Translated by Michael Millerman. Founder of http://MillermanSchool.com - online philosophy and politics courses on Plato, Aristotle, Nietzsche, Heidegger, Dugin, Strauss, and more.

Philosophers Without Philosophy

Nevertheless, from time to time we use the combination of words, “Russian philosophy,” and we list the names of “Russian philosophers”: Skovoroda, Solovyov, Fedorov, Leontiev, Bulgakov, Berdyaev, Trubetskoy, Frank, Florensky, Shestov, Kojève, Losev. Who are they, then, and what were they up to?

First, there can be philosophers even in the absence of philosophy in the culture of a people: individual representatives of a given people can quite integrate into the cultural and philosophical tradition of another people that has such a tradition. Philosophers are possible without philosophy, but the adjective “Russian” in relation to such a philosopher will only mean the origin of his personality, and not participation in the hermeneutic circle of the integral phenomenon called “Russian philosophy.” In this sense, all of the above authors and a number of others, completely and without any stretch, can be called “Russian philosophers”: they are Russians who philosophized. That's accurate. At the same time, the fruits of their philosophizing did not result in the creation of Russian philosophy. Some of them did not set themselves such a task (Skovoroda, Kojève, Shestov, Berdyaev), and some did (Solovyov, Fedorov, Bulgakov), but failed. In any case, when comparing what we know about the “Russian philosophers” themselves and what we received from them in the form of works, ideas, texts, and theories, with the philosophical bodies of work developed in Indo-European (and not only Indo-European) cultures, it becomes completely obvious that the mechanical aggregate of all their efforts cannot be called philosophy in the full sense, either in qualitative or in quantitative terms. In other words, we have Russian philosophers, but we do not have Russian philosophy.

“Russian fragments”

This basic starting point can be considered in two ways. On the one hand, for the correctness of further constructions, it would be necessary to show why what is presented as “Russian philosophy” is not that. This critical aspect will clear the way for us (the “garbage disposal” stage). On the other hand, we can recognized in the ideas and works of Russian philosophers fragments, hints, and intentions that, taken as such (and not as an integral philosophy), will be extremely valuable for those who in a new historical period still think about the possibility of Russian philosophy as a full-fledged and well-founded phenomenon.

We know that the main work of the first person (as is customarily thought) who called himself a “philosopher” was lost – “On Nature” by Heraclitus of Ephesus – but on the basis of scattered fragments that have come down to us, we draw vast conclusions about what Heraclitean thought was. As an example, we can refer to Heidegger’s texts on Heraclitus and the results of his joint seminar with Eugene Fink.1 If we treat the works of the “Russian philosophers” precisely as scattered fragments, written in a language that is not fully deciphered, in which only individual signs can be identified, and even that hypothetically, then they will acquire genuine value and find their creative potential for of the future. We should not interpret them (they, in fact, have nothing to really interpret), but finish building and deciphering them as charades, half- or a third done, the correct answers to which the compilers did not know, dropping the matter after having hardly started it. We must complete, extract, and often create anew the meaning of the “Russian fragments.” But all this is true in the event that we initially operate with the optimistic hypothesis that Russian philosophy is possible. If it is possible, then the “Russian fragments” may have a meaning, by which is meant a properly Russian meaning. If this cannot be established, then the same fragments can be considered as an attempt at the last stage to get involved in the work of the Western European philosophical tradition. And the attempt is clearly unsuccessful, just as the latecomer tries to jump into the departing train, grabs the rail of the last car, but loses his grip and slips into the ditch (the “philosophical steamer” of 1922 or the collapse of Soviet Marxism in the 1960s, which became obvious in 1991), where a completely different, new, and not at all philosophical life begins.

In both cases, it is a question of a “phenomenological destruction” in the Heideggerian sense, only the procedures will be different. In the first case, we proceed from the possibility of the existence of such a thing as “Russian philosophy” as a whole and try to find the correspondence of this (highly hypothetical) structure to the “Russian fragments”; that is, we deliberately operate with Russian hermeneutics. In the second case, Western European philosophy is taken as the reliable hermeneutic circle (I think it’s not necessary to explain why it is not Indian or Iranian) and of what these Russian fragments were the misunderstanding, distortion, and curvature, and how they arose, is shown. This second type of “phenomenological destruction” has already been partially done by liberal critics and representatives of the Russophobic direction, both in Russia and abroad. True, this work was so tinged with political and propagandistic moments and emotional gloating that its theoretical value and constructiveness (albeit critical) are often completely lost. In the face of the arrogant disgust of those who criticize “Russian philosophy” as a wretched embarrassment, an equally biased reverse impulse arises, pushing us, despite all evidence, to state: “Russian philosophy existed and was an independent and weighty phenomenon that contributed to the treasury of world philosophical thought.” It turns out that we are responding to an insultingly formulated truth with a soothing lie. This is not a philosophical, but a polemical-publicistic device that should be set aside.

