Why You Shouldn't Give Yarvin One Scintilla of Your Precious Time

These Pseudo-Intellectual Copro-Thoughts Mean Only to Waste Your Thought-Feelings. The Third Transmission of Timotheadoradorno.

A horrible possibility haunts the attempt to find reasons for the behavior of the current American regime: the attempt half-knows that the NPD person, and the fascist in general, doesn’t have to have a reason to do anything. That “just following orders” is all of it, all the way down. That total idiocy is the name of the game.

The fascination with the “dark enlightenment” of pseudo-intellectuals “behind” what is happening is a deeply traumatized attempt to understand, the thought equivalent of reeling from the blow of a hammer.

Enlightenment was always dark. That’s the antidote. It was always the white man in disguise as the transparent Nature beneath appearances. We’ve seen this movie before. No need to see a reboot, let alone review it.

Thinking must not be reduced to the plaintive cry of an abused person: “How could you do this to me?” What if there were absolutely no reason at all, just that “We did it because we can”? This is surely what all explanations of fascist violence end arrive at.

To have give such philosphoid ideational turds the time of day at all is to have complied with them. That is why I find the approach of some journalism tragic: by crediting this parallel universe of STEMmy bro-thought, the seductive darkness of a hallucinated paranoid fantasy plugs the anxious hole in the world created by the fact that a whole lot of atavistic racism and misogyny on autopilot (“on both sides, on both sides”) got the vacuous Black Hole elected President of these Barely United States.

It rationalizes Trump. It suggests that there is a philosophy “behind” the whole thing, just as antisemitic fantasies explain why to be a fascist when what is really happening is that, pace these laughably violent “thinkers,” we are already living in the Matrix, insofar as capitalism is an adaptive AI that machine learns how to extract value from life without a logical stopping point.

There, I said it. If Marx had had access to a matchbox, a small pencil and the phrases “adaptive AI” and “machine learn,” he could’ve written Capital (volume one anyway) on it and saved a lot of bother.

Let me be Oscar Wildean for a moment. Under the immense pressure of being gay in a homophobic world, Wilde entwined ideas into queer aphorisms that were more straightforward than the fake simplicity of an unironic sentence.

What galls most about Yarvin, whose name sounds like a Cornish cheese, is not the appalling violence of the idea-like thought turds that line the dog bowl of his pseudo intellect. What galls most is that they are so fucking stupid.

I shan’t be explaining why they are “wrong.” I don’t need to explore the actual “content” of the ideas, for they have no genuine content. They are, to be blunt, not ideas at all.

An idea whose shock value arrests doubt, like a cobra about to strike, is no longer an idea, but rather a serpent about to inject poison into the head of the unfortunate who gives it the time of day.

These are not ideas, they are like a man exposing himself in a public park. We should only at most laugh at their tiny scope and call the cops.

For journalism to have decided that a shadow-philosophy of extermination is even possible is to have decided that the game board on which thought operates is intrinsically fascist.

When the colonizers arrived in Latin America in 1493 onwards, what they read out was not ideas. No one, especially not them, understood the Latin of the script they were brandishing. What they recited without thinking was a Papal edict that declared the colonizers to have the right to enslave and kill anyone else who didn’t understand the meaning of what was said (including that phrase). Since the indigenous people inevitably didn’t, the colonizers got to work.

The text was not an argument, not a series of ideas. The script was only ever a means to an end for the colonizers: a way to disinhibit them, like Goring’s infamous statement that when a supporter shoots someone, it’s not them doing the shooting, it’s Goring.

A sentence that is not even heard as a sentence, let alone translated successfully, even by the person saying it, whose only value is as a kind of Papal abracadabra to permit the reader’s colleagues to commit genocide, is not a philosophical sentence in any sense of the word.

You will notice that the word philosophy says nothing about ideas at all. It says something about two emotions, or feelings, or affects, or what have you, for want of better words: love and wisdom. Wisdom not as a set of instructions or maxims, but as a feeling (that’s what the “dom” suffix is doing). To incite to violence is not to love wisdom. To allow that possibility is not to understand philosophy. Philosophy is a profound nonviolence, for in the end it even recoils against the “ideas” They think it generates, preferring instead to avoid them, like a car avoiding lampposts as it drives up a street. The street is called wisdom. The car is called love. Don’t point your car at an idea or it might have an accident. The movement between ideas is the point.

That most humans need to be exterminated and turned into fuel, or failing that, plugged in solitary confinement into some kind of Matrix for life, is not the output of a thought process, but rather the retroactive justification of a pre-existing feeling, mindset, ideology, whatever, masquerading as its raison d’être. Just as QAnon allows the believer to discover their prejudices, hey presto, underlying the appearances of this world, so this “philosophy” gives the sadistic desire to rape and murder a retroactive reason, not unlike the protagonist of American Psycho, who calls his victims fucking idiots for letting him torture and kill them.

To take it seriously makes the actually existing horrors being perpetrated daily look better by way of contrast. They may be destroying the foundations of democracy, science, medicine and charity, but at least they’re not yet turning us into biofuel. That would be truly crazy.

This—what is written, and how it is read—is not thinking, this is murder infiltrating the realm of thought, and no one need give it an iota of thought in return. To do so would be to have allowed it to kill your head. The first victim is the one who thinks they will outlast the extermination they visualize. “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings! Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!” is not a logical proposition.

It is, in the immortal words of Wolfgang Pauli, not even wrong.