I ain’t got any.

No, I do, but I don’t really talk about it. I’ve always believed a gentleman never mentions political and religious stances in mixed company.

If so, then gentlemen are regular Thylacines nowadays, fit to be mounted in museums. No, I commit a metaphoric crime, most people bemoan the death of the carniverous marsupial and all other sundry beasts, but the gentlemen? They’re positively retrograde.

Their willingness to die for country and honor, their courtesy towards women, their personal practice of regulated sports, both deft and bloody. Their belief in civilization, their mannered ways and cultivated minds. Their masculinity, yet the tight white gloved manner in which they kept it in rein.

Completely and utterly obsolete.

The learned classes of today revel in living in some sort of endless cultural Jacobinism, where youthful indiscretion and idealistic fervor are sanctified. Thought, learning, the idea of each generation placing it’s brick in Humanity’s great Cathedral of Knowledge has been replaced with those who would tear down the whole edifice because they believe they can do better than all the benighted ones who came before them.

Rationalism, progress, all that? It’s empire building, scientism, colonizing, insensitive. All learning must be mitigated into proper narratives.

Not that the gentleman has his home on the other side. His love of knowledge, his ability to groom and dress himself, things all suspect to those who espouse a barbarous worship of their own apish impulses. Clattering swords and arms, and brandishing their totems, they resemble the painted Gauls sans the courage and physical strength, their bathetic tribal emotion being the sole determinant of their course of action.

They speak of religion, but it’s nothing. The Christ that inspired Bach, Michelangelo and Aquinas is replaced by clapping, thumping and glossolalia more akin to offerings to some snake god.

The Gentleman’s courtesy to women, both chavanistic and pathetically unsexualized at once. His love of sport, an act that is now a pointless mishmash of celebrity, avarice and passivity. His self-control is self-repression.

There is nothing that is not politically, aesthetically and socially obsolete about the Gentleman.

I am not a gentleman. It’s not the time of gentlemen and I wouldn’t have a full idea of what it takes to be one.

Subsequently, I am not bound to keep my views to myself. Now you know my political views.