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I’ve just started reading Eugene Thacker’s In the Dust of This Planet, the first in his Horror of Philosophy series and as recommended by Warren Ellis. In the Dust of This Planet considers horror as a vehicle through which to think about the unthinkable, from personal to climatological. Horror as a way to poke and prod at the limit of thought and immediate experience. It’s fantastic and engrossing so far and I was so caught by a particular point that’s stuck ever since.
Thacker proposes a few interpretations for the word black in the phrase “black metal” and in doing so addresses, separately, several ways to process darkness, evil and demons.
“In contrast to what Schopenhauer calls a private nothing (the nihil privativum; dark as the absence of light, death as the absence of life) there is a negative nothing (the nihil negativum; nothingness without any positive value).”
In other words, private nothing is an absence of something defined and has its own character on that basis. Compared to that, negative nothing is without character or definition – it is simply absence without any kind of light-or-matter transition to some positive state. Thacker goes on to discuss demons and typology, including a fantastic point – right on topic – that “Elaine Pagels’s widely-read The Origin of Satan makes the clearest point: the demon is inseparable from a process of demonization, and this process is as much political as it is religious.” And a bit later:
“The demon is not really a supernatural creature, but an anthropological motif through which we human beings project, externalize and represent the darker side of the human to ourselves.”
Mechanism established Thacker moves onto typology of demons in Dante’s Inferno and identifies at least three distinct types: Lucifer himself, personified, giant, brooding counter-sovereign; embodied demons such as the Malebranche that are found instituting various punishments and generally administrating the mundane tasks of hell; and the third type, which is what I’m concerned with here. Dante encounters a demonic atmosphere, a tempestuous and vile black wind driving the spirits back and forth, “eternal in its rage.”
“We soon learn that this tempestuous scene is not the backdrop for some new genre of demons, but that the wind, the rain and the storm itself is the demon. This “black wind” is at once invisible and yet dramatically manifest, coursing through the swarming bodies of the damned.”
Thacker describes this as a demon that is “fully immanent, and yet never fully present,” “at once pure force and flow,” but having no substance of its own “also pure nothingness.”
It occurred to me while reading that this seems a perfect corollary to the Trump Campaign. A fiery, rageful bombast who has yet to articulate any particular strategy or stance. Instead, Trump blows back and forth across what all involved seem to percieve as a doomed and decrepit plain, and they’re taken by the force he shows. He bellows from above about destroying this or that enemy or head of state, bellows about building a wall that he’ll force another country to pay for, bellows frenetically back and forth: he contradicts himself as much as he affirms himself. It isn’t direction Trump is concerned with, only force. He’s a political tempest with rage rather than form; his campaign is “fully immanent, and yet never fully present,” lacking hereness but “dramatically manifest.” Not the counter-divine but rather the political nihil negativum, an absence furiously insisting upon its presence.
I keep expecting Trump to burn out – to blow himself out, really. That at some point his energy has to expire and give place to something else. But there’s no energy to bottom out. Trump’s not the counter-anything, but rather that nothingness without a positive value. He’s that vile storm blowing across a landscape that doesn’t know there’s a positive value on the other side of rage. And he appeals so much to people who seem to view themselves as the damned – angry at being cast into a landscape they find existentially hostile and punishing, a population mad enough at their world that they’ve instead chosen the storm that’s as likely to turn on them as anything.