The Ireland of Spirit and Destiny

Ireland’s rebirth through Tradition and the New Irishman

Callum McMichael declares that Ireland must cast off liberal illusions and be reborn as a sacred republic of Tradition, spirit, and destiny, forging a New Irishman who embodies the eternal covenant of soil, saints, and ancestors against the decay of modernity.

Ireland must cast off the illusion that a nation is merely a collection of individuals, bound by contracts and market relations. This liberal conception of the state is a lie, one that has been imposed upon us to strip us of memory, of belonging, and of destiny. A true nation is something more profound and more eternal. It is not a contract but a covenant — a sacred unity of the living, the dead, and the unborn.

The Irish state must be refounded not as a marketplace nor as a parliament of careerists, but as a revolutionary republic of destiny. In such a republic, politics is not the management of decline, but the conscious realization of our spiritual mission. It is not the shifting of power between parties, but the constant reaffirmation that the Irish people exist for a higher purpose than mere survival.

The Irish are not meant to be fragmented into isolated individuals, consuming and drifting in the chaos of modernity. We are a people, a body with a soul, and a sacred unity of farmers, workers, poets, and warriors. To reduce us to statistics in Brussels or clients of Washington is an act of desecration. Our nation is older than the European Union, older than the empire of America, older even than the English crown. It is eternal because it is founded upon the soil, the saints, and the blood of our ancestors.

The state, then, must reflect this reality. It must be the living embodiment of the Irish soul. It must guard not only our borders but our identity, our myths, and our faith. It must recognize that sovereignty is not simply control of territory, but the preservation of meaning.

Ireland is destined to be more than a province of Europe or a pawn of Atlanticist empires. We are a civilizational pole in our own right — small in territory, yet vast in spirit. Our mission is not to imitate the false freedoms of modern liberal nations, but to stand apart, to embody in our institutions, our culture, and our very way of life the sacred truth that man is not a consumer, but a pilgrim; not an individual, but a participant in destiny.

In this understanding, the Irish Republic becomes something higher than politics: it becomes a guardian of spirit, a vessel of Tradition, and a weapon against the decay of the modern world.

If the Irish state is to be refounded, it must be built not upon the shifting sands of modernity, but upon the eternal rock of Tradition. Tradition is not nostalgia, nor is it the lifeless repetition of the past. It is the recognition of an order that precedes us, that transcends us, and that will outlive us. It is the eternal structure that gives meaning to our existence, the hierarchy of values that situates man within the cosmos.

Modernity tells us that history is progress, that man is improving, and that the past is to be discarded in the name of comfort and novelty. But Tradition knows the truth: that history is cyclical, that decline precedes renewal, and that we now stand in the Kali Yuga — the age of darkness, dissolution, and decay. In such a time, it is not “progress” that will save us, but return: return to principle, meaning, and the sacred.

For Ireland, Tradition must be our foundation. It binds together our pagan past and our Christian destiny, uniting the druid and the monk, the warrior and the saint. Tradition teaches that the true purpose of man is not the pursuit of pleasure but the pursuit of transcendence. It reminds us that society is not a marketplace of competing desires but a sacred order.

Without Tradition, a people falls into decadence. It loses the will to sacrifice, the will to discipline, and the will to believe in something greater than itself. With Tradition, a people becomes invincible, for it lives not only for itself but for eternity.

The Ireland we envision is therefore not a secular republic, nor a modern democracy. It is a Traditional order, a sacred republic rooted in hierarchy, faith, and destiny. It does not measure itself by material growth, but by fidelity to eternal principles. It is not guided by fashion, but by truth. It does not worship man, but God.

Ireland must therefore become once again a guardian of Tradition in a world collapsing under modernity. We must preserve the sacred flame as the monasteries once preserved knowledge in the Dark Ages. We must live as if eternity matters, for without eternity, Ireland herself ceases to matter.

A nation without spirit is a corpse. A nation without culture is a void. If Ireland is to live again, if she is to rise beyond the decay of liberal modernity, she must first reclaim her spiritual foundation and cultural soul.

We must understand clearly: the sickness of the modern age is not merely political or economic, it is spiritual. It is the loss of the sacred, the reduction of life to consumption and the flattening of existence into comfort, distraction, and endless noise. Our people have been taught to see themselves not as heirs to a destiny, but as individuals without roots, without mission, and without eternity. This is the most insidious conquest of all for it does not enslave the body but the soul.

The Ireland we must build begins, therefore, with a spiritual revolution. This does not mean simply a return to church attendance or religious ritual, though these have their place. It means awakening in the Irish soul the knowledge that life itself is sacramental —  that our land, our myths, our saints, and our martyrs are signs of a higher reality. It means reminding our people that history is not a series of accidents, but a story with meaning, guided by Providence.

