The Allies genocided more Germans than the Germans genocided Jews. See this book review about the Holocaust of German civilians, women and children included, perpetrated by the Allies—even after 1945! Once you have assimilated the reality of this Holocaust that almost no one talks about, read the featured article of this site, ‘The Wall’.
The above image appears in Irving’s book with this footnote: ‘Heinrich Himmler preserves the certificate recording his First Communion until the end.’
THE PLEASURES WHICH MADE those evenings ‘unforgettable’ also helped young Heinrich Himmler overcome his tendency to adolescent depression . ‘First of all Maja sang, “A Woman’s Love and Sorrow.” She sang the verses with tears in her eyes. I don’t think Ludwig understands her, his Golden girl, but I can’t be sure of that. I just don’t get him. Later Gebhard and Kathe played the piano.’ Kathe Loritz – also Maja – was Ludwig Zahler’s girl, and later his wife. ‘Ludwig and I shared an armchair. Marielle [Lacher] and Maja sat on the floor clinging to us both. We all cuddled, partly in love and partly in a fraternal embrace. It was an evening I won’t easily forget.’
He felt sorry for poor Maja, he wrote on November 5, 1919; and two days later there was more of the same: then he sermonized to a hidden congregation in his diary, ‘Yes, it’s true: Mankind is a wretched creature. Restless is the heart, until it rests with Thee, 0 Lord [see my comment in the comments section - Editor]. How powerless are we, we can’t help it. I can but be a friend to my friends, do my duty, work, struggle with myself, and never allow myself to lose control.’ After just a month living among educated youngsters like himself, he was beginning to question everything. Louisa no longer excited him. On Sunday morning he went to the cathedral for Mass and the sermon, and then over to her family, the Hagers: ‘Louisa was nice enough, but not the way I like.’ He spent a cheerful evening after that with Maja’s family. ‘Today I have by and large regained my spiritual balance. God will help me forwards.’
Thus as he plunged into the world of agriculture an inner turmoil began, between the strict religious doctrines impressed upon him by his parents, and the unfamiliar chemistry of student life and adolescence. ‘I work,’ he wrote on November 11, i919, ‘because it is my duty, because I find peace in work; and I work for my Germanic ideal of womanhood with whom I shall one day live my life and fight my battles as a German in the East, far from my beloved Germany.’ One evening a hypnotist came round to the Loritz household and tried his black art on them. ‘I summoned up all my powers of resistance,’ boasted Heini. ‘Obviously it did not work with me. But it did totally with poor little Maja. I felt so sorry for her when I saw her go under. I could have strangled the dog in cold blood. I worked against him where I could. . . His mind-reading was very good, but I think anybody capable of concentrating could do it with sufficient practice. I instinctively disliked the fellow, I hate this whole swindle; it only comes off if you go along with him.’
He loved Maja’s eagerness to help; she made a fair-copy in twenty pages of neat handwriting for him of his zoology paper, and repeated the drawings with great care. A day or two later he helped her with her math, and ‘she thanked me very much – (he drew a careful line, and did that again the next day). His heart in a whirl, zerwühlt, he wrote that Friday evening: ‘Then over to the Loritz’s for a meal. Maja was very nice – and there was the line again. (Those who research in private diaries know not to ignore such signs.)
He was still acquiring social graces. That included taking lessons in ballroom dancing, which he loathed as only a nineteen-year-old can. ‘Diary, November 15, 1919: From eight to ten at dancing-class.’ – and here he inserted three [iron] crosses. ‘All beginnings are hard,’ he added, using a German aphorism, ‘but I’ll get the hang of it. Dance classes seem pretty pointless to me, and just a waste of time.’ ‘What a disgusting fraud it all is,’ he commented. ‘But I’ll be glad once I’ve learned to do it, and I can dance with whoever takes my fancy.’ ‘If I could only look danger squarely in the eye,’ he added in one entry, ‘risk my life somewhere, fight, that would be a real liberation for me.’
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Irving’s book can be purchased on his website.
‘This is the expression of an authoritarian state –not of a weak, babbling democracy [like the American one]–, of an authoritarian state where everyone is proud to obey, because he knows: I will likewise be obeyed when I must take command’.
—Speech at Nuremberg, September 14, 1935 (see Savitri’s Memoirs pages 172-177 to fully grasp this point).
‘But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!’ —The Picture of Dorian Gray
Those who think like that are immature men. Yesterday I had to delete some passages from the third book of my trilogy where I confessed things that I now rephrase and translate into English.
In those deleted pages I confessed that I had had a recurring fantasy at my very mature age: that if it were possible to travel back in time I would be infinitely happy visiting my grandmothers’ homes. ‘What would I give…!’ — I have told myself countless times now that I can no longer see them — ‘to be able to go and visit them as I did as a child and pubescent!’
Their homes were far from the disturbances of my parents’ house, where I lived. Only beautiful and wholesome memories come from those places where many of our grandmothers lived. It is easier for parents to project their psychoses onto their offspring than for mature grandmothers to do so, even if they failed to understand our future parents or treat them well when they were young. With age, the unhealthy projections evaporate.
‘That fantasy I can even have right now, to the extent of perceiving that with their deaths parts of my being have been mutilated’, I said in my diary, where I added that ‘any satisfaction I might have in the present is a pale substitute for the times when I could go to see them when my “I” was whole’. I wrote in red ink that there would have been no folie en famille at home if any of them had seen our family dynamics. This is even more elementary than the Hitler Youth because some unsupervised parents (i.e., without grandmothers or godmothers) can drive a child mad and destroy him before the pubescent child can be recruited into the Hitler Youth.
Today’s Gray cult of individualism and eternal youth is folly in an age that doesn’t understand that senescence is a fundamental part of an extended family (in contrast to the nuclear family). The youth we are to pursue is not the youth of this modern world so blinded by its individualistic obsessions of a healthy body. ‘Man is mortal by his fears, and immortal by his desires’, said Pythagoras. And if we only grow old when we abandon our ideals, it means I’ll never grow old (though I will probably die of old age).
Of course: these thoughts are decontextualised in a mere blog post rather than in an intelligible autobiography. Except for Benjamin, I know that not many are interested in my work on the psychological trauma caused by parental betrayal. But if anyone has questions, although I don’t have the space I have in a trilogy of more than 1,800 pages, I will try to answer them.
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Update of 10:30 a.m.
Since I wrote the above post yesterday almost at midnight, I forgot to say the essential.
The fact is that the aberrant custom of the modern world of sending our grandmas to the nursing home results in their grandchildren not having what Alice Miller called ‘helping witnesses’, that is, a friendly ear for the child in families where the parents begin to assault one of them.
The balance that a granny represents in an extended family is fundamental for the mental health of the offspring, and that is cancelled out in the nuclear family that believes in nursing homes.
It is only just becoming fashionable to talk about Family Systems, but it seems clear to me that we should also study the so-called Blue Zones. (People in Blue Zones areas have a diet that is 95% plant-based. Fruits, vegetables, beans, tofu, lentils, nuts, and seeds are rich with disease-fighting nutrients and are the cornerstone of their diets.)
These people live longer, and some even reach centenarians, because they live as extended families where, feeling important, grandmas don’t become as senile as in the West, as they help raise the new generations.
Everything is interrelated: healthy diet and healthy—rural—lifestyles, plus a healthy extended family of the same ethnic group: the exact opposite of Dorian Gray’s lifestyle (I read Oscar Wilde’s novel in 1995, when I was much younger).
None of this, which is vital, I said yesterday because I repeat I wrote it tired at midnight.
Criminal History, 197
For the context of these translations click here.
PDFs of entries 1-183 (several of Karlheinz Deschner’s
books abridged into two) can be read here and here.
The Martyrdom of St Emmeram.
St Emmeram or ‘Praising God without tongues’
Emmeram, a rather mysterious bishop and martyr (difficult to say which he was less, if he was both) from the late 7th century, was accused of seducing the pregnant duke’s daughter Uta. In the days of the Bavarian prince Theodo, he was charged with luring the pregnant duke’s daughter Uta and then slain by her brother Lantpert on his way to Rome in Helfendorf (now Kleinhelfendorf, Upper Bavaria). The legend panels of the local chapel of martyrdom have immortalised the ‘event’ in pictures and verse:
O cruelty of torment and agony,
So Emmeram suffered,
His gliders were all and all cut away from the body,
The hands and feet, even the fingers too,
were all chopped off,
Acquires thereby the kingdom of heaven…
When this was, if it was, is completely uncertain and disputed, like almost everything about this figure, his origins, his episcopal office, especially the reasons that led to his murder; perhaps, but this too is quite uncertain, 685. Did the ‘martyr’ fall as a representative of Frankish power in Bavaria, striving for independence? Did he win the palm of martyrdom as the seducer of the duke’s pregnant daughter? Or did he voluntarily take the guilt of seduction upon himself, as the pious version of his first hagiographer, Bishop Arbeo of Freising, implies in his Vita Haimhrammi, but ‘probably only according to the embellishing romantic folk tale’, according to the Catholic Kirchen-Lexikon which adds, moreover, ‘which contradicts his narrative’.
Bishop Arbeo only wrote his opus in 772 and apparently for quite selfish reasons, namely, according to the Catholic Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche in 1931 (which in its latest edition of 1995 no longer mentions the ‘martyr’ at all), ‘primarily in the interest of the places of Emmeram´s veneration in his diocese’. And Bishop Arbeo, from the noble house of the Huosi, who was able to occupy the Freising bishop’s see several times, was a very enterprising prelate who was able to expand the possessions and rights of his diocese. However, almost all popular Catholic portrayals spread a more rather than less gruesome kitsch, as is appropriate for Arbeo’s supernatural exploits. After Uta’s brother has chased after the departed ‘saint’, he dies like a great Christian blood witness. Duke’s son Lantpert has hired ‘five butchers who will chop the haggard man’s corpse to pieces from vein to vein, from limb to limb’. And while he is horribly mutilated, his eyes torn out, noses and ears cut off, hands, feet and the (of course only supposedly) unchaste member, he thanks God ‘with great devotion’ for the marvellous ordeal.
Of course, Emmeram’s veneration as a saint only began decades after his death, but then accompanied by the most beautiful miracles, healings of the sick, and exorcisms of devils, not to mention Arnulf of Carinthia, East Frankish king and emperor of the last punitive miracles (because the Regensburg bishops repeatedly encroached on his ever-growing property. Even serfs were later given to the saint).
The glorious cult, revitalised in the 17th century, spread beyond Bavaria in the early Middle Ages. Under the East Frankish Carolingians, however, Emmeram achieved his greatest importance as a tribal saint, and under Arnulf he became the personal patron of the emperor, helping him in battle against the Moravians. The ruler believed that he alone was to thank for his rescue from mortal danger during the campaign against Swatopluk in 893, which is why he richly endowed the Bavarian monasteries, especially St Emmeram, which received all the jewellery of his palace, and in 899 his body no longer had its place in the Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche 1995: the entire article on the monastery ‘St Emmeram’, which in 1931 was twice as long as the one on the saint himself, has now been omitted.
However, the monks of Emmeram honoured the memory of their benefactor by celebrating a solemn office every year on the anniversary of his death and by making up and forging documents in his name throughout the year, such as the one claiming that he had bequeathed them the entire Neustadt. In the face of all these scams, even ‘the actual patron saint of the monastery, Emmeram, receded into the background for a long time’ (Babl). Nevertheless, he lives on in the Kleinhelfendorf legends and not only there:
Praising God without tongue, power yes wonder.
The godless Rott could no longer live that
he now always praises God,
Thuet cut off his tongue.
But he still praises God,
burdening us with praise for this miracle,
As if the tongue were on the old ear,
Asking nothing of Wüttrich’s raving.
CHAPTER 3
OF CRIMES AND CRIMINALS
Even as the physical massacre of Germany was in progress, the spiritual massacre of German womanhood continued without pause.
Although violent, brutal and repeated rapes persisted against defenseless females for years, most Soviet, American, British, and French troops quickly discovered that hunger was a powerful incentive to sexual surrender. Usually, a piece of bread, a little candy or a bar of soap made violent rape unnecessary. In their utterly devastated cities, young girls roamed the streets seeking something to eat and a place to sleep. Having only one thing left in the world to sell, they were not slow to sell it.
“Bacon, eggs, sleep at your home?” winked Russian soldiers over and over again, knowing full well the answer would usually be a two-minute tryst among the rubble. “I continually ran about with cooking utensils, and begged for food…,” admitted one girl. “If I heard in my neighborhood the expression ‘pretty woman,’ I reacted accordingly.’’
Despite General Eisenhower’s edict against fraternization with the despised enemy, no amount of words could slow the US soldier’s sex drive. “Neither army regulations nor the propaganda of hatred in the American press,” noted newswoman, Freda Utley, “could prevent American soldiers from liking and associating with German women, who although they were driven by hunger to become prostitutes, preserved a certain innate decency.”
“I felt a bit sick at times about the power I had over that girl,” one troubled British soldier confessed. “If I gave her a three-penny bar of chocolate she nearly went crazy. She was just like my slave. She darned my socks and mended things for me. There was no question of marriage. She knew that was not possible.”
As this young Tommy made clear, desperate German women, many with children to feed, were compelled by hunger to enter a bondage as binding as any in history. With time, some victims, particularly those consorting with officers, not only avoided starvation, but found themselves enjoying luxuries long forgotten.
“By no means could it be said that the major is raping me, revealed one woman. “Am I doing it for bacon, butter, sugar, candles, canned meat? To some extent I’m sure I am. In addition, I like the major and the less he wants from me as a man, the more I like him as a person.”
Unlike the above, relatively few females found such havens. For most, food was used to bait or bribe them into a numbing sexual slavery in which the simple avoidance of starvation was the day-to-day goal. Just as Lali Horstmann was about to sign up for kitchen duty in the Soviet Zone, a job that paid with soup and potatoes, a girl next to her whispered that her sister had volunteered several days before on the same job and had not been seen since. When an old, unattractive woman nearby raised her hand to volunteer, the Red officer in charge ignored her and instead pointed a pistol at a pretty young girl. When the girl refused, several soldiers approached.
“She was in tears as she was brutally shoved forward,” recorded Lali, “followed by others who were protesting helplessly.”
“A Pole discovered me,” acknowledged another girl, “and began to sell me to Russians. He had fixed up a brothel in his cellar for Russian officers. I was fetched by him… I had to go with him, and could not resist. I came into the cellar, in which there were the most depraved carryings on, drinking, smoking and shouting, and I had to participate… I felt like shrieking.”
While many women endured such slavery—if only to eat—others risked their all to escape. Recounted an American journalist:
As our long line of British Army lorries… rolled through the main street of Brahlstorf, the last Russian occupied town, a pretty blond girl darted from the crowd of Germans watching us and made a dash for our truck. Clinging with both hands to the tailboard, she made a desperate effort to climb in. But we were driving too fast and the board was too high. After being dragged several hundred yards she had to let go and fell on the cobblestone street. That scene was a dramatic illustration of the state of terror in which women… were living.
“All these women,” wrote a witness, “Germans, Polish, Jewish and even Russian girls ‘freed’ from Nazi slave camps, were dominated by one desperate desire to escape from the Red zone.”
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Note of the Editor: Here you can request an item of the ‘Hellstorm Holocaust’ package (the biggest secret in modern history: the Allied genocide of Germans after 1945), and here you can order Tom Goodrich’s other books.
Reverting, however, to Chicago’s reverend Utopia-constructor, thus waileth he with cajoling crudity:
The laws of social evolution, far from being the blind, barbarous, and brutal struggle for organic existence, consists in the physical, intellectual and moral wellbeing of all the members of society, so constituted that the politico-ethical principles of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity shall have the largest possible realization throughout the social organism. The main features of the condition of progress are Christian churches, Christian schools, Christian governments, Christian ethics and economics.
Another seductive but most malignant State Socialist (Henry George) roundly proclaims that ‘The salvation of society, the hope of the free, and full development of humanity, is in the gospel of brotherhood, the gospel of Christ,’ and thereupon he proposes to make politicians the national rent-tax collectors, administrators of everything in general, and all-round distributors of state pensions to ‘the poor and needy.’
Has not mankind had sufficient experience of what politicians are?—Those black-hearted creeping thieves and frauds. Their sting is deadlier than the bite of a cobra, and in the breath of their mouth there is—death. Curses be upon ye, O! ye politicians, and upon all who advocate increasing your prerogatives!
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Editor’s note: Emphasis added in bold. What Arthur Desmond wrote above reminds me of people like Nick Fuentes, and what he says below reminds me of the racialists who are currently talking about the upcoming elections in their country. Remember that a true priest of the holy words repudiates democracy as the worst of all possible political systems.
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Presidential candidates, from Jefferson, to Lincoln, (also their apish imitators) have generally indulged in equally shallow rhodomontade, because it means votes, and for votes, office-seekers would dress up in glowing language, and ray forth any devilish deception.
