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The Golden Age



Man hates to be dependent—it is rebarbative to him. Even in his young children, he cannot stand to see dependency—the emotion is not rational, for man is not rational; it is only progressives who say, “But it’s only a little baby, how could you be so mean…it’s a toddler for chrissake!”. Whatever rational complexion you put on it doesn’t wash, because man hates to see dependency and weakness—the biological facts are irrelevant.


Hence, when Rowsell talks about his child, he says “this 20kg lump” because he cannot stand to admit that it is dependent—he doesn’t have a weak dependent child, even though by any rational criteria the child cannot be independent yet. So he experiences reaction formation, uses language to distance himself from the weakness—already, he’s saying, “You can’t just be baggage all your life, you better pay your way—if you don’t, you’re just a thing (a lump, not human).” Yet he also wants to protect his child, so he blots out its eyes (which doesn’t make a rational difference really, but it says to the world “I protect my child, that’s the kind of parent I am—but I don’t spoil it; for now, it’s just ‘a lump’”).


The other day, I saw an old man get on the train—he was a proper geriatric, with a walking stick. He just had to sit down, there was no physical way he could stand and there were no seats free in the carriage. So two men, probably in their fifties, with two very modern expensive bikes, the latest craze for the last decade, stood up and let the old man and his wife sit down. As the old man sat down he said, “Thank you, thanks for letting a silly old cripple sit down.” It’s a little self-pitying, but it was also born from a genuine masculine hatred for dependency—to have to make other men help you…it induced self-laceration (again, even though, rationally, this man was physically beyond self-reliance in this instance). Man is not a rational animal.


Women are different—albeit just as irrational. For a woman, a child is never “a lump”—of whatever weight—because a woman doesn’t know where she ends and a child begins. There is just one communion between mother and child—and between the mother and other small, fluffy things (ducklings, kittens, puppies). A woman cannot feel revulsion at a child’s dependency because so far as she is concerned she is the child and the child is her.


In the political dimension, we immediately see how the left is feminine and the right masculine—the left doesn’t know where the boundaries between, for example, races and nations, begin and end; and yet the right has clear ideas about individuals, families, races, and nations—and an idea that they should carry their own weight.


However, there is a masculine way to see that everything is connected—but it’s not biological, it’s not like the woman (or the feminised man) who doesn’t know where literal things in material space begin and end; no, rather, it’s a metaphysical position—not unconnected to the statement “as above, so below”. That is to say, if you adopt the magical position where everything is connected you will see that there is only an illusion of dependency—a necessary illusion—behind which there is a total unity; and if you identify only with that unity, then all is in harmony—no matter what local conditions pertain.


Within people, this is reflected in their “inner child”, the inner observer, which is protected by the armour of the persona that they use to navigate the world—to manipulate it like a robot. If you only make a deal with that child and not the armour you will find, as Ted Hughes observed, that “everybody becomes, in a way, like your own child”—by which he means as a mother is with her child, where dependency does not enter into it. And this was how it was in the Golden Age, to which we will return—yet are long, long separated from.


In the interim, it is a mistake to try and make the Golden Age happen now—the only real total unity is metaphysical; it cannot be biological and material—it cannot be as with a woman who tries to treat all the world’s children as her own, or all the world’s fluffy objects (even the ones with claws and rabies, brought into the home). The genuine unity is a spiritual unity, it is a masculine position—but one long lost due to the world’s degraded state, where people must “work by the sweat of their brow” and so, if men, must despise dependency and weakness.


If you try to make the Golden Age now, as if all men were one, as if the mother-baby condition was universal, then you will only create chaos and misery. It’s just not how people are constituted on the biological level—and even women prefer their own babies to strange infants.


Yet one final note: man looks at his children—even his pets—and feels ambivalence about their dependency. He wants to protect them, yet he also feels a certain contempt for their weakness—it is all mixed together, so that he makes ambivalent statements about “the lump” or the “silly old cripple”. His life is a golden band, though: when he is old he will enter his second childhood, the senescence, and then he will be weak and will depend upon his children—before he becomes “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans everything”; although, even here, it will primarily be his daughters who care for him—that compact has broken, but it remains, even now, in places. Those that depended on you will be the ones you depend on in the end—hateful as it is to admit; yet everything works by reversals, in nature and in life—until the Golden Age returns, when even death will die.

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