Culture is the vessel of this spirit. For too long, Irish culture has been colonized by the dead hand of liberalism. Our art is hollow imitation, our music commodified, and our literature reduced to irony and despair. We must cast this off. Our culture must once again embody the heroic, the tragic, and the divine.

We need a renaissance of the mythic imagination. Our poets must speak not of the banalities of consumer life but of the eternal struggle between light and darkness, order and chaos, destiny and decay. Our musicians must not pander to the lowest instincts, but summon the soul of the nation as the uilleann pipes once did on the battlefield and in the chapel. Our painters and sculptors must not copy the sterile fashions of the West, but create works that enshrine the sacred, that embody Christ the King, Cú Chulainn, and the martyrs of our nation.

Our education system must be transformed into a temple of initiation. Today, schools are factories producing workers for global markets. They drill facts, skills, and slogans into the young, stripping them of wonder, imagination, and spirit. But in the Ireland of destiny, education must be a rite of passage. It must induct every child into the chain of being and the long procession of Irish myth and faith. It must teach the Psalms alongside the sagas, the Easter Proclamation alongside the Gospels, the Book of Kells alongside the revolutionary catechism.

To educate a child is to awaken him to destiny. To deprive him of Tradition is to orphan him spiritually. Therefore, in the Ireland we must build, every young person will grow knowing that he is more than an individual. He is a vessel of the sacred storm, a guardian of eternity, and a bearer of Ireland’s mission.

Spiritual and cultural life cannot be left to chance. It must be cultivated, defended, and guided with discipline. Just as the body requires nourishment, the soul requires beauty, ritual, and truth. Without them, it withers. With them, it becomes eternal.

Ireland must once again become a land where every field and mountain whispers of the sacred, where every song carries the soul of the nation, and where every child is raised to believe that he lives not in a meaningless world, but in a world charged with destiny. For without spirit, Ireland is nothing. With spirit, she becomes eternal.

No society can endure without order. No people can achieve greatness without discipline. Yet Ireland, like all nations under the dominion of liberal modernity, has been reduced to political chaos: a circus of parties, careerists, and opportunists. Parliament has become a marketplace of egos, where men sell their loyalty to the highest bidder, and where the sacred duty of leadership has been reduced to the pursuit of popularity and profit.

This is not politics. This is the theater of decline. And Ireland deserves better.

The Ireland we must build requires a new political order — one not founded on compromise, bribery, and elections, but on destiny, discipline, and service. Leadership must not be a career; it must be a calling. To lead is not to enrich oneself or to bask in prestige, but to take up a cross, to bear a burden, and to serve the sacred mission of the nation with unrelenting devotion.

This order must resemble not a parliament but a brotherhood — an Order in the truest sense. Its members must live not for themselves but for Ireland. They must be ascetic in their habits, militant in their discipline, and incorruptible in their loyalty. They must embody the warrior’s courage, the monk’s devotion, and the revolutionary’s resolve. They must be living examples of the new type of Irishman that our nation so desperately needs.

Such a political order would draw from the great energies of history. From Mussolini, it would inherit vitality, a spirit of willpower and daring that cuts through inertia. From Lenin, it would inherit precision, organization, and the iron clarity of revolutionary strategy. From Limonov, it would inherit militancy, audacity, and an uncompromising hatred for decadence. Yet above all, it would be Irish — forged in our own fire, tempered by our land, our saints, our martyrs, and our myths.

The state must not be an arena for factions but a living organism. Its leaders must not be politicians, but guardians. Its laws must not be written for convenience, but inscribed with the gravity of eternal principle. Its institutions must not serve the economy alone, but the totality of Irish life: spirit, culture, and destiny.

In such a system, politics becomes something higher than the contest of wills. It becomes a form of spiritual guardianship. The state does not merely administer resources; it shepherds souls. It does not merely provide order; it embodies meaning. It does not merely manage a nation; it consecrates a people.

For Ireland, this political order is not optional. Liberal democracy has already proven its futility. It cannot inspire, it cannot discipline, and it cannot preserve what is sacred. It produces only weakness, fragmentation, and corruption. If Ireland remains chained to this model, she will wither and die. Only by embracing a new form — an ascetic, militant, Traditional order — can she survive and achieve greatness.

This does not mean tyranny, as our enemies would claim. It means liberation: liberation from chaos, from corruption, and from the mediocrity of careerist politics. It means that every Irishman and woman lives under a state that does not exploit them but elevates them, a state that demands sacrifice but offers in return the honor of serving eternity.

The political order of the new Ireland will be the backbone of the Sacred Storm. It will be the lightning rod that channels the chaos of the present into the fire of renewal. It will discipline the people not into slaves but into warriors, pilgrims, and guardians. It will stand as proof that true politics is not the pursuit of power but the fulfilment of destiny.