For two thousand years these effeminate superlatives have been trumpeted to the remotest corner of every Christian land, and yet (while enervating the morale of people) they have dismally failed to inaugurate the much foretold earthly paradise. They were preached by bare-foot monks at the inauguration of the Dark Ages, in order that those saintly lovers of the common people might creep into the administration of co-operative wealth and power. Now, the same general ideas are revived and dressed up (this time in politico- economic garb) by the eloquent agitator, in order that he may rule and plunder in the future, through the agency of the State; just as the priest once ruled and plundered through the equally rapacious agency of the Church.
When the Church triumphed, the Dark Ages began, and when it is finally rooted out (together with all its social antenæ) the Heroic Age dawns once more. True heroes shall be born again as of old, for our women may yet be something more than rickety perambulating dolls and drug-stores in spectacles.
The ‘Church’ is the idol of the priestly parasite—the ‘State’ is the idol of the political parasite. Beware, O, America! that in escaping from the holy trickery of the monk, you fall not an easy prey to ‘the loving kindness’ of the politician. Even if the ‘reformer’ succeeds in re-establishing upon majority-votes, the dark tyranny of the ‘greatest number;’ we have this consolation to fall back upon, such organisation must ultimately tumble down of its own weight, and then re-divide up into warring fragments. Nothing that is unnatural can last for long.
The Universal Church is no more; all we see of it now is jealous remnants. And the Universal State, the Social Democracy, the Economic Republic, the Brotherhood of Man, should they take practical form, are pre-ordained to similar failure. All they could do, would be to postpone the operation of the survival of the fittest—drugging nations in temporary sedatives.
No matter how eagerly madmen may try to do it, there is no known process whereby they can jump out of their own skins. Christian or socialist churches, paternalisms, schools, governments, administrations, ethics, and moralisms (even if genuinely Christian and fraternal) would be wholly impotent to change the natural course of things and therefore powerless to command the survival of mental and physical cripples; even although those cripples were as canonized saints for ‘goodness,’ and as the sands of the sea shore for number. Shrieking sentimentalism is indeed a feeble lever wherewith to overturn the immutable order of the universe. It cannot do it. No! not if it were whooped till the crack of doom! Not even if it had a Lamb of God in every city, ready to be butchered each Friday afternoon, in order to make a Christian holiday.
I haven’t finished what I said yesterday in ‘Emergency’: a word I put in inverted commas because what I mean is an emergent condition of the human soul, in the sense of developing great compassion for animals tormented by those I call Neanderthals, as well as a religious attraction to great art (virtues Adolf Hitler had).
These days I have reached my financial nadir. I have never been in such need of funds as I am now. And of course: it’s all related to my radical worldview.
Since Lulu Press de-platformed my account of our books in English, a very important source of income for me collapsed almost to zero insofar as almost nobody buys my books in Spanish.
True, two generous sponsors give me a fixed monthly amount and have done so regularly for some time now. If I had more sponsors I could cover my expenses.
In the last few days I’ve basically been interacting only with Benjamin. Why?
He has confessed in several threads of this site to the abuse he suffered at home as a child and the psychological havoc that abuse wreaked as a teenager. This is similar to what another commenter has confessed, Joseph Walsh, who is now serving a seven-year sentence in the UK for thoughtcrime. The difference between these two Englishmen, Joseph and Benjamin, is that the former was seduced by the dark side by admiring Charles Manson, while the latter tries to cure himself by staying on the light side, as he has also confessed on this site by reading the authors of the trauma model of mental disorders and also those who refute the pseudo-scientific medical model of those disorders.
In previous years there have been other smart commenters who sometimes hinted that they too had been abused. But their testimonies were only a glimpse of what could have happened: they didn’t speak out. I am convinced that chronic neuroses and even psychoses are directly proportional to burying the traumatic past without having processed it properly. It is precisely because of this universal tendency to repress that past that some fall to the dark side. If those who were tormented as children or adolescents were able to say it all, in an orderly way in lyrically polished texts, they wouldn’t have psychiatric symptoms nor would they be in jail. But that is the work of the gods because if there is one thing that hurts horrendously, it is precisely remembering the psychic tortures to which our crazed parents, and their sold-out psychiatrists, subjected us when our tender age prevented us from fleeing such hellish homes.
Lágrimas (Tears, the last book of my trilogy).
