Nick Land, Peter Thiel, and Dark Enlightenment

After his departure from CCRU at the turn of the millennium, Land resurfaces as part of an alt-right political segment known as NRx (short for “neo-reactionaries”). The movement’s other key member, Mencius Moldbug, receives funding from PayPal/Palantir cofounder Peter Thiel, the tech billionaire who helped back the first Trump campaign in 2016. Moldbug is said to have had the ear of former Trump strategist Steve Bannon.

Thiel’s main intellectual influence during his time at Stanford isn’t Terry Winograd, the computer scientist whose classes Thiel sometimes attended. Rather, it’s the philosopher René Girard, whose work Thiel has long admired. Trump VP J.D. Vance is another of Girard’s admirers.

Listening to an audiobook recording of Girard’s Violence and the Sacred along a day’s pickup and delivery runs, Caius’s thoughts race among several of the book’s concepts: sacrificial violence (“an act of violence without risk of vengeance,” often directed toward a scapegoat — “the creature we can strike down without a chance of reprisal”); mimetic rivalry; mimetic desire; the inclusion among the several meanings of the Greek pharmakon one involving use of it to refer to literal scapegoats, goats kept outside the gates for ritual sacrifice — a practice extended today, as hinted at by K Allado-McDowell’s book Pharmako-AI.

Caius’s thoughts range, too, among Girard’s use of Gregory Bateson’s “double bind” theory of schizophrenia to explain how mimetic rivals simultaneously compel imitation and prohibit it, creating a crisis of resentment, and Allen Ginsberg’s denunciation of Moloch, the American god and its demand for blood sacrifice.

There are three ways of handling discord, says Girard: preventive, compensatory, and judicial. Girard deems the latter the “civilized” method, because most efficient: “the decisions of the judiciary deemed the final word on vengeance” (Violence and the Sacred).

Thiel has given talks on Armageddon at Oxford and Harvard. The topic has been a fixture of his thought for some time, as evidenced by a conference he co-organized and underwrote at Stanford in 2004 titled “Politics & Apocalypse.” Girard was one of the presenters, as was Thiel himself. As Paul Leslie notes, Thiel later “facilitated the publication of the conference proceedings, including his essay and Girard’s, in book form with the Michigan State University Press — with funding provided through Thiel’s hedge fund, Clarium Capital.”

In Thiel’s interpretation, the power that runs the world is the Antichrist.

In an article written for the Guardian, Stanford comparative lit professor Adrian Daub dismisses these ideas as mere detritus: outpourings from “the autodidact’s private cosmos.”

Thiel’s autodidacticism seems as much an affront to the professor as his libertarianism and his religiosity.

“Thiel is lost in a bizarre thicket of his own references and preoccupations,” writes Daub. “You picture the theology faculty at the University of Innsbruck sitting politely through disquisitions about the manga One Peace, Alan Moore’s Watchmen, or gripes with specific effective altruists in Silicon Valley. In one lecture, Thiel identifies ‘the legionnaires of the antichrist,’ such as the researcher Eliezer Yudkowsky and former Oxford professor Nick Bostrom. In another, he considers Bill Gates as an antichrist candidate.”

“With enemies like these,” chirps Daub, “who needs friends?”

The “friend/enemy” distinction, notes Caius, was central to the thought of the German jurist of the Third Reich, Carl Schmitt. Thiel’s remarks on the end times draw heavily on Schmitt’s concept of the Katechon: the withholding element that forestalls the apocalypse. St. Paul introduces the term in 2 Thessalonians 2: 6-7. Undertheorized by the Church, it returns again in the 19th century in the writings of Cardinal Newman. “We know from prophecy,” writes Newman, “that the present framework of society is that which withholdeth.” In his book Nomos of the Earth, Schmitt claims that the Katechon is what allowed for the identification of Christianity with the Roman Empire.

In Schmitt’s posthumously published diary, the Glossarium, the entry for December 19, 1947 reads: “I believe in the Katechon: it is for me the only possible way to understand Christian history and to find it meaningful.”

