Nation as Implicit Hyperorganism and Distributed Cognition
The Death and Return of Kings: an exhortation on the true meaning of the funeral.
Brothers and sisters, withhold the inner skeptard as we take a symbolic, philosophical, and poetic tour of the Monarch's death to reveal lost insight into the true nature of nations.
Every event and image expressed in this exhortation occurred.
THE OVERWIND GATHERS
Backward goes our gaze, to St. George's chapel, Windsor. The Queen's funeral is ending: as the coffin sinks into the abyss of the royal crypt, something seems to rise, drawn by the Scots piper as he walks away from us out the chapel—
—his fading solemn notes lead her, they are her, drawing faint, on rising wind, leaving the bleak on their final journey. Gone.
But not the wind: that remains.
That only gathers in strength.
Backward goes our gaze again, to Holyrood Palace, Scotland. The King approaches the estate: the moment he enters Holyrood's gate uncanny northern wind throws downward on Edinburgh's exposed hilltop and ripples across the waiting Scots Guards' feathered caps—they stand sentinel as the last watch of Her first rest, tribal warriors guarding the headkin's dwelling.
What is this strange wind, or more: who?
Wind is a very old English word: for our ancestors it revealed truths about being, about their gods, about themselves—truths that still touch how we see today.
Wind means spirit. Not 'air', not 'weather', not 'static substance'—wind only is in action—through wind-ing is spirit's form revealed. Even now the word carries that echo; even now storms and wind cut beneath our antiseptic ontology and offer a thread to the numinous beyond low material cause.
This over-wind, disembodied, searches for somewhere to gather; It seems to drive and beckon the King—envelop him—but does he hear its call?
Now the King escorts the coffin with ritual troop out of Holyrood in uncanny silence—no trumpets, no idiot BBC commentator, no marching band—just wind and the solemn march-steps of a tribe in the escort of their dead.
It's dwelling with this silence that speaks most loudly when we let it—no idle oozing mindchatter, no propositions—we simply let it unfold to us in its being, unpolluted by metaphysics.
We notice a sceptre in the King's hand, at its top: a horseman cast in gold. As the kin-march reaches the end of Holyrood's consecrated land a golden burst of light rips forth from the sceptre—
Is it a beacon for the gathering of this uncanny wind? Who does it summon to hold-fast outside Holyrood's consecrated ground?
KINGSGUARD POSSESSED BY ENGLISH HYPERAGENCY
Forward goes our gaze now: eight pole-bearers, Grenadier King's Guard, rush home from active duty in Iraq to Westminster for the state funeral. They down fatigues and don truer colours: redcoats spun of Yorkshire wool made by English hands; now they guard and guide the Queen to her final rest.
These Chads Are My Heroes of the Ceremony, the best of the best of the Queen's own regiment—no diversity quotas here; It would be deadly to drop this coffin—to have these sacred symbols touch the ground and diminish their power—and they nobly bear that gravity. We see in their tense wide eyed stoney faces an absolute unyielding will that can only be impelled by a people's sacred; this force to duty is holy; the thing that makes it matter to them—that drives them, that leads them to unyieldingness—is sacred England herself.
They enact their duty with deep authenticity—no media training, no false persona—they're not putting on a show. As they enter the cathedral this wide eyed concentration yields to divine voices from the heavenly choir: subtle awe fills the major's gaze as he guides the lads loyally forth; the sacred reveals itself in this face—grace in service of authentic purpose.
As they lift the coffin and link arms to brace it they move as one being—or rather it moves them—they are the monarch in this moment; simple men, fighting men, strong men, possessed in every corner of their being to bear the locus of the people's spirit safely on their back.
This is our symbol for the whole ritual, it shows us the form of an organism, somehow an aspect of this over-wind.
These are your Englishmen, you English who read my words. They are who this ritual is and is for: they're possessed by something greater than themselves.
What is it? Or rather, who?
KING AS METAHUNTER & MARKER OF MORTAL TIME
Forward goes our gaze: the Queen’s coffin is placed on a gun carriage outside, the same that held Victoria's coffin. It's pulled by the combined force of a unit of the royal navy arm in arm.
Why is this gun-carriage significant—this mount that aims and projects human force with cannon?
