In the interest of improving my Russian, I spent the last few weeks “embracing the inner Slav.” I have always taken the “method acting” approach to learning languages. I don’t just study grammar and vocabulary. I read history, listen to music, and generally immerse myself in the culture of the language I am learning.
This time I was a little too successful. After a couple days I stopped studying Russian, but continued to act like a Russian. After three weeks, I had written nothing, barely gone to work, screwed up my sleep-schedule and experimented with new means of intoxication.
At my low-point, I found myself sprawled across my bed, in the middle of the day, enjoying a casual beer. I felt pretty Russian. But then it occurred to me–I can never be a Slav. A Slav would enjoy this. If he felt like lying around in the middle of the day (as he so often does), he would do it, and he would feel good about it. I, on the other hand, was not enjoying my sloth. I felt like shit. While my outward behavior was Slavic, something was wrong.
This all got me thinking on the Slavic Question. What is the essence of Slavicness? Why do they try to drink or incinerate everything they see? What’s with the tracksuits? No other group of whites acts like them. What is going on?
The Spirit of Inclination
Spengler attributed the characteristics of peoples to differences in their national spirit. A people’s innate sense of time, space and direction would determine the sort of culture they would go on to create. The ancient Greeks, for instance, fixated on static form. Modern Westerners (Faustians), on the other hand, are obsessed with motion. So while Faustian sculptors try to imitate classical style, they never capture the aesthetic faithfully, because the products of their creativity belie their strong sense of driving movement. Cultural differences in directional sense also explain the typical Chinese’s ineptitude at driving.
What defines the Slavic soul? How does the Slav differ from the striving, willful Faustian? The Slav acts only in accordance with his whim. He has not will, but inclination. Take Tolstoy. How could a will-less man write thousand-page literary masterpieces around characters who are so well developed that they strike many readers as more familiar than their own relatives and friends? Because Tolstoy felt like it. An inclination for writing is certainly rarer than an inclination for food, alcohol, sex and petty entertainments (abysses into which the Slav has poured most of his energies), but when a Slav is inclined toward writing, you get War and Peace.
In the same vein, a Faustian, having will, cannot write a novel of such proportions. For the Westerner, action is the result of Will, which is only moral if it runs opposite to his inclinations. Following his whim would violate Kant’s Categorical Imperative–that man only acts morally when he acts contrary to his desire. Thus the Western soul contains a paradox: Faustian Will cannot triumph over its moral qualms, because acting counter to his inclinations is, for the Faustian, the most absolutely moral deed.
So even if a Westerner were inclined toward writing, he could never produce War and Peace. After writing a few hundred pages, he would be hampered by a creeping feeling of unproductiveness. The sub-mental process would run roughly: “I am acting according to a whim, this is immoral.” Thus his Will would subvert his whim, and he would direct his efforts to new endeavors.
All great Faustian men have been “renaissance” men. Goethe, the outstanding figure of German literature, was also a botanist, a geologist and a sometime sinologist. Mozart played pool and enjoyed dancing. Hitler was a painter. No Faustian has ever given himself totally to one endeavor. Such devotion would be impossible.
It is thus the Westerner who is lazier, in terms of measurable outcome, than the Slav. For Russian Culture to succeed in any endeavor, the Slavic race must only produce one man who is inclined toward its undertaking.
The Slav Abroad
A few months ago a random encounter got me thinking about The Slav. I was in Rome, sitting at an outdoor cafe table. The fellow next to me I struck up a conversation, knowing it would lead to hours upon hours of drinks and proclamations of eternal brotherhood.
His idea of vacation was utterly alien to that of a Westerner. He did not care for sites, for museums, for anything. His only desire was to saunter to a new cafe every few hours and have some different scenery to compliment his drinking. Sure, Italy was beautiful. The food was great, and the Culture!
He was innocently perplexed that the Italians had such a wonderful country, but drove faggy fiats and vespas. “Why? If I had money, I would buy a awesome car with lots of power! These Italian men are such gays with their little motorcycles.” I patiently explained that when Italians went to Russia, they wondered why the food is so bad. It’s not like the Russians are poor, but their idea of spaghetti is ketchup on EZ-mac. He feigned gastronomic sense and summoned a polite “I guess.”
The Slav shares the typical American tourist’s thorough-goingly superficial appreciation of Culture. The only difference is, while the Westerner goes to Rome to see the Coliseum, to visit the Forum, to throw a coin in Trevi Fountain, the Slav regards the cultural artifacts as mere background noise. He wants only to drink in the midst of these wonders.
The Slavic Ubermensch
The late Spengler believed man was on the cusp of entering a new, post-historical phase of his existence. Spengler thought that Western civilization, due to it’s ever expansive, Faustian nature, could break the life-and-death cycle of human cultures. The revolution would be akin to what man experienced when he emerged from prehistoric savagery into cultural life.
He was wrong. Faustian man was destined to fail. He already has. Nineteen forty-five marked our final, best attempt to follow our inclination–our drive–toward ever greater acts of expansion. We tried to create a 1,000-year galactic super-state, but our striving was subverted by the need to defy inclination. Fucking Kant. Conquering the stars would have been too easy. Suicide-by-demographics would be hard.
Therefore, the Hitlerian Triumph of the Will is impossible, because the Faustian can only be a reluctant hero. The Aryan born-hero would have to become something else–a Canadian comedian, perhaps. On the other hand, Slavonic apathy will result in millions of drunks, one of whom will turn out to be the true Ubermensch. It’s only a matter of time.
In my three weeks of going full Slavic-nigger, I have learned a lot about myself. I am not inclined to read or write, to learn languages, to be productive in any way. If I were a Russian, I would be a bum. I can only act when I embrace my Faustian nature–that is, when I act contrariwise to my inclination, but in accordance with my Will.
Man will colonize the galaxy. But such is not a possible fate for the Faustian. The Slavic race will lead the way. As soon as they stop larping as Europeans and surrender totally to their whims. They will eventually generate an Ubermensch, who will whip his bored, drunken comrades into shape.
Here’s to our limitless, will-less future. “Feels good, man.”