What is a Militant?

Alain de Benoist, under the pen name of “Fabrice Laroche,” explores the concept of the "Militant"¹ - not primarily as a combatant, but as a deeply committed political activist who embodies a particular Western characteristic of achievement. The piece describes how true Militants are defined not just by their doctrine but by their training and judgment, possessing a "revolutionary consciousness" that shapes their every action. It emphasizes that Militants must be totally committed to their cause, making it inseparable from their personal life, while maintaining tactical wisdom and a youthful, dynamic spirit. The text argues that Militants operate with a distinct moral framework based on reality and natural law rather than abstract concepts of good and evil, and must be focused on forward movement and progress rather than stagnation. The document concludes with a retrospective addition where Benoist reflects on his own experience with "sacerdotal militantism" in his youth, acknowledging both its character-building benefits and potential drawbacks, such as the risk of intellectual rigidity and partisan thinking.

This essay was originally written for Europe-Action in 1963. The second part of the essay was written in 2007.

Translated by Alexander Raynor

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Each party prides itself on having Militants, attributing to them the qualities that its politics supposedly inspire. At first glance, when attempting to outline some principles here, one might think there is a kind of competition. However, in reality, there is a paradox in believing that a movement, which grants validity only to the most numerous voices and thus bases quality on quantity, can rely on anything other than the mass of its adherents to ensure its success.

The potential of numbers has nothing to do with the strength of a genuinely active minority, and, in terms of effectiveness, nothing contrasts more with the adherent than the Militant. On the contrary, the Militant is, by definition, someone who possesses that distinctively Western characteristic of achieving. One can therefore say that the best Militant is someone who serves a collective effort where success is believed to depend solely on their own actions.

By translating ideas into action, the Militant is less defined by a doctrine than by training. These two notions are not contradictory, but doctrine alone often confines the mind to abstract reflection, whereas training shapes judgment. What stands out most in a nationalist Militant is, above all, the strength of their judgment when faced with events—in a word, their lucidity. They may not always appear as the possessor of an extensive theory, but their great superiority over those who merely label and catalog without thought lies in acting so decisively that others must eventually acknowledge they were right. Undoubtedly, instructions and given direction play a significant role in this. But not entirely. Militants who meet again after being separated or distanced, with no means of assessment other than their own observation, may be surprised to find that they reacted in the same way to a specific event. This unity, which is found nowhere else, is yet another characteristic.

There seem to be two reasons for this lucidity. First is the acquisition of a revolutionary consciousness. This is neither a mere buzzword meant to provoke excitement nor a formula, but a reality that must not be mistaken for something innate—it is the result of irreplaceable personal effort. To have a revolutionary consciousness means to act upon a given event naturally—that is, almost reflexively, and thus without error—while refusing any compromise or concession to anything that does not align with one’s idea, most often to the Regime. The revolutionary Militant has adopted a mindset that determines their every act; they are uprooted from the Regime.

There are two ways to align oneself with a doctrinal example: by sympathizing with it, feeling close to it, and by resonating within it. A Militant is not simply for Nationalism; they live in it, through it. This is, furthermore, the origin of their lucidity. It would be mistaken to see this merely as a predominance that neglects other areas of thought; instead, it is a political filter that shapes every reaction. Thus, one begins to associate their idea with all that is generally pleasing, to feel, almost involuntarily, the evocation of their cause at the mere sight of the admirable. In the face of what inspires enthusiasm, the Militant finds yet another justification for their struggle. For there to be predominance, would there not need to be separation? Yet it is evident that one cannot conceive of a separation between personal life and political ideology.

There is no portion of life reserved for politics as one might for a hobby or distraction, no percentage of activities conceded to it. The dilettante is not a Militant. This is easily understood insofar as a nationalist knows that their cause advances only through their energy, and they themselves have value only within and through what they contribute to it. Since everything done at the head involves them personally, their action is inversely the foundation of the collective commitment of the group they belong to.

The Militant is, above all, available. Permanently mobilized, a citizen-soldier in the etymological sense evoked by the term, they embody the ancient ethic in which the Roman war leader left their plow for the sword when the Empire called, and the example of those Mediterranean people of medieval times who combined their fishing occupations with the task of repelling Barbary attacks.

The totality of this commitment, the feeling of giving oneself without reserve, might raise the issue of unconditionality if one only looks at the terms superficially. Parallels are drawn all the more quickly when the ideas are less clear. A certain confusionism, ready to concede everything about the idea, might perceive an apparent similarity between the nationalist method and those employed by opposing systems, such as communism. This is usually the result of intellectual dishonesty.

The nationalist Militant is not a machine serving some organization with a rigid, dogmatically defined role that disregards their individual worth. Instead, they serve according to their abilities, are judged and valued based on their contribution—and only after it is made—making them the exact opposite. They are the muscle, not the cog.

