ludimagister

emrah, 27, male. columbus, oh.

“For Nietzsche, to be truly existing, to really be a person, has to do with taking control of your own life, realizing your particular talents and virtues, falling in love with yourself, understanding that your life is about manifesting your talents and virtues, passionately throwing yourself into the work you do, and becoming the person that you really are.”

—   Robert C. Solomon, No Excuses: Existentialism and the Meaning of Life

“Kierkegaard defines what it means to really exist as passionately committing oneself to a way of life.”

—   Robert C. Solomon, No Excuses: Existentialism and the Meaning of Life

“Scientific progress is not accompanied by any inner progress, but develops on a plane apart. It does not intersect with man’s concrete existential situation, which instead is left to itself.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“The word “persona” signifies “mask”: the mask that ancient actors wore in playing a given part, in incarnating a given personage. Thereby the mask possesses something typical, nonindividual, especially in the case of divine masks and even more clearly when used in many archaic rites. Thus, the “person” is that which the man presents concretely and sensibly in the world, in the position he occupies, but always signifying a form of expression and manifestation of a higher principle in which the true center of being is to be recognized, and on which falls, or should fall, the accent of the Self.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

Today, something happened. Something that changes everything. With it, I discovered in me a most heartfelt clarity of purpose and a tremendous aggressive energy. The fire of my soul is burning like never before.

I mark this day as a new beginning. I declare this task as my great struggle. Hereby, I testify before my burning will that I shall completely devour this task or perish in the act. I’d rather die than lose this. This, my friends, is a battle cry.

It is important to make the distinction between the pleasure that which is passive and that which is heroic. The distinction corresponds to that between two opposite attitudes. Passive pleasure is marked by passivity toward the world of impulses, instincts, passions, and inclinations. It is that which is tied to the satisfaction of desire in terms of a momentary dampening of the fire that drives life onward. Heroic pleasure, on the other hand, is that which accompanies a decisive action that comes from the core of being, from the plane superior to that of conditioned life.

It would be wrong to imagine heroic pleasure as inhabiting an arid, abstracted, and soulless climate. There, too, can be fire and vigor, but of a very different kind, with the constant presence of the higher, calm, and detached principle. It is also important in this context not to confuse the inner significance of an action with its contents. There is no object of passive pleasure that cannot in principle be also the object of heroic pleasure, and vice versa. It is a matter of a different dimension.

Finally there is a parallel between heroic pleasure and that which accompanies any action in its perfection, when its style shows a greater or lesser degree of diligence and integrity. Everyone has experienced the particular pleasure obtained from the exercise of an acquired skill, when after the necessary efforts to develop it (without being driven by the idea of passive pleasure), it becomes an ability, a spontaneity of a higher order, a mastery, a sort of game.

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“Neither pleasure nor pain should enter as motives when one must do what must be done.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

With the recognition of “one’s own nature” and the making of “one’s own law,” the problem is only resolved partially. That is the plane of individuation, which furnishes one with an adequate base for controlling one’s conduct in any circumstances. But this plane has no transparency for one who wants to get to the bottom of things; absolute meaning is not yet to be found therein. When the situation remains at this stage, one is active in wanting to be oneself, but not with regard to the fact of being thus and not otherwise. To a certain type, this can seem like something so irrational and obscure as to set in motion a crisis that endangers everything he has hitherto gained. It is then that he must undergo the second degree of self-proving, which is like an experimental proof of the presence within him, in greater or lesser measure, of the higher dimension of transcendence. This is the unconditioned nucleus that in life does not belong to life’s sphere, but to that of Being.

It depends on this last trial to resolve, or not to resolve, the problem of the ultimate meaning of existence in an ambience lacking any support. After the whole superstructure has been rejected or destroyed, and having for one’s sole support one’s own being, the ultimate meaning of existing and living can spring only from a direct and absolute relationship between that being (what one is in a limiting sense) and transcendence. This meaning is not given by anything extrinsic or external, anything added to the being when the latter turns to some other principle; it can only be given by the transcendent dimension directly perceived by man as the root of his being and of his “own nature.” Moreover, it carries an absolute justification, an indelible and irrevocable consecration, which completely destroys the state of negativity and the existential problem. …

This unity with the transcendent is also the condition for preventing the process of self-unification from taking a regressive path. There is in fact a possibility of a pathological unification of the being from below, as in the case of an elementary passion that takes over the whole person, organizing all his faculties to its own ends. One must consider this possible reduction to absurdity of “being oneself” and of the unity of the self. This is a further reason to require our particular type of man to undergo the trial of self-knowledge at the second degree, which concerns, as we have said, the presence of the unconditioned and the supra-individual as his true center. …

In a meaningless world, the absolute sense of being depends almost exclusively on this experience. If it has a positive outcome, the last limit falls away; transcendence and existence, freedom and necessity, possibility and reality coincide. A centrality and invulnerability are realized without restriction in any situation, be it dark or light, detached or apparently open to every impulse or passion of life. Above all, the essential conditions are thereby created for adapting, without losing oneself, to a world that has become free but left to its own devices, seized by irrationality and meaninglessness.

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“Every natural gift must develop itself by competition.”

—   Friedrich Nietzsche

“Man, in his highest and noblest capacities, is nature and bears in himself her awful twofold character.”