Ireland does not exist in a vacuum. No nation does. Every people, every state, is enmeshed in a greater struggle of civilizations, a struggle that today has reached its sharpest intensity since the collapse of Rome. To understand Ireland’s destiny, we must first understand the shape of the world we are called to inhabit.

The modern order is dominated by a single empire: the Atlanticist bloc, led by the United States and entrenched through NATO, the European Union, and the global system of finance and cultural hegemony. This empire presents itself as the defender of “freedom” and “democracy,” yet in reality it is the force of dissolution. It seeks not to liberate nations, but to erase them; not to preserve cultures, but to homogenize them; not to protect human dignity, but to reduce humanity to an undifferentiated mass of consumers, obedient to global markets.

Ireland today finds herself trapped within this order. Our sovereignty is mocked by the EU bureaucrats who legislate our borders and by the American corporations that devour our land and resources. Our people are told that “modernization” requires submission, that “progress” requires surrender, and that “freedom” requires dependence. But this is the greatest lie of all: for submission is not modernization, surrender is not progress, and dependence is not freedom.

To break free, Ireland must align herself not with the collapsing liberal order, but with the rising reality of the multipolar world.

Alexander Dugin, the Russian philosopher and prophet of multipolarity, has shown us that the age of unipolar domination is ending. The world no longer revolves around a single empire. New poles of civilization are rising :  Russia, China, the Islamic world, India, Latin America, and Africa. Each of these poles carries its own identity, its own sacred history, its own destiny. Against the flattening forces of Atlanticism, they assert that no single model of liberal democracy and capitalism can define humanity. They affirm that the future belongs not to one civilization, but to many.

It is within this vision that Ireland must discover her true role. We are not destined to be a province of Europe or a pawn of Washington. We are destined to be a civilizational pole in our own right — small in size, yet immeasurable in spirit. Ireland’s destiny is not to dominate but to inspire. We are to be a beacon for all small nations that refuse to dissolve into globalism, a model of how even the smallest of peoples can be sovereign if they are rooted in Tradition and aflame with spirit.

This requires courage. It requires Ireland to renounce her dependence on the Atlanticist system, to walk away from NATO’s shadow, to reject the authority of Brussels, and to cast down the false idols of liberalism. But it also requires vision. Ireland cannot simply retreat into herself; she must extend her hand to those who fight the same struggle: Russia in her defense of tradition, China in her defiance of Western hegemony, the Islamic world in its fidelity to faith, and the Global South in its yearning for liberation.

In such an order, Ireland finds not subjugation but partnership. We do not become a satellite or a client. We stand as equals among those who resist the empire of dissolution. We offer our spirit, our culture, our defiance, and our memory of suffering and martyrdom as contributions to the greater struggle. In return, we receive recognition: Ireland as a pole of spirit, a guardian of the West against its own decay, a bridge between civilizations, and a voice that refuses to be silenced.

But the international outlook of Ireland is not only political, it is spiritual. Liberal modernity tells us that all cultures are interchangeable, that all traditions are relative, and that nothing is sacred. Multipolarity rejects this. It affirms that civilizations are unique, that traditions are eternal, and that diversity is not liberal multiculturalism but the plurality of sacred worlds. Ireland’s contribution to this plurality is profound: a fusion of Celtic myth and Christian faith, of saintly sacrifice and revolutionary spirit, and of suffering endured and sovereignty longed for.

In a multipolar order, Ireland does not need to imitate the great powers. She needs only to be herself — fully, faithfully, unapologetically herself. In doing so, she offers to the world something greater than armies or markets: she offers a vision of a nation that is small in body but vast in soul, a nation that stands against modernity not with weapons alone but with spirit, a nation that proves the truth of Dugin’s teaching — that every people has its place, its destiny, and its contribution to the great symphony of humanity.

Thus, the international outlook of Ireland is not isolationism, nor is it servility. It is sovereignty and solidarity. It is standing firm against the Atlanticist empire, while standing shoulder to shoulder with all who resist it. It is proclaiming to the world that Ireland will never again be a pawn, a province, or a colony. She will be a pillar of Tradition in a collapsing age, a storm-lamp in the gathering darkness, and a beacon that tells the world: there is another way, there is another order, there is another destiny.

The nation I envision is not simply one of restored sovereignty, strong traditions, and spiritual order. These are but the conditions for a greater purpose: the forging of a new type of man. This “New Irishman” is not a restoration of the peasant past, nor the mere continuation of the worker of industrial modernity. He is a synthesis: the eternal Irish soul transfigured, elevated into something greater, something beyond the tired categories of liberal modernity. He is the worker, yes, but the worker as the Superhuman; the man who builds, not only with his hands, but with his will, his faith, his culture, and his rootedness in soil and destiny.

