Against the Robots

“The enemy limits you, therefore shapes you and establishes you.” This phrase by Saint-Exupéry aptly expresses our condition at the end of this first week of 2015. The enemy forces me to evolve according to its rules, within a space it has circumscribed. I am, first and foremost, a prisoner. It chooses the terrain and compels me to remain confined there. Of the two immutable human givens, space and time, it takes away space. To take space away from time is a bit like taking Laurel away from Hardy. The other part continues to exist, but it is disfigured. It has lost the balance provided by the otherness of its counterpart. Time is not the same depending on the space in which it evolves. Geography fulfills destiny with a measure as precise as the hourglass.

Morihei Ueshiba, the inventor of Aikido, a Zen priest and philosopher, wanted to "change men," to rid them of all inclinations toward violence. He wanted to conquer, but also for the vanquished to be changed, so that they would never again desire to fight or attack anyone. Defeat became a remedy for the evil of aggression. If the enemy corners me, I evade him once, a second time, a third time… A slight advantage animates me, and dwells within me. In martial arts, there are no sequences that begin with an attack. The art of war is based on defense. I accepted the attack because I had no other choice; I accepted it because I was attacked, but my adaptation to the situation must be superior to that of the enemy, because I am not blinded by hatred. Hatred is multifaceted and reveals the presence of Satan on Earth. Hatred is never freedom, or if it is, it is freedom stolen from the other. Hatred knows very well how to disguise itself with a smile or even a laugh. It is always a loss of self; it wounds both the aggressor and the victim. Let us therefore be fully aware that the enemy is never truly himself, and that to defeat him, my greatest strength is to remain myself. To conquer, I must always conquer myself. If a part of me renounces the other, if division dwells within me, if I believe that it is enough to shake hands or hug myself, to strut before the media, I am doomed. I will be blown away at the first gust of wind. I must always remain true to my destiny, this soul, this freedom, this gift from God. Evil is not a punishment, Pascal tells us; it is a path laid out, an obstinate search for God, for harmony with Him, for love ^. Every evil is a new chance for conversion. Every evil is a chance to escape the sharp claws of the worldly man sated with identity, power and envy which, while they may prove to be weapons in the fight, do not found anything resembling a civilization.

The enemy acts first upon my soul

“The enemy limits you, therefore shapes you and establishes you.” By limiting me, the enemy forces me to define who I am through my geography. Geography combines map and territory, culture and nature. The enemy is strengthened by my weakness. If my culture and my nature are not in harmony, if they are not respected, or if I do not respect one or the other, my enemy has won. When I dodge, my mind cannot initiate the movement and my body, after reflection, decide to follow. My body and my mind must be one. This is the art of combat. This is form. The enemy shapes me not by molding me, but by deconstructing me ^, if I am not whole, if I am made of odds and ends, if I am patched together.

And it grounds me… because it forces me to surrender and to rediscover myself. The enemy is also otherness. He forces me to surrender because I don't want the fight, but it is necessary. The deployment of my strength is just, because it comes to protect what grounds me. The strength that protects is the only one that preserves us from the will to power. Otherwise, if it is at the service of power, if it forces me to become savage, it signifies the enemy's victory. War forces me to rediscover myself because I can only conquer by being that soul that God calls to conversion through evil. The enemy acts first upon my soul. He attacks me; he wants me to come onto his territory, into his space. My first and decisive challenge is to accept his charge (I cannot do otherwise except to be eliminated before I have fought), but to change his space into mine, while continuing to act as if it were his ground of vengeance, his form becomes mine, he only establishes his downfall.

France is so much more than the Republic

France has helped shape the world by loving it. This has always been France's mission. Not just for the last two centuries, as our leaders would have us believe. France is so much more than the Republic. It is also easy for the ignorant to mock France's role in history. The enemy is twofold and internal: it governs us, it embodies our future. From generation to generation, our leaders cultivate a profound ignorance of which they are shamelessly proud. Each new pretender leads us to believe that we can go even further down this path of mediocrity. The Republic, whose values ​​they constantly brandish, is suffering the most significant setback of its young existence. It, which founded its empire on instruction—excuse me, education—no longer recognizes its children, and its children hate it. Our youth feeds on violence and even longs for it. At both ends of the chain, ignorance reigns supreme, finding subterfuges to avoid self-reflection by pointing the finger at scapegoats, which it will hunt down even in literature—a testament to its desperate situation. Inconsistency reigns supreme because ideology prevails at both ends of the chain. The Republic, with its array of vague, marketing-driven concepts (anti-racism, secularism, etc.), and Islamism, the cancer of Islam, which is slow to make the Ratisbon shift ^. The organic link that has persisted, for better or worse, since the beginning of France, since Clovis, passed down here and there by a multitude sometimes known, often unknown or even forgotten, from little Joan of Arc to great Charles ^, continues to exist. It would only take a moment to reach out and pick it up, to take it in one's hands, to warm and comfort it, for it to rediscover its joy of living. And it is certain that only this link, this small, fragile link that seems insignificant but has shaped the world, can help us overcome the ordeal of war. It is equally certain that there is no known leader sufficiently equipped to find it. It has been lost for so long. Many act as if it never existed. As if it were a figment of the imagination. No one seems to possess sufficient faith. This is what continues to worry us. When the sick person no longer believes in their recovery, the disease sets its barbs and waits to deliver the final blow. Our conversion languishes in anticipation. Our destiny cannot be called submission.