—   Friedrich Nietzsche

“In some cases, the shock of reality and the consequent trauma may serve not to validate and increase a strength that is already present, but to reawaken it. These are the cases in which only a thin film separates the principle of being in a person from that of the merely human individuality. Situations of depression, emptiness, or tragedy, whose negative solution is the return to religion, may through a positive reaction lead to this awakening. Even in some of the most advanced modern literature one finds curious testimonies of moments of liberation realized in the midst of disintegration. One example will suffice, from an author already cited. Henry Miller, after all the signs of the chaotic disintegration of a meaningless life, after stupefaction at “the grandiose collapse of a whole world,” speaks of a vision that justifies everything as it is—“a sort of eternity in suspense in which everything is justified, supremely justified.” One looks for a miracle outside, he says, “while a counter counts within and there is no hand that can reach it or stop it.” Only a sudden shock can do it. Then a new current arises in the being. This makes him say: “Perhaps in reading this, one has still the impression of chaos but this is written from a live center and what is chaotic is merely peripheral, the tangential shreds, as it were, of a world which no longer concerns me.” This brings us back, in a way, to the rupture of levels mentioned above, which has the virtue of instilling a different quality in the circuit of mere “life.””

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“Seneca said that no spectacle is more pleasing to the gods than that of the superior man grappling with adversity. Only thus can he know his own strength. And Seneca adds that it is the men of valor who are sent to the riskiest positions or on difficult missions, while the spineless and feeble are left behind. There is the well-known maxim: “That which does not destroy us makes us stronger.” In our case, the basis for this courage refers to the dimension of transcendence in oneself: it is attested and confirmed in all situations of chaos and dissolution, thus turning them to our own advantage. It is the antithesis of an arrogant hardening of the physical individuality in all its forms, whether unilaterally Stoic or Nietzschean. Instead, it is the conscious activation in oneself of the principle and of its strength, in experiences, moreover, that are not merely undergone but also sought.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“What is the God whose death has been announced? Nietzsche himself replies: “Only the god of morality has been conquered.” He also asks: “Is there any sense in conceiving of a god beyond good and evil?” The reply must be affirmative. “Let God slough off his moral skin, and we shall see him reappear beyond good and evil.” What has disappeared is therefore not the god of metaphysics, but the god of theism, the personal god who is a projection of moral and social values and a support for human weakness. Now, the conception of a god in different terms is not only possible but essential within all the great traditions before and beside Christianity, and the principle of nonduality is also evident in them. These other traditions recognized as the ultimate foundation of the universe a principle anterior and superior to all antitheses, including those of immanence and transcendence considered unilaterally. This conferred on existence—on all of existence, including that part of it that appears problematic, destructive, and “evil”—the supreme justification that was being sought through a liberated worldview, to be affirmed beyond the demolitions of nihilism. Zarathustra in fact announces nothing new when he says: “Everything that becomes seems to me divine dance and divine whim, and the liberated world returns to itself.” It is the same idea that Hinduism casts in the well-known symbol of the dance and play of the naked god Shiva. As another example, we might recall the doctrine of the transcendent identity of samsara (the world of becoming) with nirvana (the unconditioned), that ultimate peak of esoteric wisdom.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“All the positive aspects of the übermensch belong to this: the power to make a law for oneself. The “power to refuse and not to act, when one is pressed to affirmation by a prodigious force and an enormous tension.” The natural and free asceticism that is moved to test its own strength by gauging “the power of a will according to the degree of resistance, pain, and torment that it can bear in order to turn them to its own advantage” (so that from this point of view everything that existence offers in the way of suffering and obstacles, everything that has nourished the popular forms of savior religions, is accepted, even desired). The principle of not obeying the passions, but of holding them on a leash (“greatness of character does not consist in not having such passions: one must have them to the greatest degree, but held in check, and moreover doing this with simplicity, not feeling any particular satisfaction thereby”). The idea that “the superior man is distinguished from the inferior by his fearlessness, by his defiance of unhappiness” (“it is a sign of regression when pleasure begins to be considered as the highest principle”). The responding with incredulity to those who point “the way to happiness” in order to make man follow a certain behavior (“but what does happiness matter to us”). The recognition that one of the ways to preserve the superior man is “to claim the right to exceptional acts as attempts at victory over oneself and as acts of freedom, to assure oneself, with a sort of asceticism, a preponderance and a certitude of one’s own strength of will,” without refusing any privation. To affirm that freedom whose elements include “keeping the distance which separates us, being indifferent to difficulties, hardships, privations, even to life itself.” The highest type of the free men being seen in “he who always overcomes the strongest resistances.” To denounce the insidious confusion between discipline and enfeeblement (the goal of discipline can only be a greater strength—”he who does not dominate is weak, dissipated, inconstant”) and holding that “indulgence can only be objected to in the case of him who has no right to it, and when all the passions have been discredited thanks to those who were not strong enough to turn them to their own advantage.” To point the way of those who, free from all bonds, obeying only their own law, are unbending in obedience to it and above every human weakness. All those aspects, in fine, in which the superman is not just the “beast of prey,” but is also capable of generosity, quick to offer manly aid, of “generous virtue,” magnanimity, and superiority to his own individuality. All these are only comprehensible and attainable when “life” is “more than life,” that is, through transcendence. They are values attainable only by those in whom there is something else, and something more, than mere life.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul

“The Faustian lament, “two souls, alas, live in my breast,” is already an optimistic assumption. All too many have to admit, like a typical character in Hesse, that they have a multitude of souls! … One can see how problematic is the very point that has hitherto seemed fixed: fidelity to oneself, the absolute, autonomous law based on one’s own “being,” when it is formulated in general and abstract terms. Everything is subject to debate—a situation accurately exemplified by characters in Dostoyevsky, like Raskolnikov or Stavrogin. At the moment when they are thrown back on their own naked will, trying to prove it to themselves with an absolute action, they collapse; they collapse precisely because they are divided beings, because they are deluded concerning their true nature and their real strength. Their freedom is turned against them and destroys them; they fail at the very point at which they should have reaffirmed themselves—in their depths they find nothing to sustain them and carry them forward.”

—   Julius Evola, Ride the Tiger: Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul