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Category: Literature

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Feminism Harold Covington Hellstorm Holocaust Homosexuality Kevin MacDonald Literature Marriage Michael O'Meara Racial studies Roger Devlin Toward the White Republic (book) Turner Diaries (novel) William Pierce

Chechar’s ten must-reads




1. Hellstorm (excerpts here)

Hellstorm is the first book in my list for the reasons explained below this post. Whites will not regain a proper self-esteem unless and until the big lies of omission about the Second World War are exposed with all our heart and being. If the Allied crime is not understood, assimilated and atoned for, my prediction is that the white people will perish.

2. Who We Are (excerpts here)

3. March of the Titans (excerpts here)

It is not enough to know the real history of the century when we were born, as well as the astronomic lies of omission of the academia and the media about the wars. The fact is that, unlike the other races—brown, black and yellow—in the last millennia whites have managed to find themselves as an endangered species more than once, and this has paramount importance to understand our times. I find it incredible that only a few white nationalists have been interested in the history of their race; proof of it is that these two splendid books by Arthur Kemp and William Pierce are not the main bestsellers in the community. (Unlike Kemp’s 2011 edition of March of the Titans, Pierce’s Who We Are is not available in book form—he died before sending the manuscript to the printers.)


4. A People that Shall Dwell Alone

5. Separation and its Discontents

6. The Culture of Critique

The Jewish problem is one of the greatest problems in the western world, and, pace counter-jihadists and other naïve conservatives, no man can be considered mature until he has striven to face it. Therefore, besides readable and very entertaining histories of the white race, a specific study on the Jewish question is fundamental. The above books comprise Kevin MacDonald’s magnum opus on Jewry.

MacDonald’s preface to The Culture of Critique (see link above), which he wrote four years after finishing the trilogy, can be read as a didactic introduction to the whole trilogy.

Presently I am reading the sections of the second book on how otherwise individualist whites elaborated collectivist group strategies in the form of the Early Medieval Church and, more recently, the (aborted) National Socialist movement in Germany. These are mirror images of Judaism as a reaction to a perceived group conflict, precisely what the blogger Svigor has been calling “towards white Zionism.” Although MacDonald’s study is academic, what I am reading now in Separation and its Discontents is pretty captivating. It seems to me that a future movement of white collectivism inspired in these precedents is the only way to racial preservation.



7. The Turner Diaries

8. The Brigade

Objective scholarship is not enough to get the picture of what white nationalism is. We also need a thoroughgoing subjective vision, what I call soul-building. We need novels depicting future reactions or group conflicts against the tribe, other non-white invaders and the white traitors. William Pierce’s Turner Diaries inaugurated a literary genre that fills the gap. For those who have no stomach for Pierce’s extermination fantasies I would recommend the best novel of Harold Covington’s quintet, The Brigade, an absolute treat.


9. Toward the White Republic (excerpts here)

This collection of essays authored by Michael O’Meara is the best pamphlet to date on white nationalism. Like the Hellstorm book, we can even send gifts of this slim book to our friends and acquaintances. Unlike most white nationalists, O’Meara is a genuine revolutionary, not a mere reactionary. It is a shame that after being fired by the academia for political incorrectness, as far as I know Professor O’Meara has not found a sponsor within the white movement.


10. Collected essays by F.R. Devlin (example here)

The last “book” of my list has not been published all together, not even online. It’s an imaginary book in my mind containing the best essays of F. Roger Devlin on how feminism has been destroying our morals, our white genotype, phenotype and even our extended phenotype in the latest decades. (Yes: I am old enough to remember the times when the institution of marriage was rock-solid among my relatives.) Those editors in the white movement who are promoting homosexuality ought to mend their ways and, instead of publishing books claiming that “homophobia” is part of the Jewish culture of critique, they should be collecting Devlin’s essays under a single cover. (I confess that hetero-sexual family values are exactly the conscious and unconscious force that drives my mind into the white movement.)

I wish that Devlin’s Collected essays as well as Pierce’s Who We Are be published in hardcovers before the currency crash (coming under Obama’s second term) makes unaffordable any gathering of the best pro-white literature in the market.

Enjoy the reading! After the dollar crashes and the internet is censored you will regret not having a home library!

Categories
Literature Turner Diaries (novel) William Pierce

‘Turner Diaries’ excerpts

Young William Pierce

 

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______ 卐 ______

 

Since then he has been issuing idiotic proclamations about “restoring the Constitution,” and holding new elections to “re-establish the republican form of government intended by the Founding Fathers,” whatever that means.

And he has denounced our radical measures in the south as “communism.” He is appalled that we didn’t hold some sort of public referendum before expelling the non-Whites and that we didn’t give individual trials to the Jews and race-criminals we dealt with summarily.

Doesn’t the old fool understand that the American people voted themselves into the mess they’re in now? Doesn’t he understand that the Jews have taken over the country fair and square, according to the Constitution? Doesn’t he understand that the common people have already had their fling at self-government, and they blew it?

Where does he think new elections can possibly lead now, with this generation of TV-conditioned voters, except right back into the same Jewish pigsty? And how does he think we could have solved our problems down here, except by the radical measures we used?

______ 卐 ______

“Finally, we warn you that, in any event, we intend to liberate, first, the entire United States and then the remainder of this planet. When we have done so we will liquidate all the enemies of our people, including in particular all White persons who have consciously aided those enemies.”

______ 卐 ______

Then we formed the people into labor brigades to carry out a number of necessary functions, one of which was the sanitary disposal of the hundreds of corpses of refugees. The majority of these poor creatures were White, and I overheard one of our members refer to what happened to them as “a slaughter of the innocents.”

I am not sure that is a correct description of the recent holocaust. I am sorry, of course, for the millions of White people, both here and in Russia, who died—and who have yet to die before we have finished—in this war to rid ourselves of the Jewish yoke. But innocents? I think not. Certainly, that term should not be applied to the majority of the adults.

After all, is not man essentially responsible for his condition—at least, in a collective sense? If the White nations of the world had not allowed themselves to become subject to the Jew, to Jewish ideas, to the Jewish spirit, this war would not be necessary. We can hardly consider ourselves blameless. We can hardly say we had no choice, no chance to avoid the Jew’s snare. We can hardly say we were not warned.