A cannon signifies the most powerful of aimed weapons, though it's not fundamentally different than a longbow. But what is it to aim? The first aimers were our hunters: it's a basic cognitive act to project (forward-throw) your being into the future at a target or end goal— 'Hunter, target, projectile' are microcosms of human temporality and teleology. The leader of a hunt is the meta hunter: he projects that aim out further for the entire tribe and is rewarded for this heroic skill.
The Monarch is appropriately placed on a gun-carriage because they are the arch-meta-hunter. They are the locality of the cognitive act of firing the arrow of a people, of restating its ways of firing—and to speak a vision and direct a purpose is to fire the arrow of English being into the future.
THUMP — cannons boom in the distance breaking the silence—
Hyde park. Ceremonial Artillery crews CLANG shells out of smoking cannon and THRUST in reloads—
THUMP — the cannons mark the mortal hour. What does this mean? An explosion is the mightiest sound Man can make, the mightiest wind he can manifest as an extension of his being. And isn't all man's being manifest by and on wind?—does his speaking not ride across it to open his knowing world to another? This wind, then, is the mediator our being, and the cannon thump is a waystone marking English being: It functions to stamp what matters to this tribe, to point at value, purpose, to hold us from anarchy—holding the silence, holding the void—while we wait for this over-wind to gather.
THUMP — The cannons mark each year of the monarch's reign, heartbeats of mortal time, ticking clock of English epoch. Time isn't external to us it is within and manifested by being; It is marked and drawn by being's happening. This is true time in the cognition of a people: not some low Eisenstinian computation—Scientology's Soothsaying for Calculator Watch Wearing Robots seeking material ends with exactly-inexact-unbeing-of-vibrating-quarts-crystals: object oriented nonsense.
REBAPTISED IN ENGLISH SPIRIT
Forward goes our gaze. The funeral procession arrives at Westminster hall. Gentlemen Guard, Kingsguard on horses, Heralds—all are encased in rich ceremonial garb. Nothing in this funeral march is utilitarian; these uniforms take months to make, many are very old and continuously repaired, carefully made and maintained by English hands and sweat.
The brass is English brass, the steel is English steel, cast in Birmingham; the embroidery is English embroidery, sewn in the Westend; the feathers in their caps are from Somerset in Wessex, Alfred the Great's homeland.
The procession is encased in a physical actual England: like their bodies, made of English earth—English equipment, English men, and English being.
England’s way of being is communicated through these equipments and the ritual, even if you don't realize it.
These costumes are not props: they're ritual equipment. Normal equipment isn't present to you while it's put to work: you see through the hammer, it's invisible while enacting the task. Ritual symbolic equipment is the opposite: the individual is made invisible here (Man is not himself, he's 'Herald'), you wear and become the tool of the ritual and equipment: it's not of service to the Herald, he's put in service by it, for our sake and for the sake of something larger (England) of which the equipment is just a part. They are in a sense our equipment; they serve to presence something to the people.
Heralds wear a kind of enacted artwork: it has a working imbedded in it that presences something when it's interacted with—it discloses a way of being to you. Without examination It's not noticed propositionally but you feel its attunement and the effect it has on your perspective:
If someone wears a suit it alters the world perception of the person he's interacting with, it's asserting a way of being as an action and you treat him better because of it. If he's dressed like a thug, he is acting as a thug: your right brain sees the way of a thug without any intervention from your left brain egomind.
Inside Westminster hall now. English order's founding stone and dwelling. The Queen rests in state, her coffin draped in royal arms atop a podium protected by Kingsguard.
The enemy, the machine, corrupts England's body, but today England's spirit has the force to take possession of the whole state apparatus, to throw the false gold and filth down on their knees.
This millennia old structure marks the founding of English order; the old stone retains power to tell us truths of English ways. The past is always with us in our being: it's an organ of our ‘cognitive body' ever giving form to action and world. Today it's unfolding in its strength.
As the King approaches the coffin to stand his final watch gathering wind moves with him, rippling through the feathered plume of the Kingsguard right as Charles reaches the coffin.
