish Empire. The figure of the Conquistador is a 15th century manifestation of the Restoration anti-hero. There would be no Spanish Empire and no Spanish Golden Age without the fool-hardy enterprising of some very questionable figures.
The Anti-Hero as Bataillian Archetype
If there is one term that may lend itself to the description of the Conquistador, it is ‘heterogeneous.’ It is important to pause here before proceeding and introduce some concepts that George Bataille develops in order to understand heterogeneity and its relationship with power. In his essay, The Psychological Structure of Fascism, Bataille writes:
Homogeneous society is the productive society, that is the useful portion of society. Any given useless element is not excluded from the whole of society, but merely from its homogeneous portion. […] The common measurement and the foundation of homogeneous society, and its activity, is money. Money is the numerically accountable equivalent of the different products of collective activity. Money serves to measure all work and makes men functions of their measurable products.
He then offers a description of heterogeneity in contrast to said homogeneous society:
The heterogeneous world is comprised of all the results of unproductive expenditure (the sacred also forms a part in this whole). This is the same as saying that the heterogeneous world includes all that homogeneous society has deemed either as waste or as superior transcendental value. [Those are] a number of elements and social forms which the homogeneous portion of society in unable to assimilate into itself: crowds, the warring, aristocratic and under classes, all sorts of violent individuals and more or less those refusing to conform (the mentally ill, beggars, poets, etc.)
In these two passages, Bataille notes the often ignored close proximity, even the sameness, between that which is elevated, and that which crass. Bataille also places the origin of both the elevated and the crass in the total and absolute opposition to production. It is obvious to the reactionary that it is necessary for a virile, heterogeneous power to rule over and regulate the productive segments of society, but what is less obvious is how the crass is also necessary to restoring and maintaining this very power in its place.
Let us return to our example of 17th century Spain to understand this heterogeneity. Spain was the global power of the period, despite being far less industrialized than the eternal industrial epicenter of Europe which was and still is the Rhine region—modern day Benelux, North East France and West Germany. How is it that Spain came to dominate Europe, subjugating this very Rhine region, and concurrently managed to build a global empire? A cursory look at the history books uncovers the enormous efforts of individuals from the heterogeneous sections of society—as Bataille terms it, from the “aristocratic and warring” classes but also from the “under” classes. For the former, the consolidation of the Habsburg empire under the Spanish banner was the fruit of centuries of masterful statesmanship and ceaseless military campaigning; and for the latter, the colonization of nearly the whole of the Western Hemisphere through total self-expenditure.
It is in this context that the figure of the 17th century anti-hero emerges in the Conquistador and it is this very figure who leads his sovereign and his country to the heights of glory. The class origin of this figure is particularly interesting because it is unique to Spain. Nearly all the famous and not so famous conquistadors were Hidalgos—a caste which is non-existent anywhere else in Europe. The Hidalgo is from a class which is noble by blood but lacks the influence and power of those in the effective nobility. The meaning of the term Hidalgo is “son of something,” a quip pointing at the idleness and uselessness of this class. What is the purpose of a class that lacks the influence to rule, the skill to make things, the monetary means to go to war? Francisco Pizarro, who conquered the Incan Empire with 160 men, was the bastard son of an infantry colonel seemingly condemned to a life of mediocrity and obscurity. A refuse, a waste from the nobility, Pizarro received no education and was illiterate—he was a Hiladgo par excellence. In a very real sense, the Hidalgos were a representation of this Bataillan heterogeneity as a collective.
The myth of the Conquistador is tied up with the poverty of his origins. Although it may seem like a liability to have a caste of hot-headed and dangerous people with little or no enfranchisement—political, monetary or otherwise, the circumstances of this extraordinary period permitted a nascent imperial power to orient them towards a higher purpose.
This higher purpose was journeying to the end of the night and back. There were no barricades in the virgin vastness of the Americas. The grids of power were nonexistent. Motivated by the possibility of a spectacular rise to wealth, influence and titles, these men were willing to expand all they had—themselves—in their self-interested pursuits and through this expenditure, establish one of the vastest empires known to man. Self-interest and total expenditure. The early colonial expeditions were no organized military campaigns and these Conquistadors engaged in acts, it is no secret, that were unbecoming of imperial power.
This last point is important. Although there is a tendency in the popular consciousness to romanticize anti-hero figures, we should avoid such a mistake. Daring and dangerous, yes—but often cruel, callous and criminal. We should harbor no illusions on the nature of the anti-hero. Like the gladiators of the Roman arena, anti-heroes take on themselves the total expenditure that is necessary for the continued existence of imperial power. Although it may seem to the plebians in the arena that the gladiator is the true hero of the display and in the heat of the action may seem like a God among men, he is no emperor. Both virile and heterogeneous, both necessary to keep the plebians in awe and in line, but not the same and certainly not equal.
Brief Notes on the Lumpenproletariat
When Marx was theorizing about the unavoidable clashes of the proletariat and the bourgeoisie—both homogeneous and productive classes—he had no kind words for the Lumpenproletariat. In his Eighteenth Brumaire, he wrote this insightful and colorful passage:
On the pretext of founding a benevolent society, the lumpen proletariat of Paris had been organized into secret sections, each section led by Bonapartist agents, with a Bonapartist general at the head of the whole. Alongside decayed roués with dubious means of subsistence and of dubious origin, alongside ruined and adventurous offshoots of the bourgeoisie, were vagabonds, discharged soldiers, discharged jailbirds, escaped galley slaves, swindlers, mountebanks, lazzaroni, pickpockets, tricksters, gamblers, maquereaux [pimps], brothel keepers, porters, literati, organ grinders, ragpickers, knife grinders, tinkers, beggars — in short, the whole indefinite, disintegrated mass, thrown hither and thither, which the French call la bohème; […] This Bonaparte, who constitutes himself chief of the lumpenproletariat, who here alone rediscovers in mass form the interests which he personally pursues, who recognizes in this scum, offal, refuse of all classes the only class upon which he can base himself unconditionally, is the real Bonaparte, the Bonaparte sans phrase. (Chapter 5)
Marx understood and spelled out in extraordinary fashion the close proximity of actual imperial power and the underclasses. This is the alliance and conviviality of elevated and lower heterogeneity. This is the secret of imperial power: The emperor is first and foremost the chief of the rabble. Although Marx uses the term Lumpenproletariat in a fashion that suggests only the underclasses are included in it, I would argue that any class that is unable to engage in production, in homogeneous society, and is not endowed with the divine right to rule should fall under this category.
What is the Hidalgo if not a titled “knife grinder”?
The anti-hero can only come out of the Lumpenproletariat. It is the only other class, alongside the aristocracy, capable of producing the virile individuals suitable to serve as conduits for imperial power, by virtue of being unassimilated into the numbing processes of production. The anti-hero will err to the end of the night for that is his nature. It is the Restorer’s charge to make sure this journey is done under the imperial banner.
We must make one final note on Marx’s passage before we proceed. Marx includes the “literati” into his long list of Lumpenproles. This is no coincidence.
The Anti-Hero as Philosophical Project
Although we’ve merely reviewed the mechanisms by which anti-heroes have historically sustained imperial projects, and why it is necessary to cultivate anti-hero figures within our Restoration, I believe this audacious proposition presents an opportunity which extends beyond vulgar convenience. In fact, it might prove to be a remedy to the kind of high brow thinking which characterizes reactionary thought.
The Restoration anti-hero presents us with the opportunity to take philosophy out of dusty volumes and put it into practice. This opportunity is purely geometric. The reason for this is simple. The anti-hero lives on the margins of society, never assimilating into one group, one clique but moving between all. While at night the pauper returns to the hovel and the prince to his palace, during the day they both share the streets, see each other, smell each other. Yet they do much more than that. They purchase fruit from the vendors, gawk at the beautiful young ladies, greet their friends, drink and make fool of themselves, cheat and get cheated, lie and believe. The street is where the entirety of human possibility is laid plain. It is composed of all and it is for all.
The anti-hero, as any lumpenprole worth his salt, is born in it and dwells in it. In constant and incessant movement, his ability to access the most secluded layers of society begins there. He is full view of the human condition and being confronted by it at every turn, can learn from it and find remedies to its ills.
