India is rapidly industrialising—too rapidly, in the eyes of more than one Hindu who is aware of the dangers of mechanisation—despite the influence of Gandhi and all those who, with him or in parallel with his movement, have militated and still militate for the same reasons as him or others in favour of a systematic encouragement of handicraft. They are industrialising not because the masses aspire, as in Europe, to ever greater comfort but because their leaders have decided to do so. (The masses, for their part, ask for nothing, and would do well without all the ‘progress’ imposed on them!) And the rulers have decided so because they are convinced that only ever more advanced industrialisation could help to absorb the numerous available energies offered by galloping demography from one end of the country to the other, and then make India a modern, prosperous and powerful state, and thus prevent it from falling into the hands of some invader impatient to appropriate the riches of its soil and subsoil. This may be partly true. People who hold this view cite the example of Japan—with little justification, moreover, for they forget that, if we except the Ainos, aborigines driven to the very north of their islands, the Japanese are a people, whereas the Hindus are not, and hopefully never will be. They could only become so as a result of a gigantic intermingling of races, which would result in the irreparable loss of their Aryan and Dravidian elements; their disappearance into a nameless pot, biologically inferior to both, all the more so as the hundred million or so aborigines, and the lower castes containing a high proportion of aboriginal blood would have melted into it.
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Editor’s Note: Savitri and I are different here. I have never visited India and am not interested in doing so. All the Aryans who originally conquered it mixed. There are no longer pure Aryans there. While the ancient Aryan religion of India is worth studying, the current population is almost worthless. It is like Latin America, where the Europeans who conquered it in the 16th century have all mixed up. When I recently spoke about Colegio Madrid and a Nazi classmate with canary-yellow hair, I was referring to the Spanish refugees from the Franco regime who came to this continent a few decades ago. But even many of these leftists have already married mudbloods in my native country.
Savitri didn’t read William Pierce’s book on the history of the white race in which Pierce advised ‘extermination or expulsion’ as the only legit way of Aryan conquest. On this point, the priest of the 14 words (like the Pierce who wrote Who We Are) was wiser than the priestess.
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But industrialisation always involves the movement and coming together of people, men and women. It is therefore much more dangerous when those whom it brings into contact with each other are, as in India, of different races than when they are of more or less homogeneous origin. So far, less than a quarter of a century after the proclamation of their independence India has—despite partial industrialisation and all the efforts made to level the playing field, despite the official abolition of the caste system by decree of an anti-traditional Government modelled on the democracies of the West—resisted this danger.
I saw this in particular in 1958 in Joda, near Barajamda, and in the whole region around Jamshedpur, which is, or at least was at that time, the largest metallurgical centre in Asia. At that time, the aerial funicular was being built in Joda to transport the iron ore from the top of a hill, where it would be extracted, to the wagons that would receive it at the foot of the hill. I was a ‘site interpreter’ for the duration of the work. I saw the workers, in the corrugated iron room which served as their kitchen, preparing their meals on as many separate stoves as there were castes or rather sub-castes among them, and eating, grouped according to the same principle—each one among his own—to the great bewilderment of the German engineers, directors of the works, to whom this desire for separation seemed all the stranger as they had been told of the ‘abolition of castes’ in democratic India. They were poor Sudras, or less so, but as attached to their ancestral customs as any other orthodox Hindus. And presumably, they were no less insistent on remaining faithful to them, when it was no longer a question of food but of the marriage of their children. One could not help thinking, as one watched them live, that despite the increased importation of Western techniques, the immemorial atmosphere of Hinduism was not about to deteriorate.
