Sketch on authority or a definition of progressive.

Following the article, Why this hatred of authority? I received many reactions. The first was to confuse, or ask myself not to confuse, power and authority. Here, we can see one thing: many people on social networks still agree with this difference. It even marks for them a border that they decree insurmountable, even if few of them venture to explain the difference between power and authority. And, as the article was partly dedicated to highlighting this difference, perhaps not as we are used to doing, it shocked and provoked questions. In many discussions on X, the comments thought that this article defended Emmanuel Macron! That’s how you read diagonally on the Internet! But let us understand that the President of the Republic embodies for many French people an authoritarian form of power.

Thus, there was this intuition about obedience: “authority always inaugurates something new through the control that one can have over one's own passions. » In this sentence, it is possible to replace the word authority with dogma. I evaluate which of these two words is more frightening. The inversion of values ​​and the meaning of words allows progressives to say almost anything and make it... a dogma. The progressive only feeds on “ideas in the air” according to the formidable formula of Claude Tresmontant. If I had to explain this formula a little, I would say that the progressive is rooted in his own thinking. He evolves his thinking to make it evolve first of all, the progressive is made to do, not obeying any authority, he flees the depression and solitude that produces in him a thought only turned towards oneself. From then on, he draws on his latest whims to build new ones. Do we not see the connection that exists between Wokism and the undermining work that has been done for decades in France against what has been called, while distorting it, the national novel? Those who would have been the left-wing supporters of Joan of Arc at the beginning of the 20th century are today her detractors and claim that she did not exist! This shows how progressivism is a machine that goes wrong on its own, believing itself to be correcting itself, it only accentuates its headlong flight. Progressives and the left in general are the true reactionaries of our time and are becoming more and more so, forced as they are to flee, because they are incapable of declaring their wrongs and errors. They are wrong and they deceive. They only react to events without ever practicing the slightest empiricism, because they inhabit the future (I say the future, not the future, because there is no future without a past, when the future represents a goal to reach which always escapes).

Authority ushers in something completely different. It suggests leaning on the past to define or redefine what we can imagine happening. Above all, it is not a question of absolutism, but rather of conservatism. This is also why there are so few theses on conservatism. There is a lot written about how to keep, how to save, how to promote, but less often how to get a vision from it. The conservative has continually left this place to the progressive who delights in it, even though he has nothing serious to do there. What reasonable person would have proposed transforming our aging and bankrupt democracy, living on life support, into a political system for the defense of minorities? I do not deny the protection of the weak, I deny that this becomes the only motive for political actions. Especially since the weakness of the progressive is hidden under a nauseating ideological cloak. In fact, it contains a right of inventory of the weak. There are weak and weak. However, politics mixes very badly with sentimentalism and our democracy is entangled with it. The conservative ignores detailing his action, building a grand plan and making it popular. Because he is looked down upon by progressive moralists who constantly imprison him with a moral screed that is based on sentimental judgment. Suspending this diktat would force us to accept the authoritarian label, but this time this label would no longer be given by the people as in the case of Emmanuel Macron - because the people recognize legitimate authority -, but by the press and the progressive intelligentsia. Who would complain about that?

Ernst Jünger in Heliopolis dreamed of a kind of state beyond the politics led by the “Regent”. There is no regent in our modern world, just two camps spying on each other without ever thinking that they can bring anything to each other. This antagonism is increasingly visible at all levels of society. It indicates a loss of common taste, a growing lack of culture, and an atrophied language which is reduced to its simplest expression - at least, to its simplest usefulness, like the American language. The American does to French what he did to English, he exhausts it - no longer knows how to express the nuances that dialogue requires. We label and classify everyone based on what they think or believe or vote. Discussion becomes a waste of time, and since the participants lack any meaning, the dialogue cannot gain any. There is an inevitability going on, a sort of destiny.

Destiny seduces and bewitches men when they no longer believe in freedom. The West no longer believes in freedom, because it no longer believes in God. Our civilization has known over the ages to weave remarkable links that have become inextricable with freedom; pulling on a thread that sticks out amounts to destroying our world. The inheritance refuses the right of inventory.

François Lagarde, Ernst Jünger's photographer

François Lagarde installing one of his photos at the European House of Photography

In the middle of a dragging Saturday morning, the telephone rang, an already well-known voice was heard speaking impeccable French with a delicious Germanic accent: "Mon lieutenant, do you think he's possible to invite a friend, François Lagarde, to the festivities? I replied that it was no problem and my interlocutor hung up the phone in a flash as he was used to. I had met Ernst Jünger for the first time three weeks before. He called me for some time to come and with a certain deference, my lieutenant. I had realized a dream when I met him in Wilflingen, he had received me with a kindness that again had almost upset me and he had assured me of his presence for the show that we were preparing at the rear base for the return of the troops from Operation Daguet in Iraq in Nîmes. But I did not know François Lagarde, of whom the German writer spoke to me, and I had felt from the sound of his voice that it was a wish that was close to his heart. He told me that he lived in Montpellier and that he would come by his own means… Shortly after, I received another call, this time from François Lagarde who came on the phone and told me he was a photographer.