What is all this about what I was saying yesterday, the discrepancy between National Socialism and white nationalism? I have noticed that only those of us who have been so horribly beaten by life that we couldn’t lead normal lives have been able to embrace the National Socialist cause to the extent of rebelling against Christian ethics and atheistic hyper-Christianity. I think that’s why I don’t get the donations that white nationalist sites get. If adolescent suffering didn’t reach the levels it did in the lives of Joseph, Benjamin and myself, why pick a fight with society to the extent of transvaluing all its values?
Virtually all whites suffer from a universal trance: the trance of believing that Hitler was the bad guy of the 20th century (in reality, he was the noblest politician in all of Western history). Those of us who observe the herd mentality, that collective hypnosis that is now being called ‘mass formation’, know that it can only be broken if the System crucified you (as it crucified Joseph, Benjamin and myself). Otherwise one simply falls into the trance of the herd. In other words, of the commenters who have commented here, I know of no one who has been treated fairly by family and society and rebelled against the demonisation of National Socialism. Even Tom Goodrich, the author of Hellstorm, has confessed publicly that he was abused as a child (in his case, sexually abused).
My existential problem is that once I can see that many families murder the souls of their children with the help of so-called mental health professionals (as Jeffrey Masson rightly saw, any therapeutic intervention paid for by the abusive parents themselves is iatrogenic), I am also able to see other social lies. But the vast majority of racialists have not suffered hell caused by their parents and the psychiatrists hired by them (‘licensed slanderers’ the late Thomas Szasz used to call these child psychiatrists). If my observation is correct, that only the crucified ones can be ideologically resurrected, I will be condemned to monologue on this blog until the convergence of catastrophes that will unfold in this century starts to awaken some Aryans—if they awaken!
It’s a terrible situation, but I don’t think it admits another interpretation. The alternative interpretation would be that I am completely deluded and that the Christian question is in no way more serious than the Jewish question. But as I have already said in another article this month, if that is true white nationalists have been unwilling to argue this point on solid grounds. They simply ignore us.
Given that what I get in donations cannot pay all my bills, the easiest thing to do would be to give up The West’s Darkest Hour. But I won’t. I am like the proverbial Roman soldier who didn’t abandon his post even when the war was already lost.
I was going to post another Might is Right instalment today but I got to thinking about my recent exchanges with Benjamin in various threads, and I feel I should say a few things.
I sometimes check the number of comments on old threads, back when WDH was hosted for free by WordPress, and I’m surprised that there were threads with dozens of comments. Since I started criticising American white nationalism, calling it deficient compared to German National Socialism, and shifting my paradigm from regarding the Christian problem as infinitely more serious than the Jewish problem, the visitor traffic has collapsed.
This is compounded by the fact that, as an immense admirer of Hitler myself, the German Chancellor’s sensitivity to art and animal welfare is something that simply doesn’t exist on the American racial right.
The immense dilemma I find myself in is that this sort of thing cannot be explained by pure reason, say, by solid race realist articles like the ones Jared Taylor has been publishing for decades. It has more to do with what we might call emergent psychogenics, which I have already discussed in Day of Wrath (a book that is nothing more than a translation of some chapters of my trilogy).
Psychogenic emergency is either felt or not. Or rather: either one belongs to a higher psychoclass, or one doesn’t belong to it. As I said, it is not something that can be demonstrated by pure reason. On seeing a work of art, such as the Lorraine canvas I saw on my last trip to London, the museum visitor either feels the emergent aesthetics compared to the architectural Neanderthalism of the largest city in Europe, or he feels nothing at all. Those 18th-century Englishmen like Henry Hoare who were aesthetically emergent even designed their gardens in imitation of the Italian painter’s architecture. Either you feel art or you don’t.
Incidentally, the bridge in Stourhead’s garden whose image I posted in June in this article was also used by Kubrick in one of the scenes in Barry Lyndon: a film whose images were inspired by canvases of the period like very few films I have seen. (Perhaps the sole exception is 1956’s Lust for Life in which the director used the actual sites in Holland, Belgium and the French countryside where Vincent van Gogh lived.)
The fourteen words have to do with aesthetics, in that the white race is the only truly beautiful race from the point of view of the Gods of Olympus. The other issue is ethics, the four words, Eliminad todo sufrimiento innecesario. Like great art, you either feel the four words or you don’t. Either you are a Neanderthal (Benjamin sent me an email today describing experiments on rabbits that I don’t even want to describe) or you are an overman like Hitler, and Göring who forbade tormenting those animals.