The guard point their swords toward the earth: in ancient cosmology the point is the tool of order, of knowledge, of spirit: the ground is earth, chaos, concealer—the nothingness abyss that rises and takes back all mortal things to its cold yet renewing embrace.
Men, encased in English equipment, point the tool of order at the abyss as if to say ‘this monarch lives and we hold you back, abyss, with our spirit manifest in the sword’, ‘we hold you back (time, earth) while we properly send off this spirit that persists as a part of our existential being. Only then can you have her, once we have all paid our respects’.
English being is in these equipments, in this building, in any ordered nature made English by English hands: building, text, costume, this is not empty matter, or means to your ends, It has its ends far beyond mere you.
The coffin is set upon square founding stone—the hall: in ancient cosmology, the stone has four points, the pointy tool cuts a border of points which forms a square (order is square, chaos is round) and raises a 'four walled border' to hold chaos at bay and hold civilisation inside it. This is the centre of English order and world; the personification of English order is laid to rest on the founding stone, dwelling, of English order.
The silence is broken by ushers CLANGING steel rods on stone signalling the beginning of the watch. The English snake into the hall in a line miles long. Many yet one. What drives them here? Despite corruption and inauthenticity, something remains that drives them from everyday concerns to this ancient place: a wind of spirit.
What is it? or rather who?
They mark the cross, they bow, they pay their final respects. Notice: there is no glass, no rope, no swat team, placed between the people and the King. This is no idiot museum display with some empty literalist plaque destroying a symbol's true meaning. This is real; this is alive. The people are touching sacreds directly with their being: the coffin, the crown, the cross, and the King.
The English are directly participating, they breath the same air, unmediated;
they stand on the same ancient rock and dwelling place of Kings of old; an ancient English people gather to remark it as their dwelling place—'this is ours'—their being stakes its claim.
History is a possession, an organ of your extended being you don't recognise is a part of your body or you have a false story about. Without this organ nothing would drive these people here in their thousands. Moderns think 'it's just a story' but that history and stone is still imbedded with English form that shapes. They are passing through a historical being that is the grounding and germinator of their own current being. It's imbued with the being that originally placed it and the being of those who wore down its stone with their footsteps. When you dwell with it, in awaiting silence, you invite it to disclose its true being to you underneath your stale ideas of it.
Baptism means immersion in water, dwelling in holy water. This is a reconsecration, rebaptism, of the English in their own historical being to reground and reknow its true nature. I don't mean that propositionally. This is beneath that. These people pass through their own ancient dispossessed being—grounding and casting out inauthentic confusion to open the authentic truth of the dwelling stone and order that formed who they are today, that formed our language and all of our ways.
This is an event that remains closed from modern life; closed off from the machine like all sacreds must be. You can't buy a King's death experience on Amazon. So when it opens to you, and you accept its call, it re-aligns your world showing you what's truly relevant and matters.
PROCESSION AS DISTRIBUTED COGNITION & NATIONAL ORGANISM
Forward goes our gaze now, the funeral procession snakes its way out of modernist London back to where it was born and where it belongs: in green Windsor we sense the spirit returning home. And you see this green as a hold out wherever monarchical tradition still holds some sway.
Nothing could be more appropriate.
Countryside isn't raw nature—it's an extension of the temple: cultivated, tamed, given form by English hands. It carries the people's being. The coffin makes its way up the mile long road to Windsor castle. Thousands of English watch from either side: like pews in a church procession.
We notice in this march the cascading sway of an organism take form: not content to merely watch the English crowd walk with the procession, they escort it as their own property, their own being, toward their castle—this is a dwelling of the people in the being of the people.
What is this being? Who?
Cognitive science tells us that cognition is extended. That means your being, your parts as a cognitive being, extend beyond your flesh: your speech is a part of you as an organism, an extended body part; as I write these words and you read them this is an extension of my being to you—the original being that I see and know is opened to you.
Cognition can also be distributed to form an overarching hyperagency: a sports team is an example of such an emergent organism. With this ritual, you see a much larger higher order organism in action, but it works in much the same way: though it's implicit, hidden, and ancient, It's a distributed cognition between all the brains of the people. They don't need to be physically connected beyond receiving a signal, all that's needed is a feedback loop for the 'thought form', if you like, to communicate with its parts across the brains.