As the French revolutionary saying goes, “La rue appartient à ceux qui l’occupent”—the streets belong to those who occupy it. The anti-hero occupies it in permanence. The streets are avenues of movement, and occupying the street does not mean blocking it, but being more adept at flowing in it. This permanence of movement imposes on the anti-hero certain material constraints, namely to be unencumbered. To travel light is to have little. These material constraints effectively forge the anti-hero into an ascetic through his renunciation of the comforts of sedentary life.
The practice of asceticism is a philosophy of its own. In the fashion of Diogenes, the philosopher of the street, the Restoration anti-hero has the ability to learn from all and teach to all. It was said of Diogenes that:
Through watching a mouse running about,[…], not looking for a place to lie down in, not afraid of the dark, not seeking any of the things which are considered to be dainties, he discovered the means of adapting himself to circumstances. He was the first, say some, to fold his cloak because he was obliged to sleep in it as well, and he carried a wallet to hold his victuals, and he used any place for any purpose, for breakfasting, sleeping, or discoursing. (Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, Diogenes Laërtius)
Diogenes, who had been an “adulterer of coinage”—is the model of philosophical practice that the Restoration anti-hero should engage in. This radical sort of philosophy is one of common sense, humility, and fierce independence. It is the acquired wisdom of the dejected classes, born out of extraordinary frustration and humiliation but also out of impossible aspiration and guile. The biting remarks of Diogenes are the fruits of a quick and profound wit and a testament to the kind of biting humor characteristic of the Lumpenproletariat.
Diogenes is particularly convenient example of the anti-hero philosopher because he reminds us of the conviviality, the oneness, of elevated and lower heterogeneity. One particular episode comes to mind, when Alexander the Great pays a visit Diogenes lounging in his barrel and he tells him that he will bestow all that the philosopher might desire, to which our anti-hero merely replies: “Get out of my sun.”
The exclamation of Alexander to this response is telling: “Had I not been Alexander, I should have liked to be Diogenes.”
The Anti-Hero as Aesthetic Manifestation
As previously stated, both Marx and Bataille understood the heterogeneous nature of the ‘literati,’ who in their day where anti-heroes in their own right. It is important to understand that both Marx and Bataille are not merely referring to individuals who write as we know it today—thick spectacled types who go on audienceless public radio shows to promote yet another novel about lesbians of color. In Marx’s and even Bataille’s time, the literati were entirely consumed by their literature—they were thought to be possessed by evil spirits. Bataille states in his essays over and over again that the true poet is one who is inhabited by a demon. Literature, as Bataille understood it, is a total expenditure—one with a monstrous price. Legendary poets such as Rimbaud were still in living memory. Rimbaud, who died at the ripe age of 28 in episodes of ‘mystical deliriums’ induced by a condition a developed while gun-running in Abyssinia, embodied the Bataillan archetype of the Lumpenprole poet better than none. However, he was not the first.
Looking back to 17th century poets such as Walter Raleigh and Edmund Spenser, we discover the same impetus behind true poetry. What is more, and not coincidentally, is their involvement in empire building. Raleigh and Spenser, fathers of the modern English verse, were comrades in the Desmond rebellions in Ireland. Raleigh was also a corsair captain, and established the first English settlement in the Americas. Once more, the same pattern emerge of anti-heroes engaged in expenditure—whether this expenditure serve to the creation of great empires or merely to the crafting of a poem.
There is no Golden Age without anti-heroes.
These are lessons we should heed. If there is a tendency within reactionary aesthetics towards aesthetics of eternity, towards monuments, wonders, epics and cathedrals, the Restoration anti-hero allows us to capture the imagination of the present day. The Restoration anti-hero as living aesthetic manifestation should be one imbued with the fleeting and the impermanent. A breathing work of art which is the sum of innumerable acts of beauty performed day after day. If the purpose of beauty is to inspire, to provide affirmation in joy and consolation in sorrow, then it can only be made by men who have experienced and understood the full depth of the human condition.
Restoration anti-heroes, paradoxically, are our vessel towards greatness, beauty, and civilization. It is time to give them a place within our civilizational project and to cultivate and elevate them towards their higher purpose.