The spirit of partisanship—the spirit of someone who takes part—consists of putting one’s individuality at the service of a collective, rather than being subjugated by it. The Militant works in a specific direction, enhancing the knowledge of all on a matter of interest to the group. If their thinking follows a well-defined path, it is because, from the outset, they resolved to put a continually expanding culture at the service of their ideas.

Personality has value only within a collective and can only be expressed through community work, precisely to define its place. For this reason, nothing is more contrary to the Militant than anarchic and sterile individualism. Barrès would never have developed the theories we owe to him if he had not, at some point, moved beyond the initial stages of his 'cult of the self.'

Confident in their position, the Militant knows they are right and believes it not through blind faith, but because simple observation has convinced them. Nothing is more undesirable than those who engage in militancy without understanding its deeper reasons, as they force those in charge to rely on hypothetical or unreliable shifts in loyalty.

It is clear that the foundation of militancy lies not only in believing in one’s cause but also in believing in its success. Knowing that the opponent will ultimately lose is just as important as knowing that they are in the wrong. Desperados make poor militants. Heroic last stands may appeal to the imagination of romantics but are contrary to political realities.

Similarly, a Militant who prefers to satisfy their own mind by continually reinforcing their convictions without convincing those around them is a poor Militant. An idea is meant to be propagated, not to serve as a source of self-satisfaction. Proselytism, moreover, requires certain qualities—adaptability being one of the most essential. Militant influence is only as valuable as the results it achieves. And without tactics, there are no results.

However, it is crucial not to confuse tactics with their distortions. While it is often prudent to avoid openly declaring one’s positions, there must be no ambiguity in the underlying principles. If effectiveness requires a specific approach to win hearts and minds, the promises made must not fall into sheer demagogy. Negative propaganda, which defines itself only in opposition to the adversary, attacks them on their own ground, or resorts to whining for pity like that offered to the defeated, is not tactical cleverness but tactical error.

Real effectiveness requires an understanding of the audience being addressed, so as to master it using the methods most suited to it. From this arises a morality of action, a morality of effectiveness. With total commitment, both training and action must also be total. This leads to a set of new principles, less action-focused but essential to reference, to ensure that militant efforts are not hindered at some point along the way.

There is a youthful virtue that is intrinsic to the nationalist Militant. While many young people may lack it, and it applies as much to a political mindset as to an age in life, it is naturally more easily found among the younger. The young nationalist possesses energy, enthusiasm, and a purely physical dynamism.

Is there not a need for a muscular, taut youth, with a touch of cruelty that gives it beauty and nobility? The young must be like magnificent and supple predators, forgetting what fear and death are. For those who still possess the energy of the mind, their readiness and determination represent a perpetual youth.

The Militant knows neither sclerosis nor comfort. There are young people with the mindset of the elderly; Militants, however, maintain their vitality until their final moments.

They have become hardened without being austere. They are joyful with that nationalist joy in life that Zoroaster already preached. They desire struggle, they desire effort—not out of a vindictive or belligerent spirit, but because it is only through effort, and productive effort, that the Militant affirms themselves. They also act out of camaraderie, recalling Nietzsche’s words: “Fatigue is the shortest path to equality and fraternity.” And when the enemy is no longer present, they turn to themselves, shaping themselves further in the process.

They have learned to disdain because they know that “the great despisers are also the great reverers.” They truly embody the virtue of youth. This is unique to them. One only needs to observe the hatred their adversaries direct at all that is youthful and vibrant. The themes of tranquility and universal prosperity espoused by their opponents only reinforce this contrast. If nationalist heroes are young and are commonly imagined as untouched by old age, it is primarily because they were struck down before reaching it.

In ancient Carthage, the same old Oriental reflex of denial led to children being sacrificed to Moloch, in the belief that their deaths would bring victory. Brasillach, who loved youth because he felt it within himself, and Drieu la Rochelle, terrified by the diminishment of man imposed by age and fearful of its approach, illustrate this in their own ways.

Youth has no reverence. It overturns idols, myths, and clichés. Faced with hatred, it wields an effective weapon: mockery. That “virtue of insolence” Brasillach spoke of is a militant virtue. Comfortable on its institutional and legal terrain, unshaken because it is devious, the Regime becomes unsettled before those who mock it before tearing down its decrepit structure.

This insolence, however, should not be thought to extend to anyone other than those on the opposing side. It complements the sense of hierarchy that the Militant demonstrates toward their own. This notion immediately leads to an awareness of greatness, to an ethic of loftiness, which finds one of its applications in what might be called “the perspective of political oversight.”

One recalls the central character of Michel de Saint Pierre’s novel, Les Écrivains, unjustly relegated to a secondary role—a character in whom many real-life figures are reflected, notably Montherlant—who preferred to remain “apart from politics and its whirlwinds,” fearing that, by becoming engrossed in current affairs, they might lose sight of their work and of those “great things that endure and cast shadows,” within which they wished to live.