______ 卐 ______

Eventually the System began regrouping its forces elsewhere, to meet new challenges in other parts of the country.

And then, just as the Jews had feared, the flow of Organization activists turned exactly 180 degrees from what it had been in the weeks and months. From scores of training camps in the liberated zone, first hundreds, then thousands of highly motivated guerrilla fighters began slipping through the System’s diminishing ring of troops and moving eastward. With these guerrilla forces the Organization followed the example of its Baltimore members and rapidly established dozens of new enclaves, primarily in the nuclear-devastated areas, where System authority was weakest.

The Detroit enclave was initially the most important of these. Bloody anarchy had reigned among the survivors in the Detroit area for several weeks after the nuclear blasts of September 8. Eventually, a semblance of order had been restored, with System troops loosely sharing power with the leaders of a number of Black gangs in the area. Although there were a few isolated White strongholds which kept the roving mobs of Black plundvers and rapists at bay, most of the disorganized and demoralized White survivors in and around Detroit offered no effective resistance to the Blacks, and, just as in other heavily Black areas of the country, they suffered terribly.

Then, in mid-December, the Organization seized the initiative. A number of synchronized lightning raids on the System’s military strong points in the Detroit area resulted in an easy victory. The Organization then established certain patterns in Detroit which were soon followed elsewhere. All captured White troops, as soon as they had laid down their weapons, were offered a chance to fight with the Organization against the System. Those who immediately volunteered were taken aside for preliminary screening and then sent to camps for indoctrination and special training. The others were machine-gunned on the spot, without further ado.

The same degree of ruthlessness was used in dealing with the White civilian population. When the Organization’s cadres moved into the White strongholds in the Detroit suburbs, the first thing they found it necessary to do was to liquidate most of the local White leaders, in order to establish the unquestioned authority of the Organization. There was no time or patience for frying to reason with shortsighted Whites who insisted that they weren’t “racists” or “revolutionaries” and didn’t need the help of any “outside agitators” in dealing with their problems, or who had some other conservative or parochial fixation.

The Whites of Detroit and the other new enclaves were organized more along the lines described by Earl Turner for Baltimore than for California, but even more rapidly and roughly. In most areas of the country there was no opportunity for an orderly, large-scale separation of non-Whites, as in California, and consequently a bloody race war raged for months, taking a terrible toll of those Whites who were not in one of the Organization’s tightly controlled, all-White enclaves.

Food became critically scarce everywhere during the winter. The Blacks lapsed into cannibalism, just as they had in California, while hundreds of thousands of starving Whites, who earlier had ignored the Organization’s call for a rising against the System, began appearing at the borders of the various liberated zones begging for food. The Organization was only able to feed the White populations already under its control by imposing the severest rationing, and it was necessary to turn many of the latecomers away.

Those who were admitted—and that meant only children, women of childbearing age, and able-bodied men willing to fight in the Organization’s ranks—were subjected to much more severe racial screening than had been used to separate Whites from non-Whites in California. It was no longer sufficient to be merely White; in order to eat one had to be judged the bearer of especially valuable genes.

______ 卐 ______

As everyone is aware, the bands of mutants which roam the Waste remain a real threat, and it may be another century before the last of them has been eliminated and White colonization has once again established a human presence throughout this vast area.

But it was in [that] year, according to the chronology of the Old Era—just 110 years after the birth of the Great One—that the dream of a White world finally became a certainty. And it was the sacrifice of the lives of uncounted thousands of brave men and women of the Organization during the preceding years which had kept that dream alive until its realization could no longer be denied.

Among those uncounted thousands Earl Turner played no small part. He gained immortality for himself on that dark November day 106 years ago when he faithfully fulfilled his obligation to his race, to the Organization, and to the holy Order which had accepted him into its ranks. And in so doing he helped greatly to assure that his race would survive and prosper, that the Organization would achieve its worldwide political and military goals, and that the Order would spread its wise and benevolent rule over the earth for all time to come.

The End

Categories
Christendom Literature New Testament Old Testament St Paul

Gospel Fictions, 1


 
Below, excerpts of Randel Helms’ Gospel Fictions’ first chapter, “The Art of the Gospels: Theology as Fictional Narrative” (ellipsis omitted between unquoted passages):


I shall use the word “fiction” rather than “myth” to refer to the study, contained in this book, of the fictional aspects of the four canonical Gospels.

I write as literary critic, not as debunker. The Gospels are, it must be said with gratitude, works of art, the supreme fictions in our culture. Literary artists use their imaginations to produce poetry and fiction, works open to the methods of literary criticism. This literature was oral before it was written and began with the memories of those who knew Jesus personally.

Their memories and teachings were passed on as oral tradition for some forty years or so before achieving written form for the first time in a self-conscious literary work, so far as we know, in the Gospel of Mark, within a few years of 70 A.D.

Luke was obviously writing during a time when literature about Jesus was flowering. Paul was an ecstatic visionary who experienced, for what seems to be a period of nearly thirty years after the death of Jesus, visions of a heavenly being he called “Christ” and “the Lord,” and the fact is that neither Paul nor any other first-century Christian felt a need to distinguish between the heavenly being and the “historical Jesus.”

What is surprising is the great differences among the stories, even though they share, for the most part, similar sources. For example, according to Matthew and Mark, the dying words of Jesus were, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” According to Luke, Jesus’ dying words were “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” But according to John, they were, “It is accomplished.” To put it another way, we cannot know what the dying words of Jesus were, or even whether he uttered any. It is not that we have too little information, but that we have too much. Each narrative implicitly argues that the others are fictional. In this case at least, it is inappropriate to ask of the Gospels what “actually” happened; they may pretend to be telling us, but the effort remains a pretense, a fiction.

We are, with these scenes, in the literary realm known as fiction, in which narratives exist less to describe the past than to affect the present. In De Quincy’s phrase, the Gospels are not so much literature of knowledge as literature of power. As in the case mentioned above, the content of the Gospels is frequently not “Jesus” but “what certain persons in the first century wanted us to think about Jesus.” In the language of the Fourth Gospel, “Those [narratives] here written have been recorded in order that you may hold the faith that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God” (John 20:31).

