Jonathan Bowden- Nietzschean Powerhouse

Jonathan Bowden

My first contact with the work of Jonathan Bowden was the result of an internet search while researching leftist ideology. At the time, I was deprogramming myself after years of university mind-warping, during which time I learned nothing of any value, only how to repeat back to my tutors the current approved slogans.

 As I listened to Bowden’s oration “Marxism and The Frankfurt School” I knew I had stumbled upon an authentic, dynamic intellectual, unlike the system hacks, dilettantes and charlatans of the so-called education institutions. The delivery was flawless, without “ums” or “ers”, malapropisms or inaccuracies.

 After diligently re-listening several times to the dense and intense intellectual barrage which was Jonathan’s lecture and making detailed notes I decided to e-mail the great man and forward my appreciation of his work. Later that day he replied, asking for my address as he wanted to send me a copy of his book “Apocalypse TV”, a fictional dialogue between a traditional Christian and a pagan on the crisis of our times.

Thoroughly inspired by his work I decided to contact the local branch of a certain reactionary party he was associated with during that period. In a short time after receiving the book I was extremely delighted to be informed via text message that Jonathan was giving a speech near to my home town. The surreptitious way in which we met at a supermarket car park which functioned as a re-direction point added to my already excited mindset, I felt like a teenager going to a metal concert for the first time.

 The first two speakers were lacklustre and quite truthfully, boring.

 Then, finally it was Jonathan Bowden’s turn.

 In a true Nietzschean sense, Bowden’s brutal, snarling voice, a manifestation of pure will-to-power filled the void of awed silence in the pub. His critique of the current regime was visceral, caustically witty and humorous.

 After his rapturous performance had ended and the crowds had dispersed I seized the opportunity to chat with a man I had admired even before I met him in person. We discussed the negative impact the mainstream so-called churches have on European ethnic identity and bemoaned that fact that there are no personalities such as Codreanu today who could alter this theological course. Seemingly impressed by the points I had raised, Jonathan opened up and revealed to me his misgivings about the party he had just promoted. It was far too soft, populist and concerned with the dead weight of a mass-movement. Cultural warfare for him was absolutely paramount and goes before realpolitik. A complete alternative to the current regime must be formulated to give people a vision for a different tomorrow.

 I also told him about how during my university years I felt wretched about my European heritage due to history being taught as a litany of white on non-white victimization. Jonathan smirked at the pathetic weakness of internalizing such notions.

 Then he gave me his mobile phone number and an invitation which was to begin my career in the British New Right. I was asked to come along to a meeting the following week in London at which he was to give a sequel talk to the above mentioned one which so impressed me.

 This was very convenient as on that weekend I was to spend a few days with a London based lady I was dating. So, after the usual rigmarole of ringing a number and assembling at a redirection point I arrived at my first ever New Right meeting. Alas, I only was able to hear the first lecture as I was sent guilt eliciting text messages from my lady-friend asking how long I was going to be and relentlessly informing me of how much she wanted to visit a certain place in the city before it closed.

 I gave in.

 Jonathan was downstairs at the bar during the interim period before the next talk and I explained to him the situation and apologized for missing his speech, a speech I absolutely wanted to hear. He looked at me contemptuously for the emasculating act of allowing a woman to electronically brow-beat and control me in this manner.

 But Jonathan was not a stone-hearted man. While saying goodbye and shaking his hand at the end of a garden party I saw genuine kindness in his eyes and in his smile. Just weeks prior to his death I spoke to him during an interval at the London New Right. His voice was softer and general gestalt gentler. To my rantings he listened intently and voiced his approval to my dictum “aesthetic is everything”.

I would say the greatest and most ultra masculine aspect of Jonathan’s psyche was his unwavering, aggressive revolutionary conservatism. When asked about the holocaust, he neither affirmed nor denied this victimhood narrative. Never defensive, he retorted with something like “we’ve moved beyond that”. By this, Bowden was stating that he rejects the entire humanistic system of ethics and will not allow the discussion to deviate into a debate about the anti indentitarian totem which the holocaust can function as.

 The banal and the trivial were beneath Jonathan, he would not waste his breath making “small talk”. The faculty of speech for him was to be dedicated unto that which transcends pedestrian drudgery. He was an unabashed, unapologetic elitist and had a multitude of reasons to view himself as objectively better than the throngs of homo Americanus beasts who passed by the venues in which he delivered his orations. For him, the more inegalitarian the society is the better.

When I first found out about Jonathan’s demise I nearly shed a tear but was stopped by imagining his idiosyncratic, bellowing laugh at such a show of feebleness. Would he want us to mourn and weep for him? I would say the most fitting tribute would be to put into practice the advice the populist reactionaries ignored. The cultural war is the essence of the struggle.

I’d like to finish this eulogy in the manner Jonathan so often would conclude his speeches.

And so I give you Jonathan Bowden, a Nietzschean Powerhouse. Thank you very much!


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