Russell Kirk and Reenchanting the Political Imagination

In his final collection of essays, the Italian philosopher Umberto Eco describes the current social climate as “liquid.” In using this term, he meant that postmodernism is on the way out, even if nothing has risen to replace it. The result of our liquid social climate is a sort of blind consumption, destroying the individual and the community alike, leaving human beings without a reference point to any sort of guiding star. The question, for Eco, is how we may come to terms with liquidity. In some sense, perhaps the best way forward may require a return.

Russell Kirk, the father of postwar traditionalist conservatism in America, shared a similar concern and anchored his solutions in concepts such as the “moral imagination,” the teaching of virtue, and a right understanding of tradition. Kirk advocated for what he and T.S. Eliot called the “permanent things,” and it is only these permanent things which can serve as the “new instruments” for a liquid society. Throughout the course of his literary career, Russell Kirk strove to reenchant the modern imagination. His goal was not merely to tell a story, but rather to stave off the decaying of society, inviting readers into a tradition of hope.

Kirk’s theory of literature starts out by hearkening back to what literature used to be: “Until very recent years, men took it for granted that literature exists to form the normative consciousness: that is, to teach human beings their true nature, their dignity, and their rightful place in the scheme of things.” Thinking along these lines, literature, or the stories a culture passes along, is much more than an entertaining yarn or mindless escapist fare. A good story will help the individual to recognize their place in the community around them, while simultaneously moving them towards a holistic understanding of the individual.

This statement is not a new one, with echoes clear back to Plato’s Republic. Stories ought to demonstrate the proper method of conflict resolution if a son is to understand his relation to his father, a daughter to her mother, or a citizen to their neighbor. From the classical period onward, stories have had a moral function within society. Plato tells his own fanciful fiction in describing the solitary person who makes it out of the cave. Kirk wrote that “imaginative persuasion, not blunt exhortation, commonly is the method of the literary champion of norms.” Pontificating on the vices of the world makes poor converts to the rich moral vision of the world which ought to be promulgated. To raise up men and women who want a society based upon the permanent things, the normative actions and interactions which will spread human flourishing, the ethical landscape must be painted upon the imagination. Literature ought to create a persuasive vision of the political, religious, and social life in such a manner that the young grow up into that same expectation. Not a utopian fancy, but a life represented well on the page — a life that prompts others to see themselves within the tale.

Kirk formulated his idea within the confines of Modernity, a way of describing a disenchanted world. As Modernity developed, and was found wanting, the aims of society began to change, and the methods did not follow suit. Globalism, then multiculturalism, began to replace the recognition of the Western tradition. The permanent things were discarded in exchange for localized ideals. Think of the proliferation of websites which promise to help a person better understand who they are through DNA testing. The promise seems, at first, to offer a connection to some roots that go deep into the individual’s person. It is nothing more than an excuse to ignore the culture one is already a part of, replacing the surrounding norms and standards with hypothetical ones that stem from some far-off land. This idealism born out of Modernity declares itself a democratizing force but is really a new form of aristocracy. As the German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk observes, “We are talking about the aristocracy of enthusiasm for noble or, in other words, universal emancipatory goals relevant to humanity. Idealism emerged on this basis as the attempt to give pride of place to the world as a whole, a place with an ontologically ambitious name, that of the ‘subject.’” No longer does pride in family and moral standards define the personality; under the new regime of idealism, a person is only as good as the culture to which they can prove they belong, and the more obscure the better. Permanence has all but lost its value.

In imaginative writing, Russell Kirk saw a way to provide something to an ailing society; he used this kind of writing to connect the past with the present, and for him this art shared much in common with Gothic architecture. In the Gothic form he saw “variety, mystery, tradition, the venerable, the awful.” The Gothic form confronts Modernity in such a way that it cannot be ignored, try as though one might. This can be transferred to forms of writing as well, art styles which have the same elements. The poetic turn of phrase, elaborate plot devices, the blending of the old and the new — each of these elements provide a way to explore that unique relationship which conservative writing has with the truth. The way something is constructed is just as important as the meaning behind the form.

Taking the repudiation of tradition that began with Modernity, converting that into something that lays claim to traditions provided they meet a predetermined set of objectives, Postmodernity amplifies the alienation that dominated the twentieth century. As highlighted by Sloterdijk, societies no longer gather for primarily religious reasons, reducing much social interaction to a sort of “party game” where rules and superiority are emphasized instead of “higher things.” This further alienates individuals from one another, as those events which bring them together are not those involving reflection, confession, or reconciliation. “As a rule, modern societies do not come face to face with themselves.” Literature of this kind muddies the waters further, breaking with conventions and traditions without replacing them with something else. Nonsense follows upon nonsense, and common sense is left out entirely. It becomes difficult in these settings to even understand what is meant by the word culture or civilization.

Looking first at Kirk’s novel featuring Manfred Arcane, one might have difficulty finding the historical grounding. The story is set in the fictional African nation of Hamnegri, though perhaps “mythical” is a better word to describe the adopted land of Manfred Arcane. Arcane’s personal history is thoroughly anchored in the real world, with World War I, World War II, and the Cold War structure of Europe playing a significant role in the character’s development. Arcane himself becomes a teacher of history, economics, and traditions to the new sultan of Hamnegri over the course of the story. But the invented history of Hamnegri could have easily been pulled from the world Kirk knew. In 1955, the Bandung Afro-Asian Summit took place in Indonesia, and the successor to that conference was scheduled for 1965 in Algeria. The history of Algeria bears some resemblance to that of Hamnegri: former French colony, replaced by an older view of government, undermined by Western powers, and influenced heavily by the Communist countries who supported revolutions. In 1964, just two years before the publication of Kirk’s first Arcane novel, Algeria was officially documented by the House Foreign Relations Committee as under Communist influence. But Kirk does not merely transpose his characters into the real-life situations seen in the world; instead, he creates a mythical place where such true-to-life events might be explored without impunity. Hamnegri is not Algeria, even if based on an actual country. This enables Kirk to put someone such as Arcane to work, steering the course of events to a more persuasive and more conservative ending. Arcane is a medieval man living in the modern world.

The novel hangs upon the invasion of the natural by the supernatural. Melchoria’s dream, the only substantial otherworldly moment in the novel, occurs at the turning point of Manfred Arcane’s plans. The placement of this moment serves as the proper catalysts to move the primary actor towards a recognition of the Divine. Though Arcane adheres to the Catholic faith, much of his actions suggest an immanentized frame, plotting his adventure seemingly apart from any divine consideration. But neither does he the supernatural once it has emerged upon the scene. This re-enchantment of the world guides Arcane to recognize what his plans might cost him, prompting him to remain more committed to this plan of restoration.

The appearance of the supernatural does not necessarily equal a religious resolution, but it is indeed hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Arcane shows his hand in terms of his faith, particularly when he invites the local priest to come await the last confession of his friend, Arpad. It is only in the Christian faith that Manfred Arcane finds redemption. In the story, the protagonist is only relieved of his burdens after a spiritual insight or presence enables him to move beyond past actions. For Arcane, this culminates in a solemnized wedding.

Kirk combated Modernity through an understanding of the formative nature that literature brings to society. He engaged the imagination through the proposal that there is something of value in the world of old. As a conservative writer, he put forth stories which recognized that the scale of a human life must be weighed in eternity. The battles fought by the writers of tradition may echo beyond the mortal vale, where real-life characters might finally be fully known. Arcane may have been the Father of Shadows, but he finds solace in the wisdom of the past, which ought to instruct readers today. For there is value to be had from a backwards glance.

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