A Jeremiad on Western Self-Hatred

This smarmy, supercilious mélange of faded philosophical bromides and pedantic name-dropping betrays an unhappy man who should have been a character in an Ingmar Bergman movie rather than a living author. The world is unjust, all societies are doomed to destroy themselves, free will is a nonsensical delusion invented by Christians, Benedict Beckeld informs us. If so, why does he bother to write books? “I choose neither to turn the clock back nor to rush forward toward an end of history, but merely, while waiting for my own personal end, to seek out some minor moments of happiness.”