By Michael Brendan Dougherty
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
The terror attack in Manchester had any number of new
disturbing elements. The choice of target, a concert full of young girls and
their parents was especially heinous. There was the sophistication of the bomb
and the subsequent investigation, which suggest an active terror network that
may strike again. But what’s most troubling is that the public reaction to the
attack was one of such passivity, and resignation. It expressed itself in the
thousands of faux-serious commentators who counseled people that there was
nothing that could be done to stop soft-target terror attacks. It expressed
itself in the way that people reached for dumb clichés about responding with
“hope, not hate.” Or in the way the British chattering class redirected their
anger at right-wing provocateurs such as Katie Hopkins, who gamely played the
role of opportunistic demagogue when her countrymen needed someone safe to
hate.
This frighteningly passive, and frightfully boring, set
of responses contrasts with the presence of Douglas Murray’s lively new book, The Strange Death of Europe, on the
bestseller charts in the U.K. At first blush it looks like the latest in a long
series of books with “Islam and immigration” figuring in the subtitle. But
Murray’s book is informed by actual reporting across the Continent, and a
quality of writing that manages to be spritely and elegiac at the same time.
Murray’s is also a truly liberal intellect, in that he is free from the power
that taboo exerts over the European problem, but he doesn’t betray the
slightest hint of atavism or meanspiritedness.
Yes, Murray is quite good at piling up the numbers that
outline the collapse of European populations and the explosion of migration in
the past decades and especially over the past two years. He’s also quite good
at batting down the facile arguments for allowing migration on this scale. Why
must Germany turn to Eritrea for a work force when youth unemployment around
the European Mediterranean is between 25 and 30 percent? But he distinguishes
his book from others on precisely the deformed spirit and mind of Europe.
In a chapter on “Tiredness,” Murray jumps from different
attempts to diagnose European exhaustion. It is partly found in the frenzy of
activity urged on us by modern capitalism. “If the burden of working for little
reward in an isolating society stripped of any overriding purpose can be
recognised to have an effect on individuals, how could it not also be said to
have an effect on society as a whole?” Murray asks, “Or to put it the other way
around, if enough people in a society are suffering from a form of exhaustion,
might it not be that the society they are living in has become exhausted?”
But it is also found in the loss of faith in the
Christian religion and the decomposition of all national myths before
revisionist scholarship. Europe suffers from “an exhaustion caused by a loss of
meaning, an awareness that the civilisation was ‘no longer accumulating’ but
living off a dwindling cultural capital.” Substitute faiths, whether in the
high cultural visions of Wagner or the political theories of Marx, have also
failed and been discarded.
Murray is especially pungent when he looks at the
doubt-plagued, death-haunted, and deconstructed edifice of contemporary
European philosophy. He recalls a conference in which the “full catastrophe of
German thought” dawned on him:
A group of academics and others had
gathered to discuss the history of Europe’s relations with the Middle East and
North Africa. It soon became clear that nothing would be learned because
nothing could be said. A succession of philosophers and historians spent their
time studiously attempting to say nothing as successfully as possible. The less
that was successfully said, the greater the relief and acclaim. No attempt to
address any idea, history or fact was able to pass without first being put
through the pit-stop of the modern academy. No generality could be attempted
and no specific could be uttered. It was not only history and politics that
were under suspicion. Philosophy, ideas and language itself had been cordoned
off as though around the scene of a crime.
It may seem like a long way from a conference of German
academicians to the morning chat shows on the BBC, but the sentimentality and
emptiness of the bubbly TV anchor after the Manchester bombing are directly
related to the pseudo-sophisticated nullity of the former. Nothing of substance
can be said, because nothing should be known, because to know anything is to
become dangerous to oneself and the world. And thus Europe’s story is to
enthrone all of its opposite values, where there was national self-assertion,
now there is national abasement. Where there were dons who guarded the West’s
knowledge, now there are professors who guard against the possibility of
knowing anything, where religiosity meant the reign of peace and looking
forward to the life to come, now it means a reign of terror and the death of
civilization itself. Europe is in a bad way, and I fear that if terror cannot
wake it from sleep, neither will elegant books.
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