A Long, Slow Ride to Hell (Cont'd)

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Earlier, I posted some excerpts from my new book, The Devil's Pleasure Palace, currently the top bestseller on the Amazon Philosophy/Criticism list. They largely concerned the origins of Critical Theory and the Marxists who promulgated the culturally destructive assault on western, Judeo-Christian morals and civilization. Conceived in the aftermath of World War I (the greatest debacle in western history), Critical Theory sought to finish the job the satanic slaughter in the trenches had started, and it did so by going after every important pillar of our shared society.

Foremost among those pillars was sex (not "gender"), sexual mores, and the family. If they could destroy the nuclear family, especially under the guise of "sexual freedom" or, even better, "liberation," they were a long way toward their goal of a post-Christian, post-Western world. Far from being the "feminists" their unholy offspring pretend to be, both the original Frankfurt School critical theorists were instead profoundly, misogynistically anti-female. Discussing the role of the Woman in just about any work of narrative art you can mention, I write:

And who represents the saving power of divine grace? Almost invariably, the woman, whose own self-sacrifice rescues and transfigures the flawed male hero. In Goethe’s famous words from the second part of Faust: “Das Ewig-Weibliche zieht uns hinan,” or, “the Eternal Feminine draws us onward.” The Eternal Feminine, a sexually anti-egalitarian concept that feminists of both sexes today would regard as laughable, is one of the organizing principles of the cosmos, and a crucial factor in the hero’s journey. Even the pansexuality of today, try though it might, cannot replace this naturally primal force: the union of opposites into a harmonious, generative whole...

Faust, so very German, adumbrates modern man: born in the nineteenth century, wreaking havoc in the twentieth, and still battling against both God and the Devil in the twenty-first, often while denying the existence of both. He is the essence of the daemonic, if not quite the satanic. After all, in Goethe’s telling, Faust is ultimately saved, in part by Gretchen’s sacrifice—saved, that is, by the Eternal Feminine, the sexual life force greater than the power of Hell, which pulls men ever onward and closer to the Godhead—and also by God’s infinite grace, which can even overcome a bargain with the Devil, if man only strives hard enough.

What would the Unholy Left do without illusion? It is the cornerstone of their philosophical and governing philosophy, a desperate desire to look at basic facts and plain meanings and see otherwise, to see, in fact, the very opposite. From this standpoint, nothing is ever what it seems (unless it comports with quotidian leftist dogma), and everything is subject to challenge. At the same time, the Left’s fondness for complexity over simplicity betrays its affection for obfuscation and misdirection. As has often been remarked, the leftist program dares not show its true face in an American election, because it would be overwhelmingly rejected (even today, after a century of constant proselytism from its redoubts in academia and the media). But in an age when credentialism is disguised as supreme, practically Faustian knowledge, and when minutiae are elevated to the status of timeless universal principles (even as the existence of such principles is otherwise denied), Leftism masquerades as sophistication and expertise. But the mask conceals only intellectual juvenile delinquency gussied up in Hegelian drag. The coat might be too small and the shoes too big, but if you don’t look too closely—as in Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot—the illusion might pass for reality.

So let's cut to the chase: