We are rotting. But in the rot, something slithers. Oswald Spengler
looked at Europe and saw an old woman, lips painted to hide the cracks.
Alexander Dugin looks at the world and sees a battlefield, lines drawn
in blood. Faustian man, the one who reaches beyond, the builder of
cathedrals, the engineer of apocalypse — he built too much, reached too
far, and now he drowns in the very ocean he sought to conquer. What is
left? A new war, not just a war of nations, but of Being itself. The
Fourth Political Theory does not weep for the West like Spengler does.
It laughs. It sharpens its knife. It declares the old ideologies dead
and shoves their corpses into the dirt. It calls for something new,
something beyond liberalism, beyond communism, beyond fascism — a
return, but not to tradition as a museum piece. Tradition as a weapon.
Spengler
knew. He knew that civilizations, like men, grow old, grow weak,
collapse under their own weight. But what happens when an old man
refuses to die? Look at Europe: a continent in the final stages of
consumption, wheezing out empty slogans about "democracy" and "human
rights" while its cities burn and its borders dissolve. Faustian man,
trapped in his own creation, unable to let go, clinging to the dream of
eternal progress as it spirals into the void. But Dugin does not speak
of decline; he speaks of war. Spengler's Age of the Caesars, not as a
lament but as a prophecy. The great men will return, but they will not
be European. Europe has forgotten how to breed conquerors. The new
Caesars will come from elsewhere, from civilizations still young enough
to believe in destiny...<<<
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