The Gospels are Hellenistic religious narratives in the tradition of the Greek Septuagint version of the Old Testament, which constituted the “Scriptures” to those Greek-speaking Christians who wrote the four canonical Gospels and who appealed to it, explicitly or implicitly, in nearly every paragraph they wrote. A simple example is the case of the last words of Christ. Mark presents these words in self-consciously realistic fashion, shifting from his usual Greek into the Aramaic of Jesus, transliterated into Greek letters Eloi eloi lama sabachthanei (My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?—Mark 15:34). Mark gives us no hint that Jesus is “quoting” Psalm 22:1; we are clearly to believe that we are hearing the grieving outcry of a dying man.

But the author of Matthew, who used Mark as one of his major written sources, is self-consciously “literary” in both this and yet another way. Though using Mark as his major source for the passion story, Matthew is fully aware that Mark’s crucifixion narrative is based largely on the Twenty-second Psalm, fully aware, that is, that Mark’s Gospel is part of a literary tradition (this description would not be Matthew’s vocabulary, but his method is nonetheless literary).

Aware of the tradition, Matthew concerned himself with another kind of “realism” or verisimilitude. When the bystanders heard Jesus crying, according to Mark, to “Eloi,” they assumed that “he is calling Elijah [Eleian]” (Mark 15:35). But Matthew knew that no Aramaic speaker present at the Cross would mistake a cry to God (Eloi) for one to Elijah—the words are too dissimilar. So Matthew self-consciously evoked yet another literary tradition in the service both of verisimilitude and of greater faithfulness to the Scriptures: not the Aramaic of Psalm 22:1 but the Hebrew, which he too transliterated into Greek—Eli Eli (Matt. 27:46)—a cry which could more realistically be confused with “Eleian.”

Luke is even more self-conscious literary and fictive than Matthew in his crucifixion scene. Though, as I have said, he knew perfectly well what Mark had written as the dying words of Jesus, he created new ones more suitable to his understanding of what the death of Jesus meant—an act with at least two critical implications. First, that he has thus implicitly declared Mark’s account a fiction; second, that he self-consciously presents his own as a fiction. For like Matthew, Luke 23:46 deliberately placed his own work in the literary tradition by quoting Psalm 30 (31):5 in the Septuagint as the dying speech of Jesus: “Into your hands I will commit my spirit” (eis cheiras sou parathsomai to pneuma mou), changing the verb from future to present (paratihemai) to suit the circumstances and leaving the rest of the quotation exact.

This is self-conscious creation of literary fiction, creation of part of a narrative scene for religious and moral rather than historical purposes. Luke knew perfectly well, I would venture to assert, that he was not describing what happened in the past; he was instead creating an ideal model of Christian death, authorized both by doctrine and by literary precedent.

First-century Christians believed that the career of Jesus, even down to minor details, was predicted in their sacred writings. By a remarkably creative fiat of interpretation, the Jewish scriptures (especially in Greek translation) became a book that had never existed before, the Old Testament, a book no longer about Israel but about Israel’s hope, the Messiah, Jesus. Northrop Frye nicely sums up this self-reflexive aspect of the two Testaments as early Christians saw them:

How do we know that the Gospel story is true? Because it confirms the prophecies of the Old Testament. But how do we know that the Old Testament prophecies are true? Because they are confirmed by the Gospel story. Evidence, so called, is bounced back and forth between the testaments like a tennis ball; and no other evidence is given us. The two testaments form a double mirror, each reflecting the other but neither the world outside.

A voice, for example, in the (now) “Old” Testament became by interpretative fiat the voice of Jesus. When the psalmist wrote “My flesh shall rest in hope: because thou wilt not leave my soul in hell, neither wilt thou suffer thine holy one to see corruption” (Psalms 15 [16]:9-10 LXX), it was in fact not “really” the psalmist speaking, but Jesus, a thousand years before his birth. As Luke has Peter say, in interpreting these verses to the crowd at Pentecost:

Let me tell you plainly, my friends, that the patriarch David died and was buried, and his tomb is here to this very day. It is clear therefore that he spoke as a prophet… and when he said he was not abandoned to death, and his flesh never suffered corruption, he spoke with foreknowledge of the resurrection of the Messiah (Acts 2:29-31).

By fiat of interpretation, a psalm becomes a prophecy. David becomes Jesus.

We see a two-stage creative process here: first, the psalm is turned into a prophetic minidrama; then the interpretation of the psalm becomes another dramatic scene: Peter explaining it to the multitude. That the fictive creative act is Luke’s, and not Peter’s, is clear from the Greek of the scene: Luke has Peter quote, fairly loosely, as if from memory, the Septuagint Greek text of Psalms (though the historical Peter spoke Aramaic and needed, Christian tradition tells us, a Greek interpreter). The point of Luke’s interpretation depends on the Greek texts of the verse, not on the Hebrew. The Hebrew text of Psalm 16:10b has something like: “nor suffer thy faithful servant to see the pit,” which stands in simple parallelism to the first line of the distich, “Thou will not abandon me to Sheol” —that is, you will not allow me to die. The Greek text could, however, be taken to mean “You will not let me remain in the grave, nor will you let me rot.”

Peter’s speech is an effective work of dramatic fiction, the culmination of a complex two-stage creative process. Luke, as we shall see, creates the same kinds of dramatic fictions in his Gospel, the first half of the Christian history that includes his Acts of the Apostles.

Invention of that kind is the subject of this book.

Categories
Ancient Greece Ancient Rome Art Beauty Charlemagne Civilisation (TV series) Degeneracy Europe France Harold Covington Islamization of Europe Kali Yuga Kenneth Clark Literature Mainstream media Philosophy of history

Civilisation’s “The Skin of our Teeth”

For an introduction to these series, see here.

Below, some indented excerpts of “The Skin of our Teeth,” the first chapter of Civilisation by Kenneth Clark, after which I offer my comments.

Ellipsis omitted between unquoted passages:


I am standing on the Pont des Arts in Paris.

What is civilisation? I don’t know. I can’t define it in abstract terms—yet. But I think I can recognize it when I see it; and I am looking at it now.