In the Ireland I envision, the ordinary man is transfigured into something extraordinary. Our people will not remain as the atomized, weary consumers of liberal modernity, addicted to comfort and enslaved by the mechanical churn of global capital. No, he will become a hero of labor, a soldier of spirit, and a mystic of tradition. The New Irishman lives not for himself, but for the nation, the people, and the divine order that breathes through both. He is not the bourgeois subject of liberal “rights” but the living vessel of duty, honor, and destiny.

The philosophers of the past saw glimmers of this figure. Nietzsche spoke of the Übermensch, a higher man who creates values beyond the herd. But the Irish manifestation of this truth is not some cold, solitary egoist; it is the man who surpasses himself through service to his people. Dugin, in his Fourth Political Theory, reminds us that the highest man of the future will be born not from liberal freedom, nor Marxist class struggle alone, nor fascist will to power, but from the return of Being itself — a man who is rooted, spiritual, traditional, yet also revolutionary. The New Irishman embodies this synthesis: he is the carrier of Tradition and the harbinger of Revolution. He is both the son of Christ and the child of the Storm.

This new type of man must be cultivated deliberately. He does not appear spontaneously, nor does he emerge from liberal education or the hollow rituals of modern politics. He is born from struggle, from sacrifice, and from a great mission that consumes and elevates his life. He must be tested by discipline, by the storm of political struggle, and by the sacred rituals of his people. From these trials, he emerges strong, radiant, and fearless — and utterly devoted to something beyond himself.

The New Irishman will stand in sharp contrast to the degraded man of liberal modernity. Where the liberal subject is fragile, anxious, and detached from heritage, the New Irishman is rooted in the eternal memory of his ancestors. Where the liberal man is addicted to comfort and luxury, the New Irishman embraces hardship as the forge of character. Where the liberal man is enslaved by desire and consumerism, the New Irishman masters his desires and channels them toward the sacred mission of his people. He is not a slave to the modern cult of pleasure, but the warrior of a higher joy: the joy of creation, sacrifice, and eternal life through his nation.

Imagine the worker who builds houses not just to earn a wage, but because each stone he lays is part of Ireland’s sacred renewal. The farmer who tills the land not only for crops, but because each harvest is an offering to the ancestors and the unborn. The artist who paints, the poet who writes, the soldier who stands guard: each one contributing to something greater than themselves. This is not simply labor, but worship.

The New Irishman is also the bearer of a new kind of freedom — not the negative freedom of liberalism (“freedom from”), but the positive freedom of destiny (“freedom for”). He is free not because he may do whatever he wishes, but because he has discovered what he must do. His life has purpose and direction. He does not drift like a leaf in the winds of global capitalism; he moves like an oak, firmly rooted yet reaching toward heaven.

Dugin writes that multipolarity requires not only diverse states, but diverse forms of man. Each civilization must cultivate its own type of humanity. Ireland must therefore reject the homogenizing influence of Atlanticist liberalism, which seeks to make every man a rootless consumer. Instead, we must cultivate our own anthropological model: the New Irishman, whose soul is Celtic, whose body is hardened by labor, whose mind is sharpened by tradition, and whose heart burns with divine fire.

Let us be clear: this is not a dream of eugenics, nor some materialist breeding project. It is a spiritual, cultural, and moral rebirth. The New Irishman is not defined by biology alone, but by soul and destiny. He is chosen not by blood alone, but by his fidelity to the eternal mission of the Irish people. He may be born in any class, any town, any county, but he is set apart by his willingness to sacrifice, to serve, and to transcend the petty ego.

This rebirth is not optional. It is the condition for survival in the twenty-first century. Liberalism has created a type of man utterly incapable of withstanding the storms that are coming: spiritual crisis, geopolitical realignment, and ecological upheaval. Only a new man — disciplined, rooted, and transcendent — can guide Ireland through the tempest. So, the creation of the New Irishman is not just an ideal, it is an imperative.

He is the Superhuman Worker, yes — but “superhuman” not in the sense of inhuman perfection, but in the sense of surpassing what humanity has become in this fallen age. He embodies the eternal Irish warrior, saint, poet, and peasant — all transfigured into a being who lives for Ireland, fights for Ireland, and dies for Ireland, not in despair, but in glory.

In the end, this is what my vision for Ireland demands. Not merely sovereignty, not merely tradition, and not merely culture or politics. All these are scaffolding for something greater: the birth of the New Irishman, the eternal son of Éire reborn, the storm made flesh. Through him, Ireland will rise again, not as a minor nation on the fringes of Europe, but as a beacon of what man can become when he is rooted in soil, spirit, and destiny.