Ernst Jünger in uniform

Francois Lagarde had a soft voice and I never heard him raise it. At all times, in all circumstances, he remained master of himself and it did not seem like an effort. He had that soft, questioning voice whose questioning served as much to discover as to confirm. François had a real gentleness, which was not feigned, but he was also inhabited by a certain ferocity that I attributed to the double emancipation he was convinced he had achieved: emancipation from his environment and emancipation from all forms of limits like the people who turned twenty in 1968. François was Protestant to the very core of himself. He refused this condition and therefore boasted of having gotten rid of it, of no longer carrying the weight of his two pastor parents, but he continued to struggle, and in his heart of hearts, I always thought he was aware, even if he acted like someone who had won the bet, that the fight would still be with him. So he got rid of his Protestantism by dressing it up with a Fellini side, in search of the slightest bit of pure life, of Dionysian life, of an orgy of life… It was his agony. He never shied away from it. There is something terrible in seeing a man retain only gray, dull colors from childhood… No childish joy comes to counterbalance this feeling. If everything is a question of perspective in life, joy should always be the perspective of childhood, because the joy felt fully in a pure soul will always seem stronger than the vagaries of adult life. Time often accustoms us to our own hypocrisy. And we take that habit for a win. François Lagarde exalted an unfailing complexity. It was hard not to like him. He was impulsive, always curious and adorned with a genuinely Catholic joy. He wouldn't have liked me to give him a Catholic quality, but he would have been flattered, without admitting it of course.

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Show “But times always come back…” – 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment (1991)

Show “But times always come back…” — 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment (1991) by Emmanuel Di Rossetti on Vimeo .

On August 31, 1991, the 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment celebrated its 150th anniversary during an exceptional cinéscénie, the battle of El Moungar and its return from Operation Daguet, the first Gulf War. 30,000 spectators from Nîmes will attend this event which began during the day with the legionnaires dressed in authentic costumes placed in the conditions and sets of different eras, and which will continue late into the night with the show itself performed by François Gamard, Jérôme le Paulmier and Richard Bohringer 1 in front of the Costières stadium (180 meters from the stage!).

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Commemorative phrase

A friend contacted me to ask me for the exact quote from Ernst Jünger (taken from Orages d'acier ) that we liked to repeat among officers of the 2nd foreign infantry regiment. I write it on this blog as I remember that General Antoine Lecerf liked this quote and it fits him like a glove:

It has been given to us to live in the invisible rays of great feelings, this will remain our priceless privilege.

And by Saint Antoine… (Death of General Antoine Lecerf)

Antoine is no more. He left on Good Friday. April 22, 2011. He is in the house of the Father. Antoine is Antoine Lecerf . Lieutenant General Antoine Lecerf. A master of war. A brilliant leader of men. One of the most extraordinary men I have known.

When you first met Antoine Lecerf, there was this frank and firm handshake, but there was immediately something else; something about charisma. Antoine Lecerf is said to have charmed snakes. He shook your hand and immediately there was a spell. He wanted to know right away if you were with him, if you were ready, if you supported his project. Which project ? There was a new one every five minutes. And he didn't drop any. He thought fast, but his friendship lasted a long time. He wanted to know if you were with him and he had an infallible way of knowing it: he shook your hand, he kept it, his face approached yours, he came to meet you, he wanted to know. He shook your hand, he kept it, his face approached yours and he wrinkled his left eyelid a little as if to improve his visual acuity, as if to be sure of what he was going to see, of what you were going to reveal to him. His squinted eye, that penetrating gaze was looking for something. He was looking for that little flame. He wanted to know if you too were animated. Antoine Lecerf only consorted with lively people. Nothing interested him more than to know if you were too, or even to a lesser degree if you could be (which was enough to satisfy him, because the potential had a special value for him). Antoine Lecerf chose you. And nothing was less the result of chance.

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Onfray's Eavesman Screams

So Onfray read a book revealing the fabric of Ernst Jünger… Michel Vanoosthuyse: Fascisme et literature pure .
It reveals – the self-proclaimed philosopher of sensuality always tells us – that Jünger was always a fascist and that he spent years, a large part of his life, half a century, erasing the traces of those fascist years. Anyone who rubbed shoulders with Ernst Jünger, even from afar, can only smile at these declarations. Ernst Jünger fabricating his life for posterity is grotesque. Jünger has always been the antithesis of this Machiavellian character whom Onfray believed he had flushed out in the course of a book. Finally realizing that this book by M. Vanoosthuyse was published by Agone editions ended up making me smile, one could hope that M. Vanoosthuyse would spend more time learning from Jünger than carrying out a witch hunt around himself. The back cover is thus singularly lacking in inspiration since it ends with these words: “what is covered by the entry of an author with a fascist past into 'pure' literature. “Kesako? Jünger would be the only right-wing author (I summarize here the thought of these left-wing gentlemen who give the fascist a yes or a no) to enter the literature? What is pure literature? Left-wing literature? It starts badly for the Agone editions which from the back cover do not show great editorial mastery...

As for Onfray, we understand throughout the article that only one thing worries him and in this perspective we could understand it - it is freedom, the extraordinary freedom of Jünger at any age, at any time until in his last days. Michel Onfray understands nothing about Jünger's freedom. So not understanding anything, he wants to hate her. He wants to show that it is a subterfuge. And Jünger spent half a century shaping it.

Because it must still have been the effort of a lifetime for Michel Onfray to be had. That it took this book to be denialized as he admits. We can only laugh, Michel Onfray is a maker when he wants. And he takes us for pumpkins. Who will believe for a single second that he ever loved Jünger? If Onfray says he loves Jünger, it's because he's showing off. He looks good. He holds forth. He means. I am. I think. Broad-mindedness. Ecumenism. Introspection. Critical mind. Tolerance again. Tolerance always. Good conscience. Yes, it is more than that. Michel Onfray will be able to spend several lives erasing the traces, it will be easy to exhume all the times he has pretended.

It's a shame, Michel Onfray also knows how to say certain things that do not belong to his clan, his camp, his political family. He sometimes knows how to slip through the cracks and recognize honesty in his adversaries. But he always has to let himself go, he always has to curl up, mediate so that he deceives… So much mess. It is difficult to understand how Michel Onfray can find any interest in Michel Vanoosthuyse's very small book… The impression given is equivalent to that of a beautiful dog with shiny hair rolling around in the mire.