If I had to say which was telling the truth about society, a speech by a Minister of Housing or the actual buildings put up in his time, I should believe the buildings. But this doesn’t mean that the history of civilisation is the history of art—far from it. Great works of art can be produced in barbarous societies.

Whatever its merits as a work of art, I don’t think that there is any doubt that the Apollo embodies a higher state of civilisation than the mask. They both represent spirits, messengers from another world—that is to say, from a world of our own imagining. To the Negro imagination it is a world of fear and darkness, ready to inflict horrible punishment for the smallest infringement of taboo. To the Hellenistic imagination it is a world of light and confidence, in which the gods are like ourselves, only more beautiful.

It is not my intention to insult white nationalists. But what they ignore is that, presently, with their rock music and media tastes they themselves, like the overwhelming majority of the white population are, spiritually, far closer to the Negro mask than to the Apollo of Belvedere. For Lord Clark it would have been unthinkable to consider civilised the popular forms of cultural expression such as heavy metal and the movies that today are watched even by white nationalists throughout the West.

As we saw in some of my latest entries, other self-destructing forms of cultural expression already occurred in the times of the fall of the Roman Empire. Clark said:

The same architectural language, the same imagery, the same theatres, the same temples—at any time for five hundred years you could have found them all round the Mediterranean, in Greece, Italy, France.

What happened? It took Gibbon six volumes to describe the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, so I shan’t embark on that. But thinking about this almost incredible episode does tell one something about the nature of civilisation. It shows that however complex and solid it seems, it is actually quite fragile. It can be destroyed. What are its enemies? Well, first of all fear—fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything or change anything. The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence.

Unlike Gibbon and Nietzsche, before his TV audience Clark didn’t dare to point the finger at Christianity. But later in the program, Clark spoke about Islam:

In a miraculously short time—about fifty years—the classical world was overrun [by the Muslim conquests]. Only its bleached bones stood out against the Mediterranean sky. The old source of civilisation was sealed off, and if a new civilisation was to be born it would have to face the Atlantic.

But something very odd happened to Man’s self-image in the early medieval world facing the Atlantic in what today is Ireland. According to Clark:

The subject of Mediterranean man was man. Two hundred years have passed—perhaps a little more—and man has almost vanished.

Crude as this imago hominis may be when compared to the Apollo, presently some white nationalists advertise their blogs with soft-porn pics of semi-nude women: something far more degrading for the divine human figure than the image of 8th century insular art in the Echternach Gospels.

To my mind—and, like Clark, I must say that this is only my personal view­—, the imago hominis only means a psychogenic regression in Man’s understanding of himself compared to the Greeks and the Romans. However, the white nationalists’ soft porn spits on the avatar of God, even if I don’t believe in the existence of a personal god.

After the above image chosen by Clark for the first episode of his program, in the following pages of the book version Clark mentions how St. Gregory destroyed entire libraries of the classical world (I quoted part of it in my recent antichristian series, here), and on the next page he states that even in those obscure days the Europeans fought strenuously against their enemies:

All great civilisations, in their early stages, are based on success in war. The Romans were the best organised and most ruthless fighters in Latium. So it was with the Franks. Clovis and his successors not only conquered their enemies, but maintained themselves by cruelties and tortures remarkable even by the standards of the last thirty years.

Without Charles Martel’s victory over the Moors at Poitiers in 732, western civilisation might never have existed, and without Charlemagne’s tireless campaigns we should never have had the notion of a united Europe.

Charlemagne was the first great man of action to emerge from the darkness since the collapse of the Roman world. The old idea that he saved civilisation isn’t far wrong. On the whole, our whole knowledge of ancient literature is due to the collecting and copying that began under Charlemagne.

If we compared ourselves with the franks, what could it be said about present-day nationalists? Many of them don’t even let our most serious fighter discuss in their forums (by “serious fighter” I mean someone who’s actively planning a revolution). Didn’t the Führer say that those who want to live, let them fight, and that those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live? Do whites and white nationalists deserve to live? If so, where are the Charles Martels in today’s islamized Europe, in America’s mexicanized states?

I am not proposing to do something stupid in a world which media is a hundred percent dominated by the Enemy. But at least be prepared for the tough, revolutionary times that are coming after the dollar crashes.

Categories
Ancient Rome Christendom Emperor Julian Julian (novel) Libanius Literature

My impression on Vidal’s “Julian”

Our times are as decadent as the 4th century Rome of the Common Era, an age of treason that dragged our civilization straight into a dark night of the soul that lasted a millennium.

Tom Sunic is surely right in inviting would-be nationalists to become familiar with literature that balances the purely left-hemisphere, intellectual approaches to our western malaise.

The best historical novels ever written are Gore Vidal’s Julian (1964) and Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose (1980), which cover the gap that my high school skipped over: the zeitgeist of the peoples during Christendom, with Vidal covering its origins when the “Galileans” conquered state power to advance their cult, and Eco its apex in the fourteenth century.

This is my translation of what I wrote in the novel’s blank pages by the end of 1991, when I read a magnificent, hardcover English-Spanish translation of Julian that my girlfriend gave me as a present in Barcelona.

With pencil I wrote:

Now that I read the book, its antichristian message surprised me. What did the book-reviewers could have said?

I would feel appalled to know if the assassination of Julian was historical. I’ll have to check it out…

But the antichristian message of the last pages represents the moral of the story: the first clearly antichristian novel that I know. I wish that Kubrick makes a film of it instead of his dream about a Napoleon movie.

If I interpret the novel correctly, the emergent Christian authoritarianism was the storms harvested after the sowing of winds (the Roman state had persecuted the Christians before). But what makes me furious is that there were no groups that defended Hellenism with their teeth and nails!

What impressed me the most about the book is that it really makes one hate the Christians. I wish it had been published in those times! However, if the assassination of Julian by a fanatic Christian was not historical, Vidal could be accused of fabricating facts in search for drama. This is the most important event of my reading. I’ll find out next Monday when they open the library or perhaps even write the author.

I did go to the library and wrote to Vidal two decades ago but did not receive an answer. According to the Wikipedia article of today, the novel is historically accurate.