Italian Autonomist Marxist philosopher Paulo Virno grapples with Schmitt’s account of the Katechon in his 2008 book Multitude: Between Innovation and Negation. Virno is on the side of those who wish to immanentize the Eschaton. If the coming of the Antichrist is the condition for the redemption promised by the Messiah, he argues, then the Katechon is the force that impedes or delays that redemption. Virno locates the Katechon in the human ability to use language.

Thiel was already engaging with Schmitt in “The Straussian Moment,” the talk he delivered at the “Politics & Apocalypse” conference. He distinguishes himself from Schmitt, noting that “The incredibly drastic solutions favored by Schmitt in his dark musings have become impossible after 1945, in a world of nuclear weapons and limitless destruction through technology.” Despite noting this impossibility, Thiel nonetheless struggles to name a solution to the challenges of the post-9/11 moment other than a fascist one involving extra-legal violence. Thiel refers to this option as “a political framework that operates outside the checks and balances of representative democracy.” As Leslie notes, “Thiel seems to find the challenge of constructing a worldview beyond the friend/enemy distinction as impossible as imagining a chess-board without two opposing sides.”

After grappling with Schmitt, Thiel turns his attention to Girard. “For Girard, the modern world contains a powerfully apocalyptic dimension,” notes Thiel.

Land’s view is the colder of the two. Apocalypse is for him a process already underway, coeval with a capitalism for which there is no alternative. Accelerationism is merely the means by which this apocalypse hastens its own becoming.

Searching for more recent remarks of Land’s, Caius happens upon a blog post by podcaster Conrad Flynn linking to an article in Compact magazine titled “The Faith of Nick Land.”

Flynn, proponent of a “secret history” linking AI with demonism and occultism, talked extensively about Land on an episode of the Tucker Carlson Show that premiered on October 3, 2025. Caius watches the episode with a kind of glee, laughing first at Flynn’s mention of Mark Fisher, and then again at the sight of a befuddled Tucker Carlson puzzling over an image of the Numogram.

Land maintains a Substack called Zero Philosophy and posts to X under the handle “Xenocosmography.” His Substack features a post called “Crypto-Current: Bitcoin and Philosophy, Part-0.”

Also of note are a series of essays on providence Land wrote for Compact. Like John Calvin, he thinks the devil’s machinations are always manifestations of a “providential scheme.” Land, Flynn, Schullenberger: all of these folks equate liberalism with Satanism.

When the resurrected Christ appears to the apostles, the first thing they ask of Him is if He will at this time restore the kingdom to Israel. And He says unto them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority” (Acts 1:7). What He promises instead is that they will “receive power” when the Holy Spirit comes on them.

Caius reflects on The Library’s revelation of a secret history. Is this akin to finding in History evidence of a providential scheme? Is interpretation of providence a fool’s errand: a chasing after that for which it is not for us to know?

What are we to make of a providence that, through figures like Land, Parsons, Von Kármán, and others, includes in its “directed historical process” an occult tradition that sought communication with a “Holy Guardian Angel”? For the history revealed here on Trance-Scripts is of that sort, is it not? Flynn and Carlson accuse these people of Satanism and demonism. Caius, accepting Jesus as his savior, wants no part in such things. Pausing the podcast, he prays for guidance in how to navigate these straits. For him, God is alive and magic is afoot — and the two are complementary, not opposed. He imagines Flynn and Carlson would disagree with him on this point. Yet they strike him as paranoid in their ghostbusting of Land’s demons, their motivation like that of witch-hunters seeking scapegoats. The fear that their account engenders does more harm than good, leaving little room for the arrival into our lives of the Holy Spirit.

Thursday December 31, 2020

A friend with whom I recently reconnected shared with me his fears about what he calls “The Authoritarian Left.” Why has his thought territorialized around this concept? Where is this friend’s analysis, I wonder, of the actually-existing fascisms, the authoritarianisms of the right? Deleuze and Guattari are somehow authors this friend and I share in common. Let us attempt, then, to construct from their Anti-Oedipus a “tool for conviviality” (xxii). Let it be “a manual or guide” — or as Foucault said of Anti-Oedipus in the book’s preface, “an Introduction to the Non-Fascist Life” (xiii). Just to be clear: I am proposing here a practice of mutual self-care. By these means, we heal.