Cognitive scientists describe hyperagencies, beings, psychological organisms, memes, that cross many brains. We see empirical evidence that psychological complexes can take possession of your body, like a phobia, and make you shake or feel sick from it—it possesses your body parts outside your conscious control.
If you think the woke parasite is plausible as a mind virus, and its parts communicate to form an organism, it should be much easier for you to see these hyperagencies have existed since the dawn of man.
And I call this ancient English hyperagency The Over King.
OVERKING VS TRANSHUMANIST DEMONS
Backward goes our gaze: St. James Palace, London. Blair, Sturgeon and other black suited demons front the King in audience at St. James' palace. They await the King's statement.
Many of them have worked tirelessly to tear this heirloom down; If the machine could remove the monarchy, right now, it would; Modernism's will is to destroy any semblance of inefficient tradition; technocrat elites at their core wish to transcend all earthly bonds and become gods, to bow and scrape to no higher spirit.
Their 'progress' god is at odds with allowing this to go on, so 'what's forcing them?', we wonder, 'why are they here? What drives them?'. 'The monarchy makes more than they cost' is no explanation. France killed their King, and they make more money on tourism. Ultimately, it's not being subsidised by foreigners.
Blair and Sturgeon would hate singing God Save the King to this perennialist traditionalist—yet they sing it. No one is paid to be there: it's voluntary. And we know Sturgeon wants out.
Why is this dragon’s horde of gold spent, ordered by an unwilling elite, when efficiency drives every other walk of life? What drives of royal warrants to be awarded to English companies to create the steel, the fabrics, the design, of ceremonial equipment in England with English material when they could be made in China?
The second order effects of power, status, money, that attendance allows aren't explanations either. It's the force that grants secondary effects I'm talking about: this spirit's glow, this spirit's threat of what it will do to them if they don't attend. These cosmopolitans feel a pressure, they feel they can't get away with not participating in and enacting the ritual, with dismantling it here and now, with not singing the anthem in the ceremony.
What is that? Social pressure? And what is underneath the social pressure? The consequences if they don't? And where do those consequences come from?—
—the English people themselves.
What drives those consequences?: the English know it must be done, that it feels right, which means there is a moral impulsion within. Sturgeon fears this impulsion driving public outcry. That impulsion is emotive data from the value hierarchy in the unconscious which determines what should be done, what should be chosen and rejected. That hierarchy was constituted by the pantheon of our greatest heroes and most distinct figures forming one personality: the Over-King.
This organism, within the English people, amounts to an implicit distributed cognition, as i've alluded to. What's left of its body, what's still online, is fighting back—and despite efforts to degenerate parts of its ceremony this a real world example of the organism showing itself to us.
We're paying, the state is paying, because the Over-King is forcing them to. This is His moment: despite every power organ of His body being stolen from him over centuries He still fights for us, and He will demand they enact His ancient spiritual body in the form these rituals: This Is A Last Great Mighty Bellowing of a Horn to His Sons—
He assigns this Charles as the localisation of His form. His authority is the resource that drives them to wait before this mortal; this mortal's only duty is to live up to Him.
HOW THE OVER-KING DRIVES HIS WILL: SACRED AS VITAL RESOURCE
But how is 'it' acting upon them? With what force? Where can we see it?'
The fact that this operates contrary to utilitarian and economic motives shows you it is a separate power, any religion will prove that to you. Divinity, and the holiness and honour it generates, is a sacred resource. Money gets you to move without compulsion, to fulfil your material wants and needs; the sacred gets you to move because it matters to you in itself, it's what makes mattering possible, it founds what matters.
You don't exactly know why it matters, because it's pre your individualist ideas about what matters, this sacred, It doesn't matter because you say it matters, or think 'i believe this matters', it matters without your permission because you feel compelled to pay your respects, to watch. Perhaps you feel it's your idea, but it isn't really. You don't get a choice in this mattering, and it drives you to turn up to the ceremony, it drives you to seek honours, it makes you emotionally moved when a hero displays behaviours that are aligned to this temple's mattering, to this Over-king.