I wish I could know whether other assertions of the novel were historical. For example, Vidal makes Julian say in a specific moment (I only have the Spanish translation that Anabel gave me, so I can’t quote the original text) that “thirty years ago” Rome’s archives contained several contemporary reports about Jesus’ life, but they disappeared, destroyed by instructions from Constantine.

But the real climax of the novel are the words of Libanius, telling to himself in painful soliloquy after his most beloved, young disciple deserted him after converting to Judeochristianity that no invention from man can last forever, not even Christ: man’s most noxious invention.

Libanius was a historical figure, the one who claimed that Julian had been assassinated by a Christian. The novel ends with an aged Libanius feeling utterly alone in a world gone mad, telling silently to himself in the solitude of his study that the light of the world was gone with Julian, the last hope for our civilization; and that there was nothing left but let the darkness fall on the West and await for a new sun. A new day. In the future…

Categories
England Literature Lord of the Rings Protestantism

The Scouring of the Shire

by Greg Johnson

After the destruction of the Ring and the downfall of the Dark Lord, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin return to the Shire only to find that it has been seized by aliens who have enslaved and robbed the hobbits and ravaged the land.

The returning veterans rouse their people to rebellion, killing many of the usurpers and driving the rest away. Then they discover who was behind it: the fallen wizard Saruman, who is banished from the Shire. Before he can leave, however, he is killed by his servant in crime, the treacherous Wormtongue, who is then felled by three hobbit arrows.

This chapter was omitted from Peter Jackson’s film trilogy (as well as Ralph Bakshi’s animated version), although Jackson does allude to it in two places. In The Fellowship of the Ring, when Frodo peers into Galadriel’s mirror, he has a vision of the hobbits enslaved and the shire blighted by dark satanic mills. In the extended version of The Return of the King, after the fall of Isengard, Merry and Pippin discover that Saruman’s storehouses contain products from the Shire, indicating some sort of contact.

But Jackson moved the deaths of Saruman and Wormtongue to the fall of Isengard. Wormtongue still kills Saruman, but he is dispatched by an arrow from Legolas. [see YouTube clip here] Thus when Frodo and company return to the Shire, they find it unchanged. Thus in Jackson’s telling, Frodo’s vision was just one possible future foreclosed by the death of Saruman at Isengard.

Still, I think it a shame that “The Scouring of the Shire” was not filmed, for it is a potent political allegory that remains relevant today. Most commentators simply note that the Scouring is based on Tolkien’s personal experience of returning from the trenches of World War I to find England a changed place. But the Scouring goes far beyond anything in Tolkien’s experiences. It is a work of imagination, a political allegory that far more closely resembles the experiences of German soldiers returning from the Great War to find a radically new, alien-dominated regime.

The Shire was subjugated as follows. After the fall of Isengard, Saruman was reduced to a wandering “beggar in the wilderness,” a refugee. But when he enjoyed power, the wandering wizard developed a far-flung network reaching all the way to the Shire, where he cultivated the friendship of Lotho Pimple.

The Shire was an agrarian, autarkic society of independent small farmers and merchants. Pimple, however, was sufficiently alienated and ambitious that he wished to change this social order. He wanted more land than he could work himself, and he wanted hirelings to work it, so he could grow rich by growing cash crops for export. In short, he wanted to be a big shot with a plantation.

By means of mysterious infusions of capital from outside the Shire (obviously from Saruman) Pimple managed to target economically troubled small holders for takeover (perhaps by loaning them money at usurious rates and then foreclosing when they could not pay), reducing them to employees on what was once their own land. Thus Pimple became a big man, styling himself Chief Shirrif and then just Chief. When Saruman and Wormtongue arrived as refugees, naturally Pimple took them in.

Having elevated the rootless and greedy Pimple to power, Saruman cozied up with the Chief and began to institute a new order. He brought in racially indeterminate aliens to intimidate and terrorize the hobbits. He also recruited hobbits of defective character — people who wanted to act big and meddle in other people’s business (in the internet age, we call them trolls) — to vastly expand the police force. This was necessary, because Saruman also vastly expanded rules and regulations in order to yoke and mulct the hobbits. Naturally there was discontent, so a vast network of spies and informants was created, as well as a courier service to swiftly convey reports and orders. Dissidents were thus easily ferreted out and imprisoned.

Society was collectivized. Private homes were replaced by ugly, cramped, ramshackle housing developments. Rationing was introduced to crush the hobbits’ spirits and lower their standard of living, freeing resources to be consumed by their new overlords or to be exported for cash. Leisure was restricted and work expanded. Handcrafts, which were fine for an aesthetically refined and ecologically sustainable subsistence economy, were replaced by heavy industry to produce exports for cash.

This industry was fueled by wholesale deforestation and fouled the water and the air. But the desecration of nature went far beyond the bounds of even economic necessity, betraying a hatred of nature and beauty as such. Saruman’s real goal was less to create a new world than to destroy the old.

Finally, to cement his rule, Saruman had his collaborator Pimple secretly killed once he had outlived his usefulness.

It is simply an error to reduce this all to an allegory of the endogenous rise of capitalism in England. For the role of Saruman indicates that this process was far from endogenous in the Shire. Nor was it in England, for that matter. Saruman represents an alien influence, specifically the Jewish spirit — rootless, alienated, materialistic, and ultimately nihilistic — which is incarnated both in Jewry and its extended phenotype, Calvinism and low-church Protestantism. (It was the Puritan Revolution that brought the Jews back to England.)

Yet Saruman’s takeover and elimination of Pimple does not resemble anything that happened in England. But it does resemble the revolution that deposed the Kaiser, followed by various Judeo-Bolshevik Putsches and ultimately the Jewish-dominated Weimar Republic. Furthermore, Saruman’s totalitarian system of spies and informants and his expropriation of small farms and seizure of their produce did not take place in England or Germany, but it did happen in Soviet Russia, leading to some of history’s greatest crimes against European man.

Thus “The Scouring of the Shire” is a political allegory applicable not just to England but to all forms of Jewish subversion of traditional society.