But can these two ideas not be reconciled? On the contrary, it seems a militant principle to engage in polemics on specific points, provided these debates arise from a broader conception of things, a philosophy. Political short-sightedness is contrary to militant conduct, and one’s judgment is all the clearer when freed from the down-to-earth constraints that hinder discernment.

These scattered notes must still be understood within a broader framework, the definition of which is essential. Indeed, the time has come—long overdue—to establish a new morality and introduce new concepts. Morality, in itself, like all words written with a capital letter, does not exist. Depending on the country, customs, and people, actions take on entirely different, sometimes opposing, values.

How, then, can one be surprised that a political doctrine also brings its own classification? Among the various moralities spread across the world, the nationalist Militant chooses the morality of the real, the morality of observation, a morality shaped by the idea itself—one that rejects taboos, preconceived sin, and the simplistic dogma of binary choices.

There is a personal morality and a collective morality; one must adapt an ethical code to action and act in accordance with its laws.

First, broaden the moral spectrum. There is no act that, isolated from all context, is inherently good or bad. Only the circumstances in which it occurs and the event to which it applies define it positively or negatively. Beyond, or outside of, equally abstract notions of good and evil, one must also determine what is politically beneficial and what is not, what is healthy and what is unhealthy, what aligns with honor and what aligns with the laws of combat, what respects nature and what does not.

This is a vast concept, but one in which everything ultimately rests on the vital concept of the species, and therefore on natural law. Everything that serves life is good. It is also time for Militants to understand the laws upon which natural societies, both animal and human, are built, and to steel themselves with this knowledge. Often, the beginning of this understanding lies simply in a humble approach to nature.

In this realm, there is no room for half-measures. This does not mean excess or chaos but rather the will to fully assume one's responsibilities. Just as one should not shift the responsibility for their actions onto others, one should not act half-heartedly in the hope of avoiding what is perceived as inevitable rigor—often imposed by the adversary.

This is why it is crucial, at the same time, to shed any original sense of guilt, any inhibitions in action, and any fear of pursuing one’s thoughts to their logical conclusion. The universalist concepts of the Marxists often rely on terms borrowed from psychoanalysis because they understand that the surest way to undermine the Western spirit is to persuade it of its "guilt"—for the failings of other peoples, for the supposed harm of its independence—and thereby induce it to amputate itself of all responsibility. Opposing this means simply refusing to fight on the battlefield suggested by the adversary.

Heroism, which is the antithesis of half-measures, consists of an ever-greater affirmation of values and potential, not their negation. Self-destruction without profound reason, extreme fasting and mortification, Catharism, the leveling of minds into the unreal, the cultivation of fatigue for its own sake, and the religious masochism of the Orient are all attempts to prevent humanity from channeling its natural potential—efforts aimed at denying what life offers, and thus life itself.

These theories lead to an ever-greater restriction of the real world, to abstraction without foundation, to death. It is heroism turned backward. One elevates oneself by surpassing limits, not by restricting them.

What is good manifests in reality. The world of intentions and dreams does not belong to the nationalist Militant, who is driven toward effort because a concrete achievement motivates them. The hero might wish to find compensation or a reward for their sacrifice beyond the memory they leave among their peers, as this could serve as a final comfort—a kind of solace. But the struggle for life is not a child’s game; there is neither comfort nor spare marbles to play with. Yet in recognizing this refusal of an ease that is all the more tempting because its futility is not always apparent, there is not the slightest discouragement. On the contrary, the will finds renewed purpose in asserting itself over events and, through this, achieving victory.

The Western affirmation could be characterized by movement, and its values by dynamism. This is undoubtedly where much of the nationalist ethic lies: progress as opposed to stagnation. If nationalists are often called backward, this term is not merely a jest. Drawing from the past to better envision the future, Nationalism cannot remain confined to the past. Nor can it remain motionless. All of life is movement. Nature is in constant motion, and we only perceive forms because we fail to grasp their absolute motion. Species, civilizations, and nations disappear, and this perpetual evolution is undeniable and not even to be feared—so long as one understands that human will, whether through its affirmation or negation, is the element that determines whether one succumbs to or reshapes it.

"Life is the will not to endure but to expand," as Nietzsche said, and this is evident in all areas. In democracies, problems are resolved with substitutes and stopgaps because the future is of no interest, and the conditioned masses are concerned only with survival. Nationalism, on the other hand, aims to unite the forces of the Nation to propel it forward. In this movement, reactionaries are a hindrance, while nationalist Militants are its accelerators, having taken control of the process.

