The social philosophy that follows from Schulz’s reflections
on religion combines Gnostic elitism, transhumanism, and
existential despair about our ultimate fate. Along with Hindus and Buddhists
and even Western monotheists, Schulz admires spiritual elites who shun the
vulgar pursuits that define mass culture, because the spiritualists’
enlightenment has opened up a higher calling for everyone. But Schulz differs
with them as to the nature of that calling. The purpose of Eastern religions is
moksha, liberation from the natural
cycles that imprison us by clouding our judgment. That liberation requires
cognitive training and ascetic renunciation. Christianity and Islam emphasize
instead the need for a personal relationship with an almighty Creator, which
requires that we submit to this infinitely-greater being and understand the
grace of God’s interventions in the natural course which redound to our
benefit. God has revealed a path out of the thickets, and we must merely follow
his commandments and trust in the deity’s greatness despite God’s unsettling hiddenness
after the loss of our animistic innocence, that is, after the advent of settled
civilizations in the Neolithic Revolutions (around 10,000 BCE) and certainly
after what has been called the Axial Age, around the fifth century BCE.
As discussed in the last chapter, Schulz doesn’t take
Western theology at face value, but reinterprets it as a system of coded,
typically-unconscious references to the dynamics at play between divided human
classes. God is indeed hidden because God is literally dead. Prehistoric
animists didn’t realize this because they weren’t beholden to dehumanizing forms
of objectivity and instrumentality; instead, animists anthropomorphized their
surroundings, extending parochial human social functions to the natural world,
and misinterpreting the fact that life is abundant on this planet, as a sign
that life is metaphysically primary. As we now know by way of what we like to
call the modern, scientific outlook, life is an aberration in the natural
universe that extends far beyond not just our planet but our mundane concerns.
So Christianity’s fixation on an outcast messiah is meant to revolutionize
ethics—even though Church history serves the higher god of Irony; thus, the
Church canceled Jesus’ revolution in the Orwellian fashion, with doubletalk to excuse
Church leaders’ infamous compromises with secular authorities. And according to
Schulz, the Islamic call for submission to God is hopelessly wrongheaded in light
of God’s evident suicide. God’s gift to us isn’t to offer a path that leads to
a place by his side; rather, it’s to free us from the burden of having to serve
such a madman for all eternity. God accomplished that primordial act of
salvation, by creating the universe of natural beings which replaced God’s supernatural realm. The
personal God is no more, but Irony reigns in his stead and so Islamic
submission translates to servitude to terrestrial caliphs, mullahs, and
dictators—once again in line with mere bestial mammalian regularities. When
animal dominance hierarchies are re-established by so-called wise
apes, and these primitive social arrangements are rationalized by highfalutin
theistic rhetoric, we have the makings of a sick joke.
Whereas the practice of Western religions has thus been
farcical, on Schulz’s view, owing to the misguided, literal reading of
monotheistic scriptures, Eastern religions avoid farce with their insights into
the meaninglessness of the natural course of events. On the whole, liberation
from the world of suffering and illusions occurs as an act of extinction, mediated
by an ascetic victory over natural forces. Instead of the everlasting
preservation of our personality, according to the Eastern outlook we’re freed
from the anguish and indignity of having to be reborn in a cycle of absurd,
sometimes horrific events. “Victory through spiritual death” is the essence of
Eastern wisdom. For Schulz, though, Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains offer a
misleading interpretation of life’s evolution. Life isn’t entirely pointless
and so a final death isn’t our ultimate purpose. Our active deity in nature is
Irony, the clash between facts and intuitions. Therefore, our task is to
maximize irony, to appreciate the irrelevance of our animal preoccupations so
that, as in Zoroastrianism, we can take a stand against our true enemy. But
while Zoroaster speaks of a final reconciliation after the apocalyptic end of
natural time, Schulz is more stoical than sanguine about our fate. Even if
there can be no absolute triumph of higher values, assuming the universe is
metaphysically tainted by its origin in the fall of divine being, we can
partially redeem nature with the fruits of our struggle against it.
However, Schulz’s writings are frustratingly short on
details of the nature of this redemption, and indeed this is the chief mystery
not just in Schulz’s philosophy but in the exploits of his cult. Schulz shares
with some Eastern currents of thought the view that thinking itself is the
primary evil. But whereas Zen Buddhists, for example, contend that so-called
rational thinking is cognitively inferior in that it produces the illusion of
egoism, and that a deeper experience of oneness is possible, Schulz maintains
that reason is baneful precisely because of its cognitive supremeness. Reason
presents the horror of fundamental truth, the fact that being in general is
absurd and that God is probably literally dead, but our use of reason also restores
divinity and so this cognitive expertise sets us on a course to God’s madness.
Reason undercuts itself by delivering rational creatures the unwanted grand
truth that a precondition of our happiness is the set of vices that comprises
the vulgar personality: above all, happiness depends on ignorance, in that the
more you know, the harder it is to sustain the short-sightedness needed to be
comfortable under any circumstance. Reason demonstrates that we have no proper
place in the universe and that our salvation can proceed only by our schemes
that all seem harebrained in historical hindsight.