But it is also an allegory of how a people might regain control of its destiny. The hobbits have lost their freedom through salami tactics. Each day a little more of their freedom was sliced off, but not enough to cause a general rebellion, just a lot of passive grumbling, until finally, when the meaning of what was happening dawned on them, it was too late. Frodo and company, however, returned home after a long absence, and the change hit them all at once. It did not slowly demoralize and enervate them. It made them fighting mad.

And as war veterans, they knew something about fighting. The Shire was also lost because the hobbits were disunited and fearful, ultimately because they had enjoyed a soft and easy-going lifestyle. Frodo and his comrades, however, had been tested and hardened in the crucible of war. They were not cowed by alien bullies, no matter what their stature. They immediately resolved to rally their people and scour the Shire of the usurpers. The hobbits had been long groaning under the new regime. The veterans were the spark to the tinder.

A few opening skirmishes led to a climactic battle at Bywater, which left nearly 70 of the alien interlopers dead and the rest in chains or flight. Nineteen hobbits also lay dead. The hobbits then marched to Bag End to depose Saruman and send him packing without penalty. The prisoners were also sent on their way unharmed. These foolishly gentle policies toward murderers were justified by Frodo with effusions of moral and metaphysical clap-trap that remind us that, after all, this is children’s literature. Best we ignore him when our own enemies are at our mercy.

The closest historical analogy to “The Scouring of the Shire” comes from Germany, where various Freikorps groups — militias of demobilized veterans — put down Judeo-Bolshevik Putsches in Prussia and Bavaria. Furthermore, the successor of the Freikorps was the NSDAP, also led and staffed by veterans, which finally put an end to the Weimar Republic. It is a model worth contemplating today as thousands of white veterans return from a Jewish-instigated war in Iraq to face 30 percent unemployment in a homeland overrun and despoiled by non-white immigrants. They are a constituency just waiting for a leader.

Categories
Der Ring des Nibelungen Literature Lord of the Rings Richard Wagner

Wagner’s wisdom

One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them
One Ring to bring them all and
in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

This piece, that originally appeared on The Occidental Observer (here), is reproduced below minus a couple of sentences mentioning the 9/11 attacks:


Lords of the Ring

by Michael Colhaze

Many moons ago and for a few years only, I wore my locks long and sported colourful garb and roamed the psychedelic haunts of Paris, London or Amsterdam, usually holding a joint in one hand while employing the other to underline with languid gestures my latest concept of how to bring instant peace and love to the world. As for my fellow freaks and hippies, most subsisted on very little, at least money-wise, but nearly all had pets, the latter named frequently after a brand of heroes much en vogue during those innocent times. For cats, Galadriel stood high on the agenda, also Arwen and Legolas. In Amsterdam my next-door neighbour, a middle-aged lady with henna-dyed hair, flowing dresses and tinkling bells around one fat ankle, owned a huge tomcat called Gollum. When he was one day run over by a lorry, she came and cried bitterly into my lap. I did my best to comfort her, though secretly rejoiced because the cunning bastard, nomen est omen, used to be a veritable bane for the local sparrows and blackbirds, and long since had I weighed means of abandoning him in a far-away place without coming under suspicion. As for dogs, I remember a Frodo, Bilbo and Pippin, also one Boromir, him a mighty Leonberger and the gentlest fellow I’ve ever met.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Which gives you an idea of how much Tolkien’s arrant epos was on our mind during those happy years. Wherever you came, you found in the bookshelves from cardboard boxes or orange crates at least one copy, usually a weighty paperback falling apart from much use. Walls were hung with coloured maps of Middle Earth, and Gandalf was a household name for anything from an Underground publication to a short-lived artistic society. Depending on fantasy and imagination, and perhaps also on the daily cannabis consume, an inordinate number of people identified with a member of the Fellowship, or wished fervently for the return of the King, or would have retired into the Shire without looking back even once.

On the other hand there were some, myself included, who had enjoyed the book but found it somewhat lacking in psychological depth. It was, after all, a monumental canvas painted largely in black and white, with protagonists either amazingly valiant, handsome and noble or the absolute opposite, namely unspeakably ugly and wicked. Which made the tale rather predictable and deprived it of the complex emotional touch that otherwise would have found a way into the heart. Still, Tolkien’s power of imagination cannot and will not be denied, and for his excuse it must be said that he relied much on the High Germanic saga like Edda or the Nibelungen, and that those were on the whole magnificent exemplifications of the eternal battle between Good and Evil. A battle where tads of intellectual embroidery might have seemed misplaced.

Yet under the heroic plainness hid an aspect that intrigued me and many of my friends considerably, namely the deeper meaning behind the fantasy. Because, as we all agreed, there had to be one since the tale was simply too carefully thought out to be without one. Never mind that the ghastly Sauron, title figure and main protagonist aiming to enslave the world and mankind particularly, didn’t turn up personally during the proceedings. But his presence is overwhelmingly felt, and he had to have an equivalent within the recent history of man, and as such a name that made sense.

First in line was of course Adolf Hitler, temporal saviour of a betrayed, ruined and starving Germany robbed naked by the Versailles victors, but for the rest and according to the New York Times the biggest blackguard ever to set foot on our sacred earth. Next came good old Joe Stalin, mass murderer par excellence supported by a closely knit clan of henchmen as described and defined by the great Solzhenitsyn in his Gulag and Two Hundred Years Together. Then the fabulous Chairman Mao, who most likely holds the Guinness record for accumulated corpses worldwide. And finally the inventors of the nuke, embodied by one Robert Oppenheimer who paid, just like that abominable fraud Freud, with lung cancer and a slow and painful death for his sins.

But try as you might, none of the above really made sense. One reason was of course that Tolkien had begun The Lord of the Rings already in the mid-thirties, long before those villains blossomed medially into full bloom.

As to the ring itself, what kind of power did it exactly wield? It was, this we know, potent enough to enslave the lesser ones, but not all-powerful. Because long ago Isildur King of Gondor, in a desperate attempt to stem the advance of the Orcs, had offered battle to Sauron their chieftain. And in a one-to-one succeeded with God’s help to cut off the latter’s hand which bore the ring. A feat that routed the Dark One and his hosts, at least for a while and until he tried another grab at the hideous thing.

