An Essay on the Serpent
by Alexander Dugin
1. The Evolution of Capitalist Animals
Traditionally, there is a bad attitude towards the serpent. It is a term of abuse. In memory of the temptation of Eve in Paradise the reptiles are deprived of legs and creep on their bellies upon damp, crude ground. The serpent has incorporated Satan. The dark spirit gallops through the graveyard on his legless, scaly horse during the night, frightening the vampires and doe-rabbits sleeping in the bushes. Being poisonous, cool and flexible the serpent attracts a little sympathy. Marx named the mole as a symbol of capitalism. Like a blind mole Capitalism digs gloomy holes in the hearts of the blotto people, rushing around in the vampiric labyrinths with increasing value for the benefit of the meanest minority and for the uncountable sufferings of the silliest majority. Gilles Deleuse has correctly noted that modern Capitalism is changing its symbol. The classical mole has exhausted its opportunities. His dirty holes have pitted the unfortunate ground so that reality has become a universal sieve, from which the inhabitants of that side of the great wall make faces. The Era of the Mole has ended. Capitalism, as Gilles Deleuse asserts, is entering a new phase; the phase of the serpent. In the modern globalist world the distinction between dominating and dominated, between men and women, full and hungry, doctors and patients, teachers and scholars is erasing itself. An open society is constructed in accordance with the serpent principle. Everything merges into everything else, the continuous social surfing penetrates the strata of global society. Capitalism no longer bribes Labour, but creates Labour in the form of entertainment. The cloning of people only became possible because Capitalism managed to clone Labour. Now it is clear why in a private office of the largest banking oligarchy a fat, unblinking terrarium can be located. Behind closed doors the animal and its owner look at each other with cold eyes and motionless, heavy eyelids. The Master of the Society of the Spectacle, a hypnotist for the hoaxed, paralysed Eurasian crowds that are the last to lie down by the luminescent escalator and fall into the globalist hell of the End of History. The Oligarch probably knows about Deleuse. And the python knows, too. And Marx the prophet – dispersed around the four corners of the world – knows too.
2. Serpents against Serpents
Tradition is an antithesis to Cartesianism. Formal logic – that was where the Morning Star began the subversion of our majestic, sacral world.
Such logic prompts one to look for an alternative to the serpent. If the serpent is bad, then the non-serpent is good. But this is a trap: categorical thinking is anti-ontological, it operates with rational abstractions. No non-serpent is able to defeat the serpent. We can put this another way: Only a serpent can stand against another serpent. Just recall: “Be wise as the serpents” (Matthew, 10:16).
The copper serpent, whose image was erected in the desert by Moses, is considered to be a prototype of the Redeemer. The serpent on a cross decorates the Orthodox temples. The serpent stands against the serpent – coiling flexible, bloodless body against his dark double.
The serpent is a symbol of both the male and the female principle. An ancient legend says that Alexander the Great was born from a serpent. And in the Chinese tradition a serpent-like Yellow Dragon is considered to be a symbol of the heavenly Logos. A spiral incarnation of an anagogic idea, an idea that raises the spirit, like a puff of smoke ascending to the heavens, becoming thin and then dissolving in a sky-blue of absolute knowledge and becoming a banner of the Ophite Gnostics, esteeming the Superior Deity in the form of a serpent. The early Christians were aware of an amazing symbol, the Anfisbena, a two-headed serpent consisting of two halves, one black and one white, the two participants of the last struggle with a common body. Both Christ and antichrist have just one argument: The man – creepy degenerate of that final times, rolling in the bog of transparent illusions, soaking life only from the greedy and decaying soul of their victims.
3. Our Terrarium
Do you remember how long Nietzsche’s Zarathustra was dragging the corpse of a smashed rope dancer behind him? And why? Because the disgust towards man and his easy acceptance of spiritual decay is not yet a argument to reject a difficult dispute with the spirit that denies life.
And if this is so, there is a new task on the day’s agenda: The construction of our terrarium. The raising of a new, rather dangerous breed on the opposite side to the failed and unsuitable cliches of Cartesianism. We henceforth shall cure you only with poison. He who has died, has never lived.