The way out of this situation will be to concentrate attention precisely on the possibility of Russian philosophy. We do not insist that it is actual. Most likely, it is does not exist as an actual phenomenon. We do not even insist that it is possible. Maybe it is not; maybe it is completely impossible. We are only working on the philosophical hypothesis of the existence of such a hermeneutic circle as could be called “Russian philosophy,” and on this hypothesis we want to build our own hermeneutics.

Russian philosophy is a hypothetical whole, given to us neither as a whole nor as several parts. It is an entirely imaginary world, built, however, on the quite concrete and phenomenologically indisputable basis of the Russian Beginning [nachalo], Russianness, the Russian world, Russian originality, Russian culture. The Russian [Russkoe] is phenomenologically certain. It is a short conservation with whoever denies that: they are just enemies, and enemies have always been dealt with the same. But Russian philosophy entirely belongs to the realm of projective possibility. It is phenomenologically uncertain; it lives in a wish, a hope, a subtle dream, if you will, a hallucination. But do not underestimate the power of imagination; it plays a crucial role in the anthropological constitution and, accordingly, in culture and society.2 And the “Russian philosophical fragments” are tiny specks of dust in this dream, no more than that, but no less.

Archeomodernity and pseudomorphosis

The specificity of Russian culture and Russian society can be defined as arechomodernity. 3 This is especially true of the last three centuries following the Petrine reforms. The term “archeomodernity” describes a situation when social modernization is carried out not naturally and organically, as a result of accumulating preconditions in the depths of social processes, but is imposed from above in a volitional way, and the model of modernization is taken from socio-cultural and socio-political patterns copied from societies with a completely different history and type and located in other phases of their development (and development itself can occur in different directions). Such “modernization” is exogenous, not endogenous 4 and does not transform the deep structure of the traditional society undergoing modernization, but only distorts it. At the same time, the internal structure is basically preserved in the archaic, “original” [nachal’nom] (“arch” - “origin” [nachalo]) condition, which gives rise to the doubling of social culture and a “dual hermeneutics.” The modernized strata of society (the elites) think of themselves in one world, in one capacity, in one social time, while the masses remain archaic and interpret social facts in the perspective of the old traditional concepts. Spengler called this phenomenon “pseudomorphosis,” drawing on a metaphor from the field of mineralogy and crystallography, where the natural growth of crystalline rocks is disturbed by an external phenomenon, for example, the eruption of volcanic magma, whose particles interfere with the process of crystal formation and create malformed crystal-hybrids.5

Archeomodernity is a hybrid society in which both sides – the modernized and traditional - are easily guessed, but do not enter into orderly, logical interaction with each other, do not combine consciously and consistently, but coexist “de facto” without noticing each other. In archeomodernity you can never be sure whether you are dealing with the modern or archaic element: at any moment the situation may change and antiquity will look out from under the mask of the contemporary, while tradition will upon closer examination prove to be a fake. In such a society, the principle of the social lie dominates - both the elites and the masses systematically lie to themselves and others about their nature, not because they know the truth and hide it, but because they do not know this truth and hide their ignorance.

It is precisely archeomodernity as a socio-cultural type that has developed in Russia in the last centuries. Spengler believed that appearances of pseudomorphism in Russian history began with Peter I, although its premises are already visible in the Russian schism. Russia differs from other forms of archeomodernity, which in varying degrees include colonial and postcolonial societies (as is clear in the case of the countries of Africa, Latin America, the Islamic world, India, China and, with certain reservations, Japan, South Korea, etc.), only by the fact that exogenous modernization took place in it without actual loss of sovereignty and without complete colonization. Rather, it was “defensive”6 in nature and served to defend sovereignty and independence in the face of aggressive pressure from Western Europe. What the colonialists imposed on other traditional societies, we imposed on ourselves - precisely in order to protect against potential colonialists; that is, in the name of freedom and independence. Russian archeomodernity did not become less painful and unnatural as a result, but acquired an additional dimension; it was possible to interpret it not only as a fatal consequence of the loss of independence at a certain historical stage in the face of modern societies, but as a kind of consciously chosen “national idea.