My understanding of Tolkien’s political leanings is scant. He himself has, as far as I know, refused to give any clues. But there are hints. It is rumoured that he considered General Franco rather emphatically as the saviour of Catholic Spain, a view much at odds with contemporaries like that heartless hunter, boozer and scribbler Hemingway and his liberal chums. One of Tolkien’s close friends, the writer and poet Roy Campbell, had witnessed the atrocities committed by Marxist death squads against priests and nuns in Córdoba and described them in vivid detail. What makes him interesting in this context is that he also contributed articles to The European, a fascist gazette run by Lady Diana Mosley, wife of Sir Oswald and, as James Lees-Milne described her, “the nearest thing to Botticelli’s Venus as I have ever seen.” Ezra Pound, among others, was a fellow contributor to The European.

The latter should have rung a bell, but didn’t. Nearly twenty years had to pass before bits and pieces fell into place, at least within my much limited perception. One was an exhibition, the other a production of Wagner’s Ring.

The exhibition was staged in Frankfurt by one of the more affluent art establishments, meaning that decent Fizz, snacks with French pâté and a few interesting people could be expected on the eve of its grand opening. Which was the reason, some curiosity apart, why an old friend took me there. Both of us have no truck with Modern art and knew the artist only vaguely by name. Lucien Freud it was, grandson of you-know-who, and his hams about as uplifting as a dead rat under the sink. As we stood in front of one [painting], an uncouth male nude reclining on a smutty bedstead with legs spread wide open while scratching reddish genitals dangling above a cavernous anus, my friend cast a look around and said: “Grand Orc of the Crap Arts! Never had any sense of beauty, and never will!”

A remark that transported me immediately into a more sunny and innocent past, but also made me decline any comment. Because this was after all Germany, a country ruled by politically correct criminals that long since have booted the freedom of expression as laid down in the constitution, and who slap you for years on end into the cooler if you dare to insist on it.

Damned be the Ring I forged with a Curse!
Though the Gold gave me unlimited Might
Now its Sorcery has brought me Ruin!

The Rhinegold, 3rd Scene

About a week later I saw, and heard, Richard Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung. I have no intention, and lack the intellectual acumen, to give this masterwork its proper due. George Bernhard Shaw, in his essay The Perfect Wagnerite, has summed it up like this: “Only those of a wider consciousness can follow it breathlessly, seeing in it the tragedy of human history and the whole horror of the dilemma from which the world is shrinking today.”

Dilemma? Horror? Shaw did not enter into detail as to the above, but the composer himself was more forthcoming.

You ask me about Jewry. I felt a long-repressed hatred for them, and this hatred is as necessary to my nature as gall is to blood. An opportunity arose when their damnable scribbling annoyed me most, and so I broke forth at last. It seems to have made a tremendous impression, and that pleases me for I really wanted only to frighten them in this manner. Because it is certain that not our princes, but the bankers and Philistines are nowadays our masters… [Correspondence between Wagner and Liszt, Vol. I, p.145, 18/4/1851]

He did however not intend, as stated very clearly elsewhere, to blame the whole tribe, just as you and I wouldn’t consider every Italian automatically a member of the Cosa Nostra.

Richard Wagner

As to the tremendous impression, this is how it commences. Namely at the very bottom of Germany’s mighty river Rhine. There a trove of gold lays embedded in a reef, glinting and gleaming mysteriously in the sunlight that filters through the timeless waves. Beautiful mermaids guard it on orders of their father, enjoying its dazzling radiance, cajoling and wriggling their lovely bodies in the bright reflection. Until one Alberich crawls out of the deep, a stunted Nibelung and Son of the Night who beholds the maids with greedy eyes. When he tries to seduce them, they only laugh, pull his beard and taunt him. Enraged, he asks about the significance of the gold. Carelessly they tell him that unlimited Power to rule the World is in store for the one who will forge a Ring out of the precious metal. But, they also warn him, this feat is only possible if he renounces forever the Power of Love. It takes Alberich only a moment to make up his mind.

The World as heirloom would I gain!
And if I cannot have Love
Might I not cunningly extort Lust?
The Light will I extinguish for you
The Gold will I tear from the reef
And forge the avenging Ring!
Let the Waves be my witness:
Forever have I cursed love!

He rips the gold from the rocks and forges the Ring to rule the World with cunning and brute force—and of course without Love.

“My Ring and Wagner’s were round, but there the resemblance ceases!” scoffed Tolkien rather maliciously after his book had been published in the mid-fifties. Which is so transparent a denial that it seems almost laughable. Shaw’s aforementioned essay The Perfect Wagnerite, nearly of book-length, much acclaimed and widely read, must have been known in detail to Tolkien as well. Because his Ring and Wagner’s are identical in theme and essence, twins in fact if only in a different quality of clothing. Meaning that the former, compared to Wagner’s peerless magnum opus, is over-large and very entertaining, but not really a masterpiece of literature in the classical sense. Interesting might be that Tolkien uses words like Mordor or Sauron, clearly derived from the German Mord, or murder, and Sau, or sow. Though his claim that his own name derived from the German tollkuehn, meaning extremely foolhardy, seems unlikely since it doesn’t exist as a family name.

As to the deeper meaning in both cases, it is important to know that the one Ring of Power has no magical potentials as we understand them. It cannot destroy enemy armies simply by an order of its bearer. It cannot make you fly. It cannot stop the flow of time. It can’t even prevent you from getting wet if it rains. It can make you invisible, true, but that is just an illusion. And you’d still get wet in any case. So what is it really?

It really is only GOLD! And isn’t that enough to rule the world?

For many of those who had witnessed the last decades of the great European Empires, a reign of peace and general improvement that ended abruptly and horribly with World War One, the era afterwards must have seemed like the proverbial devaluation of all values. Because the bankers and Philistines, already so powerful in Wagner’s times, had by now metastasized out of all proportion. Germany, down on its knees, was hardest hit. During the ill-fated and debt-ridden Weimar Republic the country’s capital, Berlin, boasted 115 banking institutions of which 112 were Jewish-owned. The same ratio was true for innumerable cabarets and brothels where girls and boys as young as ten years old sold their famished bodies to the new caste of money acrobats. As to the banks, they used the country’s catastrophic finances to their advantage and tricked and forced the starving population out of their assets, be it shares, shops, houses, farmland, factories or newspapers, until half of Germany was in the hands of a very few. The same happened, though much less drastically, in much of the Western World and resulted finally in the cataclysmic Black Friday. An exercise, as the Orc-faced Robert Fuld of formerly Lehman Bros. has informed us so brazenly, where we ruin a national economy and pick up the bits and pieces for a song.