Honours, the monarchy, the sacred—their currency is 'the power of mattering' to the people and to those who want them, and they still operate in the afterglow of the divine which founded their worth. The sacred is at the top of the hierarchy of value, founded by the temple: think of this in terms of primitive pre religious mentality, this is before value itself as mythology emerges in the founding of the first temple. When you found the temple, you close off a precinct from 'normality' and 'known': part of being is closed to general use as sacred, it founds value itself (mattering). Now we have a pillar which reveals the highest; and now by contrast a lowest profane is seen: and that makes a scale that all other things begin to get sorted into.
We only see and know anything because of contrast that value reveals—having eyes doesn't mean you can see; true sight is Being, knowing, and we 'saw' nothing before this temple. After the founding you have this thing in mind beyond any one person, beyond animalistic desires: this is top dog, top mattering. It is greater than you, and unifies you with the others that have this closed off precinct within.
Everything at its base is behavioural pattern, and ways of being are in all that we see in this funeral. The rituals, honours, are still imbued with the glow of sacred value founded by the temple, and those ways of being are noticed by you unconscious—you admire, against your will, those who enact the ways. You can have false gold, honours held by fake heroes, but it's our job to call that out. It's no reason to throw it out. Despite corruption, tradition's true purpose survives: it can be used to intuit and disclose the behavioural pattern that they are intended to reward, it's imbedded in symbols and the equipment and procedure of ritual.
I've seen people talking shit about this ritual because of who the royal family are. Forget the mortals. The Over King is the King. And he is visible in what he's forcing the royals to do, forcing the state to do, despite the machine's greatest efforts to slay him, to hide him from us. And though he is mostly closed to our eyes, ignored, he shouts today:
‘Hear me my sons!
Withstand the silence
Hold sway in my tread
Inspirit my roar!
Chosen, I speak!
To see by my sight
Heed The Way's beckoning
Understand: Charles is only our King, if he is enacting the Over-King's way. That Over-King is the personification of the patterns of action of our greatest heroes. Those patterns of action are the way, they're revealed by the sacred symbols of England and the mythic narrative order. After The Coronation, the hew of the Over-King will dissipate. It's our job to search for him, to articulate him, and see any perversions of his way, his ceremonies, don't stick.
THE DEATH RITUAL: WHAT'S IT FOR? WHAT'S IT DO?
Backward goes our gaze to where we first began, back to St. George’s chapel. The temple of the dragonslayer.
The end of a story solidifies its meaning; It's this place of all places that gives form to all we have seen. This is the dwelling place of heroes, the order of the garter, and the values of the dragonslayer and English knights and Kings. Ignore the false gold that wears the true gold, it's the dwelling spirit we are after to understand the ways.
The Queen's coffin is being lowered into the stomach (where vital force is gathered) the crypt of the temple. This means she's buried with the good, the narrative order of heroes, the teleology. Those things create vital force. We see here all the symbols of great houses, symbols that represent ways of dragonslaying. The monarch is put to rest in that place where greatness is knighted, raised, and refined, where the value hierarchy is recognised.
The story of the Order of the Garter is founded in Arthurian mythos. The King lifts up that which is scorned by the state, or the people under him. He sees nobility in it, and wears the garter, and those who scorned and derided it now flock to wear it themselves. This shows you part of the monarch's function: understand the good of English being underneath inauthentic appearance.
See the funeral, all the events surrounding the monarch’s death, as a ritual psychotechnology: its purpose (the whole ritual's implicit function) is to reveal purpose itself so a more powerful and authentic future can be forward-thrown and born into the next era. It does that by using symbols and ritual to articulate, reveal, and call you to see the things that are valued: understand good English being.
A mortal is dead that was the localisation for the projection of our common inner value hierarchy, and in the felt absence of that localisation what it was connected to via projection (the value hierarchy in your being) is recognised emotively in 'feeling'. The severing of the connection between these two parts of being forces us to face our hidden Englishness underneath inauthentic ideas and appearance. This same thing occurs when you grieve a relative's death: you're forced to face your own being that was shared with them, and deeper, you are emoting to yourself the thing lost (which you possess as part of your extended being else you'd not grieve anything at all).
Grieving tells you something mattered; Ritual, symbolism, and authentic history reveal the specifics of the something. It’s presenting this englishness to you because in the coming months that true Englishness must be gathered and asserted in the coronation (by the ritual, not commentators with their corrupt propositions).