In the most charitable sense, you can interpret Russian archeomodernity as a special social disguise that traditional society (arch) adopted to preserve itself in the new historical conditions, when external and offensive colonial modern societies acquired too many competitive advantages, incompatible with traditional societies’ ability to preserve freedom.

If we treat archeomodernity critically, it can be viewed as the deliberate and voluntary distortion of traditional social structures and artificial auto-infection done for some vague goals in a world where in most cases these distortions were imposed forcibly and the epidemic spread by itself. In this case, the Petrine reforms and the whole subsequent history of Russia, including the USSR and the modern Russian Federation, are seen as something intermediary between a diversion of the ruling class and the self-destructive masochism of society as a whole.

Smerdyakov as the central figure of archeomodernity (on “bathhouse mildew”)

The program of Russian archeomodernity is briefly and succinctly presented by the hero of the Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov, Pavel Smerdyakov, the illegitimate son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov from the foolish beggar woman Lizaveta Smerdyashchaya.

“I hate all Russia, Marya Kondratyevna. […] In 1812 there was a great invasion of Russia by Napoleon, first emperor of the French, and it would have been a good thing if they had conquered us. A clever nation would have conquered a very stupid one and annexed it. We should have had quite different institutions.”7

And in dialogue with the same Maria Kondratyevna:

-“If you’d been a cadet in the army, or a young hussar, you wouldn’t have talked like that, but would have drawn your sword to defend all Russia.”

-“I don’t want to be a hussar, Marya Kondratyevna, and what’s more, I should like to abolish all soldiers.”

-“And when an enemy comes, who is going to defend us?”

-“There’s no need of defence. In 1812 there was a great invasion of Russia by Napoleon…”8

This is not simple Westernism, although Pavel Smerdyakov, of course, is a Westernizer, which is evident from his admiration for everything European. He himself says so about Europeans:

“There the scoundrel [foreigner] wears polished boots and here he grovels in filth.”9

It is telling here that Smerdykov partially criticizes himself, his Russian nature. Judging by the derogatory nickname, both he and his foolish mother stink from the inside, in accordance with his last name, but he tries to drown out the stinkings with perfumes and disguise them with lacquer shoes. This is the image of a Russian lackey, a bastard; a social figure hovering between master and commoner, a being that is deeply sick, mangled, upset, but at the same time suffering and tormented, and tormenting others. This just is a hybrid, a typical image encapsulating the basic properties of Russian archeomodernity. This feature of the Smerdyakov breed is noted in Dostoevsky by the old servant Gregory, who raised Smerdyakov (as a representative of the traditional archaic Russian society, the Russian servant is juxtaposed to the Russian lackey). Aware of the pathological nature of the Russian lackey quality, of social Smerdyakovism as an archeomodern metaphysical phenomenon, Gregory insisted even in Smerdyakov’s childhood not to baptize him:

“Because it’s a dragon […] a mixture of nature has occurred.”10

This is an extremely important “mixture of nature,” and the “mixture” is pathological, unnatural, aesthetically disgusting and ethically repulsive (Smerdyakov commits patricide in the novel); it is the formula of Russian archeo-modernity, a disgusting hybrid of archaism with modernity, carried out to the detriment of both components, leading to the perversion and degeneration of both. The old Russian servant suspects that the type of the Russian lackey who is replacing him carries a colossal anthropological threat. Developing the theme of the “dragon,” of the “mixture of nature,” Gregory tells Smerdyakov to his face:

“Are you a human being? […] You’re not a human being. You grew from the mildew in the bathhouse. That’s who you are.”11

This is not just an irritated metaphor; it is an essential insight into the field of social anthropology. Smerdyakov (the Russian [rossiyskiy] lackey and prototype of a Russian [russkogo] liberal), is, in the opinion of a typical representative of archaic Russia, “not a human being,” “scum,” an evil demonic creature born from “bathhouse mildew” (the models of “bathhouse” and “mildew” used here have an archaic structure and mean something “unclean,” “primordial,” recalling the plot of the dispute between the devil and God in numerous Russian apocryphal legends about the creation of the world, with obvious elements of either ancient Iranian dualism or medieval Bogomilism).12

The most important thing is that the degenerate Smerdyakov is an absolutely autochthonous Russian degenerate. His “Westernism” is not the cause of his degeneracy; on the contrary, the his own deep-seated degeneracy pushes him - from awareness of his own pathology and aversion to what is his and to everything around - to worship before the “other,” in this case before Europe, raised to the ideal. In Smerdyakov and in Russian archeomodernity, what is central is not love for another, but hatred toward one’s own. This distinguishes Russian archeomodernity from its colonial and postcolonial counterparts.