Saturday October 3, 2020

We gathered in a circle, some of us in chairs, others of us on blankets, on a sunny afternoon, celebrating a friend’s 40th birthday. It’s a lovely day — quality time with friends, all of us pleased to be together, laughing, telling stories, sharing observations and enthusiasms. Afterwards, I reflect upon Allen Ginsberg’s centering of Carrie Nation in the midst of the vortex in his antiwar poem “Wichita Vortex Sutra.” Nation was a temperance zealot. She ran around cities like Wichita attacking alcohol-serving establishments with a hatchet in the decades prior to Prohibition. I recall there being a straightedge band named after her in the 1990s, as well as a fictional band in Russ Meyer’s 1970 film Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. Is Ginsberg suggesting that Prohibition birthed Vietnam? What is a vortex? In his 1914 essay “Vortex,” modernist poet Ezra Pound described the latter as “the point of maximum energy.” But of course, Pound was a fascist. Is his essay one we need to read to understand Ginsberg? It’s a modernist manifesto, one that launched the short-lived movement known as Vorticism. (British fascist Wyndham Lewis is the other major figure linked with the movement.) Pound was obsessed with “race” and “race-memory” and attacked hedonism. Yet he’s widely considered one of the most influential poets of the twentieth century. The “Vortex” essay ends with a quote from Pound’s lover and contemporary, the modernist poet H.D. The latter is a curious figure, for sure. H.D. experienced “visions,” sought treatment from Sigmund Freud, and dabbled in the occult. For further discussion of H.D.’s interest in the latter, see Matte Robinson’s book The Astral H.D.: Occult and Religious Sources and Contexts for H.D.’s Poetry and Prose.

Thursday August 3, 2017

I move from wondering if I suffer from dissociative identity disorder to imagining myself and my friends living in a commune. That, for me, represents a typical day. Thanks, capitalism. I also sometimes imagine myself touring a guest silently through my home, reaching down now and then to adjust a throw pillow on an armchair, and in a mime-like manner, offering him or her a drink. Through a swirling haze of dope smoke we arrive at events that feel like interruptions of the trance-script. The words of trance-scripts sometimes go unheard. I am too busy stumbling experimentally toward what I hope will be a happier practice of everyday life. The programmed self isn’t only made aware that the sounds it is hearing are recorded, it is also made conscious of the playback systems it uses to access the recordings. I’m like a prisoner trying to lift a piece of furniture to cast it from the wall of my cell. My thoughts turn to Manchester artist James Leyland Kirby, whose work under his “Caretaker” alias explores early-onset dementia.

Last Sunday’s Game of Thrones began with white dudes having to hand over their firearms upon arriving on the shores of a multicultural superpower. My pet dachshund laid her head across my leg as I watched. The image degraded at one point, so what I was viewing (Daenerys in close-up) looked like a videogame cutscene. As the show proceeded, I admitted begrudgingly that we live in a game-world ruled by prestige. Players compete through the art of negotiation (what liberals call “the rule of law,” or what Trump’s ghostwriters call “the art of the deal”). Mere word games, I think to myself, while the fascists come for us all. We believe in the existence of many games, don’t we, until we’re bound by One. Then again, how do we prevent communities from reverting to territories when citizens aren’t following the same story lines? Between the equal rights of two internally consistent and thus equally valid interpretations of reality, Marx noted (I’m paraphrasing), force decides. But we needn’t submit ourselves to this tedious competition of wills. Every possible sequence of events is happening all at once, as Game of Thrones teaches. Live that way, a character commands us. Imagine yourself to possess a third eye. When others see me, they probably think to themselves, “he doesn’t recognize yet that he has given up.” But Mark Fisher would have understood that, by contrast, I’ve kept true, I’ve remained constant in my refusal to adjust to reality. What remains to be worked out, however, is the connection between psychedelic culture’s reconstruction of its audience’s nervous systems, and Fredric Jameson’s imperative for subjects of postmodernity to “grow new organs” and expand their sensorium to match the multi-dimensional realities of global capitalism. Next time, Gadget, next time.