The Militant must also evolve within the idea to which they are committed. They must transcend their entire being within it, for if they have not been transformed by it, if it has not influenced them, their commitment has been only half-useful. The reason one remains a nationalist is at least as important as the reason one becomes one.

The first thing the Militant learns is to live standing tall, to climb higher when others are slumped or asleep. They are the Great Watchman of their era. Standing, they watch and fight. José Antonio spoke of a vertical paradise; without invoking a distant poetic destiny, the example of the nationalist Militant should be like that of those war leaders who, according to ancient Celtic customs, were buried standing by their people.

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I Practice a Militantism of a Sacerdotal Type

Forty-four years after the preceding text, Alain de Benoist reflected on his past as a militant in a text written in response to a survey on militantism.

You ask me to describe my 'vision' of the militant in 2007 and 'what makes them different but also similar to those of past generations.' I have no visions, and on such a subject, one does not speak based on hearsay. However, I can tell you this: in my youth, I experienced and practiced a militantism of a sacerdotal nature, into which I threw myself body (and soul) completely.

I call 'sacerdotal militantism'² a militantism that accepts no limits. At the time, we wanted to make the Revolution, and it seemed inconceivable to us not to serve it seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. We had nothing but utter contempt for those who indulged in leisure, those who took vacations, those who prioritized their studies, family, or girlfriends, as well as for part-time militants and sympathizers in principle.

This attitude even went quite far. For instance, it was strongly recommended not to take one’s exams in order to 'avoid collaborating with the regime.' Similarly, marriage was discouraged (I still remember that those who dared to marry received letters of condolence). Our convictions took precedence over everything. Absolutely everything. One entered politics then as others entered religion.

We gave a lot of ourselves, but let’s admit it—it brought us immense pleasure. Raymond Abellio, who was himself an exemplary militant (on the far left) in his youth, wrote in his memoirs that militants deserve no credit, as they have merely chosen the path they found most exhilarating. That is not entirely untrue.

From that period, I naturally retain a thousand memories. I will not recount them here. The old-veteran style is not my kind.

Like many other things, militantism is in fact a Janus. In one of my first books, written in collaboration with François d’Orcival, Le Courage est leur patrie³, I extensively praised its qualities, if not its virtues. These are evident. (A militant will always be better than someone who does nothing, believes in nothing, and thinks nothing.)

What is militantism for? Rarely to advance the cause one defends, but above all to shape oneself. To build character. To structure oneself, both physically and mentally. Militantism is a school, and those who have passed through this school, regardless of which side they belonged to, recognize one another instantly.

The purpose of our book was to affirm the moral superiority of militants—grassroots militants—over notables, petty leaders, and bourgeois figures. The militant community, after all, will never have anything in common with bourgeois society.

But there is also—why not say it?—a downside. Militantism can also be a form of alienation. It alienates whenever it prevents independent thought, whenever it leads someone to say or repeat nonsense they do not believe in, simply because they imagine that saying it makes them a "good militant" (one must not "discourage Billancourt"!). It helps one develop structure, but it can also make one rigid. It helps one acquire armor, but it can make one forget that the armor is not the body. It helps one become strong, but at the risk of becoming overbearing.

Militantism often favors ready-made answers over open-ended questions, which does not promote intellectual growth. It pushes one to value only ideas that can be instrumentalized. It may legitimize bad faith—or worse.

In my view, there is a huge difference between an engaged mind and a partisan mind. Even in service of the best cause, a partisan mind is never a free mind.

What has changed? The times and the means, of course. When I was at university during the Algerian War, at least 80% of students were members of a political party or movement. That says it all. Today, we live in the world of zapping—a world of artifice, ephemerality, and "liquidity." Political commitment as a vocation no longer attracts many people.

As for the means, the photocopier, fax, and Internet have significantly changed many things. There’s no longer a need to type thousands of pages on fragile stencils or spend entire nights, as we so often did, cranking the mimeograph or stuffing envelopes with leaflets until dawn. The evolution of technology has also transformed our ways of living.

Militantism is a gift of oneself. One has every right (and it is often even necessary) to stop being a militant—on the condition that the spirit of self-giving is never lost. One can disengage, provided one commits in another way—with the same wholeheartedness and selflessness. The priority is always that which lies beyond oneself.

1. TN: In the French language, the word “militant” can be used to refer to activists (political) or militants. I chose to go with the English equivalent of “militant” to convey a stronger tone of seriousness and the warlike-ness of political struggle. I felt the term “activist” was too casual given the overall context of the essay.

2. TN: The use of the word ‘sacerdotal’ is multi-functional. Typically, it is meant to denote belonging to a priestly caste. Also, it holds connotations of devotion, being sacrificial, and acting as a mediator between a higher cause and man.

3. Le courage est leur patrie (Courage is Their Homeland) (under the pseudonym Fabrice Laroche, with François d'Orcival), Saint-Just, 1965.