In colonial India or slave-owning Brazil, modernity, embodied in the ruling class of European colonialists, was a catastrophe, a disaster that had an external character. And although the colonization gradually penetrated the depths and gave rise to layers of collaborators, imitators, and transgressors, it did not carry in itself a deep split in the consciousness of the people and hatred for its own identity. It was like a natural disaster and had no endogenous cultural roots.

The artificial modernization and westernization of the Russians, beginning with Peter I, gave rise to a sense of society’s internal betrayal of itself, its roots, and it was not possible to explain to the broad masses the “defensive,” “forced” nature of such modernization, perhaps rationally intelligible to elites. (Moreover, it was not clear why it was necessary to “throw the baby out with the bathwater,” to sacrifice identity for the sake of the dubious benefits of technical development). Only a Smerdyakovistic understanding of the dispositive of various strategies of self-estrangement reached the masses; a split of consciousness, inner hatred and fastidiousness - first and foremost, toward themselves. Modernity was perceived not as such, but as a measure of humiliation — as that, in comparison with which everything Russian was subjectively presented to Russians as “wretched,” “insignificant,” “shameful,” and “repulsive.” Thanks to this understanding of “modernity” in archeomodernity, its content, like the modernization process itself, is perceived as false and distorted; it loses its original content, but does not acquire positive and new content, turning into a meaningless and aggravating pathogenic core, a source of unceasing ressentimen.13

At the same time, in the figure of the Russian [rossiyskogo] “lackey-dragon,” the archaic side significantly mutated, losing the calm self-identity of the archaic, turning it inside out, losing the internal structure, the structure of myth and custom, ritual and tradition.

Notes:

1. Heidegger M. 1943. Heraklit 1. Die Anfang des abenländischen Denkens. Heidegger M. 1944. 2. Logik, Heraklits Lehre vom Logos. Heidegger, Vorträge und Aufsätze. Fink E. 1970. Heraklit: Seminar mit Martin Heidegger. Frankfurt am Main.

2. Dugin A.G. Sociology of the Imagination. Introduction to Structural Sociology. Moscow: Academic Project, 2010; Dugin A.G. Logos and Mythos. Sociology of the Depths. Moscow: Academic Project, 2010; Bachelard G. Earth and Revelries of Will: An Essay on the Imagination of Matter (Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture, 2002; Corbin H. L’Imagination créatrice dans le soufisme d’Ibn Arabî. R.: Flammarion, 1977, and especially: Durand G. Les Structures anthropologiques de l’imaginaire. Paris, 1960

3. Dugin A.G. 2011. Arheomodern. Dugin A.G. 2009. The Radical Subject and its Double. Moscow: The Eurasian Movement, pp. 285-381. Dugin, 2009. Video lectures on Arheomodern from the course “The Sociology of Russian Society,” Moscow State University. http://evrazia.tv/content/sociologiya-russkogo-obshchestva-lekciya-2-arheomodern

4. Dugin A. 2017. The Rise of the Fourth Political Theory. London: Arktos Media.

5. Spengler O. 1963. Der Untergang des Abendlandes – Umrisse einer Morphologie der Weltgeschichte. München: C.H. Beck

6. Dugin A.G. The Rise of the Fourth Political Theory, Chapter 3

7. Dostoyevsky F. 2005. The Brothers Karamazov. Mineola: Dover Publications, Inc. p. 203. Slightly modified from the original [omitting the phrase “father of the present one” after “first emperor of the French.”]

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid. Translation slightly modified.

10. Ibid., p. 83. Translation slightly modified.

11. Ibid., p. 109.

12. In these plots, Sataniel seeks to compete with God, but he does not succeed in any way, since he tries to create the likeness of God’s creations from the wrong material. See Russian Mythology. Encyclopedia. Moscow: Eksmo, 2006

13. Scheler, M. 1972. Ressentiment. New York: Schocken

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