The sad truth is that most American racialists have not reached the psychogenic level of the Führer in terms of ethics and aesthetics, and that those emergent qualities cannot be induced by arguments, criticisms or diatribes like the ones I have used in this blog. Either you start psychogenically emerging as a child or an adolescent (cf. Kubizek’s memoirs of Hitler when they were both teenagers) or you won’t.
and the Sun, 7
Adolf Hitler’s second and even more shattering experience of the horror of the present Age began on the 10th of November 1918, as he stood, half-blind from the effects of poisonous gas, among his wounded comrades in a hospital hall at Pasewalk in Pomerania, and heard from the clergyman the latest news: the ‘November revolution’ and Germany’s capitulation; the tragic end of the first World War.
More than four years before, he had joined the war with enthusiasm, as a volunteer in a Bavarian regiment, not in an Austrian one, clearly showing thereby that he was prepared to die anytime for the German people and ‘for the Reich that embodied them,’[1] though not for ‘the State of the Habsburgs’—that artificial State of many nationalities. For he considered the war in no way as an Austrian concern, but as a struggle of the German people (including, naturally, those of Austria) ‘for their existence’[2]—as a just war. And, he had done his duty thoroughly; faithfully. And although he had, for months already, (especially since the general strike of 1917) been fearing —feeling—that some diabolical traitors’ intrigues were being carried on to rob the German front-soldier of a victory which he well deserved, yet he had not expected such an end, and so suddenly….
The grief, the indignation and temporary despair that took him over as he abruptly acquired ‘the most horrible certitude in his life’[3] are so eloquently described in Mein Kampf that nothing can throw more light upon the future, Führer’s state of mind than an extensive, quotation of his own words:
I could not remain any longer’ (i.e. remain hearing the news). ‘While my eyes once more stared into darkness, I sought my way back to the dormitory, threw myself upon my bed, and buried my burning head under the quilts and pillows.
Since the day I had stood before my mother’s grave, I had not wept. When, in my youth, Destiny had been mercilessly harsh to me, I had faced it with growing defiance. When during the long years of the war, death had taken many a dear comrade and friend of mine from our ranks, it would have seemed to me nearly a sin to complain—for they had died for Germany. And when, in the days of the terrible struggle, the slowly advancing gas had taken me in its grip, and begun to gnaw into my eyes, and when the fear of becoming blind for ever had made me feel, for a second, as though I would weaken, the voice of conscience had thundered to me: ‘Miserable wretch! You feel like weeping, while thousands are faring worse than yourself!’ And I had put up with my lot in silence. But now I could not help weeping. Now I experienced how completely every personal suffering fades away before the misfortune of one’s Fatherland.
So, it had all been in vain! In vain all our sacrifices, and all the hardships we had endured; in vain, hunger and thirst, for months without end; in vain, the hours in which, facing the terror of death, we had yet done our duty; and in vain, the death of two million men! Would not the graves of the hundreds of thousands who had gone forth full of faith in the Fatherland, never to return, break open and release the dumb heroes covered with mud and blood,—release them as revengeful spirits among the people at home, who had treated so disdainfully the highest sacrifice which a man can offer his country? Had they died for that, the soldiers of August and September 1914? Had the regiments of volunteers, in the autumn of the same year, followed for that the elder comrades? Had those boys of seventeen sunk for that into Flanders’ earth? Was that the object of the sacrifice that German mothers had brought the Fatherland when, with a grieving heart, they had sent the boys to their duty, never to see them, again? Had all that happened in order to enable, now, a handful of criminals to set their grip upon the Fatherland?!! … The more I tried, then, to think clearly about the monstrous event, the more my forehead burnt with indignation and shame. What was all the pain I felt in my eyes, compared with this wretchedness?
What followed, were appalling days and still worse nights. I knew that all was lost. Only fools—fools or … liars and criminals—could put their hope in the enemy’s mercy. During those nights, hatred grew in me, hatred against the originators of that deed.
In those days, I also became aware of my destiny. Now, I could only laugh at the thought of my own future, that had caused me such bitter worry only a short time before. Was it not ridiculous to build houses upon such foundations as this? At last it was clear to me that the very thing which I so often already had feared, without ever being able, in my heart, to believe it, had now happened.
