tradition/history/politics
Writing for a cause
Fitting with my character and philosophy, there are two phenomena I markedly dislike: modern cinema and science fiction. Though it may simply sound as though I hate the thought of anyone having fun, I have avoided and disdained both due to their escapist nature rather than just due to the sheer sight of smiling people. Modern cinema needs no elaborate analysis to pick it apart, for it has universally become disdained. Rehashing the same superheroes in the same situations as well as massacring loved characters in order to waterboard an audience with progressive nonsense is simply the antithesis to creativity; hence why before Dune I was on the precipice of fully turning away from the medium of film. Science fiction on the other hand has always represented a different variation of escapism in an extreme form. Just like ‘Disney adults’, science fiction fans have fully earned their portrayal as infantile dregs of society, for those people are naturally the most susceptible to escapism due to the poor choices that have made their true existence unlivable. As you can tell from my previous articles, I am a huge proponent of accountability, self-sufficiency, and discipline, so these people have always gained more of my pity than ire. You would be right to challenge me by pointing out the political symbolism in Star Wars or Star Trek – after all, are Fascism and Cold War politics not deeply profound subjects to analyze creatively; however, neither can be truly labeled as revolutionary in their analysis. Is ‘Fascism bad’ really a groundbreaking opinion? For the Soviets, did we not have enough fear-mongering over the half-century of ideological squabble? It should be said that I simply may not be interested in such symbolism because I regard all three major political experiments of the last century (liberalism, fascism, and socialism) as symptoms of a larger malady, and therefore have no vested interest in pitting one against the other. For these reasons, when the first Dune movie was released in 2021 I had no interest in watching it. Just another Star Wars rip-off – I thought – haven’t we had enough of that? Yet today, I regard the decision I made to halfheartedly watch the first movie in my dorm room to be undeniably positive toward my life and philosophical understanding. When I read an article critiquing the movie stating: “In my previous essay, I argued that the Bene Gesserit are villainous and white supremacist — but are the world-building and story itself white supremacist? I think they are — perhaps unintentionally or by omission. Cultural appropriation and racist stereotypes are integral to Dune’s world-building,” (Grace Lapointe, The Apotheosis of Paul Atreides), I not only laughed aloud, but knew I had stumbled on a film that must have done something right. Cinema that does not offer a challenge is no better than pornography, for it is merely a self-soothing reinforcement rather than true timeless art. Of course, those labeling Dune as ‘orientalist’, ‘white-supremacist’, and ‘far right’ are the same people who call Julius Evola, “Dungeons & Dragons for racists,” (Benjamin Teitelbaum) as a form of dismissal – people who rather than rise to a challenge, instead sink further into a pseudo-intellectual shell of protective dismissals. Why have both been labeled as such? Because they fundamentally challenge the foundational pillars of modernity, which gains them the most universal harbinger of true success: hatred. Dune's reception of course has been overwhelmingly positive, and rightfully so, however, I fear that most are enraptured by the stunning score and cinematography, and ignore the real gem found in its intense symbolism. Though I fundamentally disagree with Herbert's deep conviction that Nietzsche’s übermensch and traditional heroism are inherently evil, I found such differences stimulating as opposed to frightening like the writer I cited above. The most ‘on the nose’ of these symbolic challenges falls is Dune's political critiques of modernity – which already blows Star Wars out of the water – but additionally, its mystical elements demonstrate an acceptance and simultaneous distrust of Guénonian perrenialism serve to make it a work that appeals to both the plebeian masses and the patrician few. To understand if Dune can fit with a traditionalist perspective, let us first dive into the points where the most concrete agreement can be found. Herbert’s work can be defined definitively as anti-modern and ecologically focused, which upon further review seems markedly aligned with traditionalist principles. At its core, Dune is a work of eco-fiction as opposed to science fiction, which is where we first come to grasp Herbert's anti-modern tendencies. A foundational piece of the backstory to the Dune universe is an earlier revolt against ‘thinking machines’, reminiscent of H.G. Wells’s War Of Worlds. In the words of Lorenzo DiTommaso: “The Butlerian Jihad brought Imperial technology to a specialized and codified halt. By forcing human minds to develop, the Revolt ultimately promoted religion over science and technology, and humanness over machines and artificial