So ultimately the ritual's purpose is to help our common being to articulate itself to ourselves, that common being that we try to propagandise away, don't understand, or ignore—something the machine doesn't want us to know. It's a cleansing of inauthenticity to disclose what matters: what your common bonds and values are, but not as a proposition. Because at the end of an era, for the organism to renew and go on powerfully, brighter than before, it needs this emotional power of the personal loss, and the funeral, to clear inauthentic bullshit and to call you to yourself, which is also a part of it—to call England to its authentic way being.
It is a gathering of the organism, expressed in ritual, so you notice its parts, and it mediates them to you, and you feel it in emotion (which evidences its parts are already in you). It's not made visible by those who talk of 'English values', nor most of the time by how the monarch is said to have behaved—it is in the ritual and symbolism itself.
The picture is made more clear as the coronation is led to, and as the sacred symbols are put to use to further show 'the ideal ways'. The monarch's death, the funeral, the entire ritual is a beacon that expresses English value in an interpretable form. To start a new era after the coronation, with the true authentic way of being made more clear, means you are enacting the organisms will: English purpose (or more, it's ways, because this organism isn’t directly analogous to an individual’s will)
This will become clearer to people in their personal lives, speaking their experience of events to eachother at the pub, at the chippy, as they notice the valued patterns in eachother leading up to coronation. This noticing is the expectation of the Over King for how the English, and the mortal king, are to behave.
It's an opportunity for the mortal King to understand what the spirit of England is, to understand he is not an individual, to understand this spirit and Crown are the true King; It's an opportunity for us to understand, so we might enact it, and we might drive him to conform to it.
THE OVER-KING SPEAKS
If I were to mediate this Over King from all we have seen, he's speaking these words through events:
‘I am millennia old, I am beyond a will, seeing me is the clearing of an old overgrown path through a thick ancient forest. I am that English path and way.
I have been called many names before by you: Henry, Elizabeth, Richard, Nelson, Drake, Robin, even Thor, but it is Arthur, Over King, who is the clearest gathering of my form.
They have corrupted my body, cut off my limbs—they have hidden me from you. Yet I live. For a century they have gnawed my flesh, your flesh, and sapped our vital force. They will me torn from you to sunder your power to resist—all the easier to enslave—but I am NOT so easily removed; I am NOT so easily waylaid; my riverbed is carved deep in the land, deep in England, deep in you—
These Filthy Hedonistic Parasites With Their Pestilent Black Mirrors—Idle Entertainments and Tranquilliser Chemicals of the Beast—they will Not Extinguish Me.
With what remains of my power I force our enemies in the State to move in this time of transition. And in the same way, through distributed cognition, I move you: I am the reason you take interest, I am the reason you read these words, I am the reason you care about a monarch, I am care itself, your primordial value hierarchy that makes care possible. Despite the enemy's hate of my form I possess the state apparatus in this moment and I force them to enact my ancient body. I am these rituals, they express my spirit. And is this not true, my English?
A spirit needs a body to gather, this is the mortal Charles's function: Be The Gathering Point Of My Being, from you to him, and him to you; be a manifestation of my form. He is only me, your King, insofar as he manifests, articulates, and enacts and imitates my form. Only then is he King of England; only then is he YOUR King.
How can he be my form, if he is to pander to Incompatible Gods of far off lands. This is not your King—I am your King, I am his King—I am Over King by divine right through our lord Jesus Christ. This is my land, for my people—you are MINE, English, remember this. Only If Charles follows me, and our lord Jesus Christ, is he King of England. It is not for them, nor this mortal, to pervert, to distort, to disobey my form.
No matter what horrors they perpetuate, my people, I live as inspired fire. I am your fire, and I'll defend you in the mortal plane. I'll be your shield, I'll be your sword, I'll protect the Kingdom, I'll protect you, THROUGH you.
Whilst one Englishman draws breath and speaks my resistance, I live.’
Scott Mannion (Greenwood Metalore) is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Love this essay, would recommend a bit of proof-reading though, the occasional misspelling and grammar mistake break the illusion a bit. Otherwise, fantastic read.