Emperor William the Second had been the first German emperor to hold out his hand to the leaders of Marxism, in a gesture of reconciliation, without knowing that rascals have no honour. While they still held the Emperor’s hand in one of theirs, their other one was already seeking for the dagger.
With Jews, no pactising policy is possible, but only that of the hard ‘either—or.’
‘I decided to become a politician.’ [4]
This heart-rending autobiographical account could—historically—be described as: the passage of National Socialism from the stage of an expectant or latent incarnate Idea, to that of an active one.
Surely the incarnate Idea is, when not as old as Adolf Hitler himself, at least as old as his earliest awakening to socio-political, nay, to philosophical consciousness in general. And that took place very early: already in Linz, when not before. Yet, then, and in Vienna, although his interest in social and political problems grew and grew with the daily experience of injustice and misery, and still in Münick, after 1912, the future ruler continued to think of himself primarily as of a future architect. There may have been moments, of course, in which he thought, or at least felt, differently. There were such moments—one such moment at least, and a great one,—already in his life in Linz, if we are to believe Kubizek’s account of it.[5] But the artist’s immediate goal soon reappeared. Horrible as—in Vienna, at any rate—many of them doubtless were, the experiences of daily life were not sufficiently appalling to push it out of sight altogether. Nay, during the war, when more and more aware of the necessity of opposing to the forces of international Socialism a national organisation which would be free from the weaknesses of the Parliamentary system, Hitler had begun to think seriously of becoming politically active, he had merely visualised himself speaking in public ‘while carrying on his profession.’[6] Now, his profession, nay, his art,—for he still was, and could but remain, fundamentally, an artist,—was out of question. Every activity which was not to contribute directly and immediately to free Germany from the consequences and specially from the causes of defeat, was, out of question; and that, not merely because Adolf Hitler loved Germany above all things, but because that more-than-human intuition that classes him among the few great seers of mankind, told him that Germany’s real, deeper interest was—is, absolutely,—the real interest of Creation;—the ‘interest of the Universe,’ again to quote the immortal words of the Bhagavad-Gita. (And it is not an accident,—not a mere coincidence,—that I, a non-German Aryan intimately connected with England, Greece and India, should stress this fact. It is a sign; a symbol; the first expression of the homage of worldwide Aryandom to the latest Man ‘against Time’ and to the truly chosen Nation).
Out of the abyss of powerless despair—from that bed of, suffering upon which the nameless corporal Adolf Hitler lay weeping over Germany’s fate while his blinded eyes burned in their sockets, like red-hot embers; out of his appalling certitude that ‘all was lost,’ that ‘all had been in vain’—rose the defiant Will to freedom and Will to power of an invincible people and, beyond that, and greater than that, the perennial cosmic Will to Perfection in all its majesty; the will of the German soldier who had fought in Flanders and—identical to it; expressing itself through it,—the impesonal and irresistible Will of the eternal Warrior and Seer above Time and ‘against Time’; the Will of Him Who comes back age after age, ‘when all is lost,’ ‘when evil rules supreme,’ to re-establish on earth the reign of Righteousness.
From then onwards, the age-old Struggle for Truth—the Struggle ‘against Time’—was, in the West, to enter a new phase. It was to identify itself with the political struggle to free Germany from the bondage imposed upon her by the victors of 1918, no less than with the more-than-political one against the causes of physical and moral decay that were—and still are—threatening the existence of the natural aristocracy of the Aryan race. And the National Socialist German Labourers’ Party—the famous N.S.D.A.P., which Adolf Hitler soon evolved out of the tiny group of idealists (seven, including himself) originally called Deutsche Arbeiter Partei, which he joined in 1919—was to be the one agent of the everlasting Force of Light and Life amidst the growing darkness of the Dark Age. I say: the one; for, contrarily to all other so-called movements of regeneration, religious and secular, this political and yet infinitely more than political Movement, attacked the very root of historical decay as such: biological decay, consequence of sin against the primary natural Commandant of blood purity; in other words (from the standpoint of original Perfection), sickness; tangible, physical untruth and that moral untruth (that false conception of ‘man’) which stands to the back of it.
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[1] Mein Kampf, p. 179.
[2] Ibid., p. 178.
[3] Ibid., p. 222.
[4] Ibid., pp. 223, 224-225.
[5] Kubizek, pp. 140 and following.
[6] Mein Kampf, p. 192.