Now it must be remembered that in those years public opinion was on the whole far less brainwashed than today. No Holocaust had yet been invented to slap down undesirable critics, no worldwide Media Mafia could tell you convincingly that a crock of shit is a pot of gold. Thus in many of the national and international gazettes, accounts of thefts, crimes and injustices abounded, backed up with caricatures of the cruel and greedy Jew.

Accounts that surely have been observed and considered by Tolkien as well. Therefore it seems highly plausible that the Ring he began to forge in his mind during the early Thirties wasn’t so very different from the one Wagner had invented a hundred years earlier. Particularly if we remember a rather interesting detail, namely that indeed one Aragorn strode out of the wild and re-forged the sword that was broken. A man not of royal descent, it is true, but some kind of Mahdi or Sent-One, as Carl Gustav Jung has called him. Very powerful, a great orator, fearless too, and immediately setting to work and succeeding, almost overnight, to break the Ring’s terrible stranglehold. A feat he brought about by throwing worthless paper money out of the window and replacing it with barter based on real goods and honest work.

Well, we know what became of him and his folks, and how dearly they paid for an attempt that endangered the supremacy of Sauron’s banking institutions worldwide. The latter regrouped, giving his Ring full play, and Germany’s ancient cities and their innocent inhabitants, millions of them, perished in a Firestorm of unimaginable magnitude and barbarity. A sad moment in our great Christian European history, you will agree, and its final curtain fittingly drawn by one of its greatest conductors, Herbert von Karajan, who performed on the eve of Berlin’s destruction the Ring’s last episode, Twilight of the Gods.

As for the Sent-One, there comes a day when he will be assessed more objectively and not just demonised out of all proportion. Some of the most hideous accusations levelled against him might crumble like a house of cards in a cloud of dust about as big as the [WTC collapse]. Which could result in two schools of thought, namely one where he remains indeed a villain, and another that pronounces him the most tragic character that ever walked the earth. Him and his people. As for myself, I still have to make up my mind.

As for Tolkien, nearly twenty years went by between the Ring’s first written page and its publication. A time span that radically changed the face of the world, including the book market. Which ended up, to a large part and small wonder, in Sauron’s hands as well. Thus it doesn’t come as a surprise if Sauron’s chronicler got somewhat mum and choose to refute any familiarity, let alone indebtedness, with and to his German forbear. And so removed any ideological obstacles and cleared the way for a tremendous literary success.

A success most certainly deserved, with the one little setback that we will never know what kind of Secret Fire the old wizard Gandalf the Grey has been serving, and which he so mightily evoked when he smote the Bridge of Khazad-Dùm from under the Balrog’s fiery feet. The latter an intriguing name, particularly if you keep in mind that Baal is the Canaanite god of fertility who demanded human sacrifices, and Rog the Hindi word for malady.

As for the rest of the world, the question is of course of how far the Lords of the Ring have succeeded to enslave us. Logically speaking, and seeing their immeasurable wealth and nearly unlimited influence, they should have long since consolidated the realm. Which seems indeed the case in most Western countries where presidents, prime ministers and chancellors are their obedient marionettes. Ring Wraiths, Tolkien has called them fittingly. Men and women like you and me, but empty-eyed. Outer shells of their former selves who command us to abandon our morals and artistic heritance, fight proxy wars for their masters, pay any amount of money into their purse, and generally order us to be at their service whenever it pleases them.

Yet something went badly wrong.

To begin with, the Shadows have been torn from the Land of Mordor, a mysterious region shrouded in deep secrecy for hundreds of years, but now glaringly illuminated. So much so that its schemes and crimes are every day more clearly observed and understood, be it the corruption of politicians, the doling out of jobs to foreign countries, the true intent behind globalism, the giant thefts, the resulting economical upheavals, the unspeakable atrocities in the occupied territories, the bungled assassinations, to name but a few.

Next come the Ring Wraiths, perhaps Tolkien’s finest invention. Enablers, Paul Gottfried has called them, and deems them worse than their criminal masters. Men and women who once possessed Christian souls and knew about the Power of Love, but sold both for thirty pieces of gold to forge their own insignificant rings. Trinkets that serve for a few brief years to ride the crest of power until a new contender wins the upper hand and sends them packing. Which is usually sweetened with honours and compliments to ease the approaching twilight years, a time when the ghosts and corpses of the past begin to whisper in the dark and the hour of reckoning draws close, slowly but inevitably.

Today this kind of sugar-coating can have a sour aftertaste, due to an unforeseen invention called the Internet which markedly diminished the control of the Media Mafia and its sniffing, lying, cajoling, mudslinging lackeys. That is why the Bushes and Blairs of this world have become lepers instead of paragons, with motions underway to hold them responsible for their crimes, including the death of countless women and children and that of many fine soldiers whose intentionally poor equipment has prolonged the conflict to this day.

Finally the Dark Lords themselves.

Those who have already entered the twilight years, like the one on top of this little essay [George Soros – I have omitted the images of the original article], watch with silent horror how the mountains of gold are seeping like water through their fingers, leaving them empty-handed and with nothing to bargain on Judgement Day. As for the others, still springy and enterprising, it is said they are preparing for the ultimate Armageddon with their nukes, viruses, bacteria, cheque books, connections and what not. And perhaps they do, because they see that the world has tired of them, of their lies and extortions. But if they do, they’ll have to fight themselves for a change and not let others do the dirty work. Which will result, as a kind of divine retaliation and since they are so few, in the final destruction of the Ring and the utter defeat of its forgers.

Because once, long ago, when tempted by a hoard of gold deep in the River Rhine, they made the wrong choice and… forever cursed the Power of Love.