And this impression was confirmed, if not reinforced, by the active part that these workers, and all those in the workshops and factories of the region, taking in the celebrations of all time. The same men who during the day had fixed rivets to the pylons intended to support the aerial cables of the funicular, danced until late at night to the rhythm of the sacred drums, repeating the mystic names ‘Hari Krishna!’ in front of the painted earthen statue, where the spirit of the most popular of all gods was supposed to reside for the duration of the festival. And the workers who supervised and maintained the huge ultra-modern machines, most of them imported from Germany, decorated these steel monsters with garlands of red Jaba flowers on the day when all labour ceased in honour of Viswakarma, the ‘Architect of the Universe’, the divine patron of workers. They decorated them with the same love with which their fathers, a generation earlier, had adorned their implements, hammers or pickaxes, with garlands very similar to their own. And the workshops, for once silent, were filled with the smoke of incense. And, unless, of course, he was a proven enemy of Tradition, the stranger who contemplated the scene—men, collected in the thought of the Divine, penetrated by the ritual character of their daily labour, in front of these black metallic masses, from which hung scarlet flowers—envied India, where technology has not yet desecrated work.
He came to wonder why, after all, it had desecrated it. These monstrous machines, half beings half things—‘beings’ insofar as their automatism proclaims the power of European genius, and more particularly of Nordic genius—are, like the sacrosanct Tradition itself, which the Indies inherited from the Sages of Vedic times, products of Aryan intelligence. They illustrate, to be sure, an aspect of that intelligence other than that to which the liberating teaching of the Sages bears witness. But they are, in a different age of the same Time Cycle, products of the conquering intelligence of the same race. By associating them once a year with the ancient cult of Viswakarma, do these brown-skinned men know this in the depth of their collective unconscious? And do they pay homage to the Aryan genius—divine, even in its crudest manifestations of the Dark Ages—as well as to the Creator whose power it reflects? One would like to think so. In any case, such an attitude could only reinforce the spirit of the caste system: the only force that is, in the long run, capable of opposing the biological levelling that mechanisation tends to impose, sooner or later, on a multiracial society, even one as traditionally hierarchical as that of India.
Personally, however, I believe that the possibility of India (as indeed of Japan, or any other country of true culture) retaining its soul while increasingly undergoing the inevitable grip of industrialisation, is linked to the persistence in it of an elite of race and character. This elite is at the same time a spiritual aristocracy, a living guardian of Tradition, in other words, of the esotericism which underlies, from more or less a distance, the usual manifestations of religion, confused with social life. Even the purity of blood in a more or less homogeneous people as a whole—or, in a multi-racial hierarchical civilisation, the continuation of the effective separation of the races—cannot dispense with the need to preserve such an elite at all costs. Without it, the best of the races will eventually become stultified under the ever more powerful influence of technocracy. It will gradually lose its natural scale of values and attach more and more value to purchasable goods. And if it retains some visible manifestations of an ancient faith, these will eventually become so meaningless that people will gradually abandon them, without even being pushed. (For a custom to survive, a minimum of sincere belief must remain attached to it. Who would think, for example, in today’s Europe, of settling a dispute by appealing to the judgement of God through the use of fire or water? And yet, one must believe that these methods were once effective enough to justify them, otherwise, they wouldn’t have been used for so long.)
It is certainly to be deplored that this spiritual elite to which I have referred—in this case, the minority of initiated Brahmins, worthy of their caste—has no more influence on the direction of public affairs in India in our time. And it is perhaps even more unfortunate that so many of those in power in India are staunch opponents of Tradition, anti-racists, poisoned with bad anthropocentrism drawn from the British Liberals, the Christian missionaries, or the Communists—everywhere but the sacred authors who have transmitted the Aryan wisdom of old to India. These people are merely continuing the policy of promoting the most inferior racial elements, begun by the British: the policy of universal suffrage and ‘free, secular and compulsory’ education, instituted by all or almost all the European powers, first at home and then in their colonies; the policy which goes hand in hand with the excessive industrialisation and human pullulation which belated Malthusian propaganda fails to check. However well-intentioned, they are the agents of those Forces of Disintegration which, as the Dark Ages rush to a close, have more and more free rein. There is, of course, no reason why India should not be included in the general decay of the Earth.
It is undeniable, however, that one of the few civilisations that has lasted for millennia and that still lives on its soil, retains, today as in the past, the Tradition that has provided its basic principles from the beginning. Without venturing to make predictions, it seems plausible that, as long as this civilisation remains alive, thanks to the link, however tenuous, that binds it to its true elite, India will not succumb to technocracy, whatever concessions it may be forced to make to subsist in an overpopulated and mechanised world.