I think I ran out of tears when I was 28 years old, but a handful of times while reading this book I thought that perhaps I would weep. I certainly shook.
I received the contents of this book, digested over a couple weeks in a few long sittings, absolutely as a revelation– a vision– but not in the sense of unfolding the contours of a history previously unknown to me. Turner describes the causes and consequences of a substitution affected by the conquerors of "western civilization:" that is the substitution of history for myth as a way of understanding life and the world. The result, originally published in 1980, is an achievement I, in turn, cannot describe. I have read hundreds of books and hundreds and hundreds of pamphlets, and this is one of the most important works I could recommend to anyone who would understand this culture and its sickness.
In Fredy Perlman's 1983 book "Against His-story, Against Leviathan!" he has the following to say about Turner's "Beyond Geography" (an appraisal I quote here at some length):
"In a wonderfully lucid book titled Beyond Geography, a book which also goes beyond history, beyond technology, beyond civilization, Frederick W. Turner (not to be confused with Frederick Jackson Turner, the frontiersman’s advocate) draws the curtain and floods the stage with light.
Others drew the curtain before Turner; they’re the ones who made the secret public: Toynbee, Drinnon, Jennings, Camatte, Debord, Zerzan among contemporaries whose lights I’ve borrowed; Melville, Thoreau, Blake, Rousseau, Montaigne, Las Casas among predecessors; Lao Tze as long ago as written memory can reach.
Turner borrows the lights of human communities beyond civilization’s ken to see beyond geography. He sees with the eyes of the dispossessed of this once beautiful world that rests on a turtle’s back, this double continent whose ponds emptied, whose banks were rent, whose forests became arid craters from the day it was named America.
...a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight …
Focusing on the image, Yeats asked,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
The vision is as clear to Turner as it was to Yeats:
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle.
Seers of old returned to share their visions with their communities, just as women shared their corn and men their hunt.
But there is no community. The very memory of community is a fogged image out of Spiritus Mundi.
The seer of now pours his vision on sheets of paper, on banks of arid craters where armored bullies stand guard and demand the password, Positive Evidence. No vision can pass by their gates. The only song that passes is a song gone as dry and cadaverous as the fossils in the sands.
Turner, himself a guard, a professor, has the courage of a Bartolomé de Las Casas. He storms the gates, refuses to give the password, and he sings, he rants, he almost dances.
The armor comes off. Even if it is not merely worn like clothes or masks, even if it is glued to face and body, even if skin and flesh must be yanked off with it, the armor does come off.
Of late, many have been storming the gates. Only recently one sang that the net of factories and mines was the Gulag Archipelago and all workers were zeks (namely conscripts, inmates, labor gang members). Another sang that the Nazis lost the war but their new order didn’t. Ranters are legion now. Is it about to rain? Is it the twilight of a new dawn? Or is it the twilight in which Minerva’s owl can see because day is all done?
* * *
Turner, Toynbee and others are focusing on the beast that is destroying the only known home of living beings.
Turner subtitles his book, “The Western Spirit against the Wilderness.” By Western Spirit he means the attitude or posture, the soul or spirit of Western Civilization, known nowadays as Civilization.
Turner defines Wilderness the same way the Western Spirit defines it, except that the term is positive for Turner, negative for the Western Spirit: Wilderness embraces all of Nature and all the human communities beyond Civilization’s ken."
Perlman wasn't shitting the bed. There are still a good number of copies of this book out in the world. Track one down. And find out about the first several genocides, the first several holocausts on which Hitler based his dreams.
And know that any resistance movement with any prospect of victory mounted against this nightmare culture will be answered with each one of our heads dashed against the rocks, our children murdered in front of us, our best and bravest locked down or sold out, and the land forever poisoned, whether in the name of God or in the name of his child Science.
Never have I been more convinced that the struggle against fascism and the struggle against civilization are iterations of the same struggle.