minds,” (Lorenzo DiTommaso, History and Historical Effect in Frank Herbert’s Dune). Though Herbert does not adopt a cyclical theory of history in his novel like many among the Traditionalist school – as also mentioned in DiTommaso’s article – he diagnoses the same fundamental issues with modernity found in the reign of quantity and the exploitation of dogmatically religious cultures with inferior technological ability. Spice – as a resource not religious hallucinogenic – is a symbol serving for oil in the modern day, allowing for intergalactic travel while simultaneously coming at the expense of an entire native people. The Butlerian Jihad is seen as a historical model for the later Paul Atreides in his quest to shake off the shackles of imperial rule over Arrakis, clearly demonstrating that the events we witness in the movie are essentially an extension of the previous divine crusade against a technological order; at least initially until the protagonist falls into the trap of Ceasarism. The allegorical significance is not that these Jihads are a positive phenomenon; rather, they are the bloody result of extreme tension being placed upon the natural order. In essence, Herbert is warning the West that its continual exploitation of natural resources and native people will sew their own violent demise. Not only does Herbert seem skeptical about ‘ai’ (the favorite boogieman of modern media), but he additionally holds a skepticism of technology as a whole, especially the idea that technological progress can be equated with human progress. As a conservative libertarian himself, he certainly found sacrificing technology the lesser of two evils when confronted with the alternative of continued exploitation. His use of ‘jihad’ to describe both the Buttlerian struggle as well as the one showcased in the first novel further serves to demonstrate faith’s primacy over technology, clearly as a means to shatter Western notions of smug supremacy and misplaced sense of security. To circle back to the ecological kinship between Herbert and the traditionalist school, he takes the time to show first the reality of divine truth in the universe, but also how technology perverts its acquisition (the central dogma of perrenialism). Although many have been quick to label the ‘spice’ in Dune as metaphorical for Herbert’s experiences with psychedelics, I believe this is merely a way analysts attempt to stifle the truly thought-provoking implications of the novel. The Bene Gesserit order (the primary religious institution of the Dune universe) uses the spice to induce divine revelation – just as the indigenous Freman – so the spice is patently metaphorical for the divine truth only attained through solace with nature rather than merely an attempt for the author to justify his own drug abuse. Interestingly, the Bene Gesserit order symbolizes Catholicism while the Freman serve as a similar symbolic representation of Islam, so it seems Herbert once more accepts the central Perrenialist premise that both religions draw from the same well of esoteric truth. Though he accepts the reality of both group's connection to divine truth, he does not infer that the exoteric manifestations practiced by each are equal. Herbert finds nobility in the Freman, who naturally experiences the beneficial effects of spice, while also demonstrating his distrust of the Bene Geserite order – a fitting contrast to highlight his own institutional distrust. Thus far Dune has proved to march in lockstep with a traditionalist diagnosis of the “crisis of the modern world”, however, its political symbolism is where Herbert and I fundamentally diverge. One of the primary issues the series currently faces is that the movie adaptations have yet to be resolved, which has led to a phenomenon described by Joshua Pearson when he wrote: “Some have decried Dune as an exemplar of the most toxic tropes lurking in science fiction, calling the novel an orientalist fever dream, a pean to eugenics, and a seductive monument to fascist aesthetics; others look at the same text and see an excoriation of hero-worship, a cautionary tale of revolutionary dreams betrayed, and a warning about Indigenous sovereignty subverted by a charismatic charlatan,” (Joshua Pearson, The Contested Politics of ‘Dune’). I’ll be the first to admit that I was a viewer who placed my own bias onto the movie and left the theater feeling very smug that Dune reinforced everything I previously believed; unfortunately while writing this painstaking article, I found it not to be the case. To understand what Herbert is critiquing, we must understand why I saw such a bright beacon shining from the character of Paul. To put it simply, Paul is the pinnacle of the aristocratic worldview. Not only is he the son of a duke, but he is a warrior, a product of relentless selective breeding, and has a direct tether to divine truth due to these inherited factors. Paul Atreides is exactly the half-political half-religious monarch of Evolian philosophy; he is the exact definition of the individualistic and aristocratic Nietzschian übermensch; he is everything loved by an aristocratic order, and by extension, everything I personally profess. When seen this way, Paul represents the future I myself yearn for, which is why I identified myself with him so profoundly. When the old aristocracy had decayed in a Spenglerian fashion, a new and vital nomadic aristocrat swept in and reestablished fervent religiosity and cleansed corruption through holy war; a story as old as time – I draw the primary connection with Octavian after the death of Ceasar – and a story that most pre-french revolutionary conservatives such as myself fully embrace as fundamental and divine. However, Dune is unfortunately not the traditionalist masterpiece I hoped it would be; in fact, it is a scathing refutation of the worldview I laid out above. In an interview with NBC, Herbert answers these questions definitively and puts to rest my overactive speculations: “I think we do have a sense of the mindless animal within the depths of all of us,” (0:50 minutes into the interview) and, “Don’t trust leaders to always be right,” (1:44 minutes into the interview). These are just a few of the most notable quotations from the interview, but they serve to showcase that Paul is not the hero nor the villain as many claim, but rather an embodiment of the instability and impossibility of truly benevolent leadership. Within the same interview, he states that his goal was to create a truly great leader by every metric (this is where we find the Nietzschian and Evolian influence) who has the nobility of spirit, birth, sword, and every other form of aristocratic justification. Yet in creating a great leader, Herbert does not aim to sound the trumpet of a revival of the West on the horizon, but rather of a fall into dangerous Ceasarism. It is important to note that Herbert identifies himself as in alignment with the foundational values of the United States – which he believes that the modern nation has strayed from – so the feudalist system he creates with the barons, dukes, and galactic empire is symbolic of his distaste for liberal ideas perverted which have regressed to a dark period; starkly contrasting the traditionalist notion of a feudal primacy over liberalism. The Baron Harkonnen, a nobleman in the truest sense of the word, is perverted and corpulent, and his progeny are no better. Baron Harkonnen is symbolic of Herbert’s distaste for power and authority, and how though an aristocratic elite claims to possess heightened vitality and value, in practice they deteriorate into sub-human leeches (additional evidence for this claim is symbolized in how the Atreides' bloodline upon coming to power undergo a literal process of morphing into sand-worms). The Baron however is a clear villain, so his symbolism can be explained away as a mere literary device to create an interesting antagonist, however, Paul and his family are criticized in much the same way. His father is blinded by pride, and he himself is fueled by revenge despite his direct knowledge that his actions will lead to immeasurable suffering; a nobleman who even with divine sight acts on impulse rather than with Apollonian virtue. To put it simply, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and no level of virtue, fitness, and genetic superiority can alter that eternal fact. As discussed above, this view is not one Herbert and I share, however, I would be remiss to dismiss the novel or recommend like-minded readers avoid his work. Even as a Catholic, many of his most pointed criticisms of what I hold dear ring true. For example, the amorality of the Bene Gesserit in their position as kingmakers not only echoes the moral ambiguity and corruption of the medieval church, but also during the fascist period. Although they in the end favor the winning side, Paul, they exhibit no qualms in allowing Feyd Rautha to be considered an equally worthy candidate for the imperial throne. Their settlement with the sadist Feyd Rautha draws inspiration from how the church knowingly turned a blind eye to Mussoli’s exploits in Ethiopia and initially did the same with Hitler before the invasion of Poland. Though I take issues with aspects of this critique, it certainly contains valuable kernels of truth, just as Herbert's larger criticism of modernity and even aristocratic principles. Rather than dogmatically rejecting Herbert's work or misinterpreting it for sheer convenience, it is better to use it as the masterfully crafted thought experiment that it truly is. I may not see eye to eye with Herbert, but I am more than willing to support an author who diagnoses the great malady of modern society and causes me to hone my core principles, which Dune certainly inspired me to do. As alluded to in the introduction, I appreciate any writer who can offer a pointed and shameless challenge to both society as a whole and myself, and by God, Herbert and the movies his book inspired have achieved that goal tenfold. -E.S.
2 Comments
Tradironcatholic
3/22/2024 10:54:44 am
Great analysis as always boss. You’re so wise . I’ve never read the novels but I’ve been interested in the discourse is Paul a white savior and are the charges of imperialism valid . I was curious as to what your take would be
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