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'Hitler' (book by Brendan Simms) Mein Kampf (book)

Hitler, 51

The principal method through which Hitler sought to re­establish control over the party was through ideological purity and coherence. He did this the hard way, seeking to achieve uniformity across a range of highly contentious issues. Hitler could not simply impose his views: he had to cajole and persuade. This was done through speeches, declarations, debates and, from the end of 1925, through the publication in succession of the two volumes of Mein Kampf. These were only partly written from scratch at Landsberg and after his release, the rest being cobbled together from various articles and instructions, and even from drafts dating back to before the Putsch. Much of Mein Kampf originated as a direct response to the political events of 1925-6, and Hitler used the text to lay down the law, at least implicitly, not just to the membership but also to his internal critics. For this reason the book needs to be seen in the context of the many contemporaneous statements he made before and after publication…

Much of what Hitler said in Mein Kampf and his various speeches rehearsed familiar themes from the time before the Putsch. There was the same focus on the forces of domestic fragmentation. Hitler inveighed once more against the ‘mendacity of these so-called federalist circles’ who were only promoting their ‘dirty’ party interest. He continued to fulminate about the disintegrative effect of Marxism, and to lament the alienation of German workers. Hitler rose to new heights of invective against the German middle class, whom he dismissed as ‘philistines’, ‘bourgeois boobies’, who were so befuddled by the ‘fug of associational meetings’ that they were unable to transcend the ‘usual jingoism of our bourgeois world of today’. He contrasted the robustness of the SA, who knew that ‘terror can only be broken by terror’, with ‘bourgeois wimpishness’. Hitler also trenchantly restated his objections to parliamentarism and electoral politics, and western democracy in general, concluding that the ‘majority principle’ amounted to ‘the demolition of the Führer idea as such’.
 

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Editor’s note: In the American racial right I have never seen a critical attitude to democracy, which we could define as the secular religion of the ‘divine right of the people’. Nor do we know a critique of the bourgeoisie. Fortunately, today’s progressive religion is so delusional that even the rich of Pacific Palisades in California are, at this very hour, being punished by the loss of their mansions. The time will come when the whole American nation will go up in flames, when its precious dollar will collapse (a crisis that, fortunately, will also affect the rest of the degenerate, Mammon-worshipping West)…
 

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The main danger of Germany’s internal weakness was that it made her vulnerable to external attack, especially from the enemies that Hitler feared most: international capitalism, Anglo-America and the associated forces of world Jewry. Hitler critiqued the economics of inequality and exploitation, the ‘jarring juxtaposition of poor and rich so close to each other’, the ‘role of money’, in which ‘money [became] God’ and ‘the false God of Mammon was offered incense’. He became increasingly convinced that ‘the heaviest battle to be fought was no longer against enemy peoples but against international capital’. Here Hitler insisted more than ever on his earlier distinction between national capital, which the state could control, and pernicious international capital, which controlled states or sought to do so. One of its principal instruments of subjugation was revolutionary Marxism, which undermined national economies, societies and governments. Others were economic immiseration and racial contamination, both of which also reduced the capacity of nations to resist international takeover. For Hitler, maintaining an independent national economy was therefore absolutely central to the defence of national identity, sovereignty and racial purity. Hitler violently objected to international capitalism even when it was not Jewish, but he assigned the Jews a particularly malevolent role within the global capitalist system; this remained the principal root of his anti­semitism. In Mein Kampf, as in his earlier rhetoric, Jews were inseparably linked with money and the whole capitalist system as ‘traders’, as ‘middlemen’, who levied an ‘extortionate rate of interest’ for their ‘financial deals’. Jewry, he claimed, aimed at nothing less that the ‘financial domination of the entire economy’. Yet because ‘a Bolshevized world can only survive if it encompasses everything’, a ‘single independent state’—such as a revived Germany—could bring the whole juggernaut to a standstill…

Hitler returned to this theme in Mein Kampf, when he said that ‘for purely emotional reasons one should not show the masses two or more enemies, because this would otherwise lead to a complete fragmentation of their striking power’…

Hitler’s rhetoric was thus far more anti-capitalist than anti-communist: references to Dawes in his speeches dwarfed those to Lenin at this time. He continued to fear Bolshevism, not in the form of the Red Army, but principally as a virus which would render Germany ripe for takeover by the forces of international capitalism.

Worse still, Hitler claimed, international capitalism sought to destroy the German bloodline by ‘contamination through Negro blood on the Rhine’ (an allusion to colonial soldiers in the French forces of occupation) in order to ‘begin the bastardization of the European continent from its central point’. Contamination of the blood, he warned, could only be removed in the course of ‘centuries, if at all’. In this narrative, German mass emigration took on a particular importance. Hitler saw it as part of a concerted plan to destroy the biological substance of German people going back centuries. ‘The German people had to send out their sons,’ Hitler lamented, with the result that for some three hundred years, Germans had served as ‘beasts of burden for other nations’ and had moved to ‘Australia, Central America and South America’. He would return to this theme over and over in the years to come.

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Christendom

Alain

The translation of Alain de Benoist’s important essay on Christianity is now available in PDF (here), and I have just included it in the reading list for the featured article, ‘The Wall’.

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Correspondence Kali Yuga

Aristocracy

‘No country survives the death of their aristocracy’, they say. I could expand it by saying, the West won’t survive the death of Germany, which was the aristocracy of the Aryan—courtesy of the Allies and their neochristian denazification project (see today’s previous post about this word).

By the way, except for the first one, I have replaced the other ‘kind comments from visitors to this site’ with quotable quotes from Uncle Adolf. It will be better to collect them all in a single entry, as I have collected them from 2010 to date.

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Ancient Rome Axiology

Christianity:

The communism of antiquity, 7th and last

by Alain de Benoist

Editor’s note: I didn’t invent the term ‘neo-Christianity’.
Remember that this essay was published in French
almost… half a century ago!:

 

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In his essay on The End of the Ancient World (op. cit.), Saint Mazarin rightly recalls that, until recently, the culture of the Late Empire has always seemed to us ‘qualitatively inferior to that of the great civilisations that preceded it’. But today, he says, this is no longer the case: ‘All the voices of the “decadent” Roman world, between the 3rd and 6th centuries, have become accessible to us’. Conversely, ‘we can say that decadentism, expressionism and other modern categories of literary or artistic criticism are so many ways of understanding the world of the Late Empire… The kinship between our age and that world is a fact on which everyone can agree’. And he finally asks: ‘To what extent can we extend this revaluation of the poetry and art of the Late Empire to manifestations of social and political order?’

Curiously, Mazarino, for whom we probably live in the best of all possible worlds, draws from this observation the moral that the idea of decadence is illusory. At no point does he think that if the Late Empire seems more worthy of appreciation to our contemporaries, it is because they find stigmata familiar to them in it. After all, the current period refers like no other to the image of the tenebrae that Erasmus spoke of, and it is this similarity that has put us in a position to appreciate what previous generations, in better health, could not see.

Indeed, studying the conditions in which the Roman Empire died is not only of historical and abstract interest. The kinship between the two conjunctures, the parallel often drawn between those conditions and those that prevail today, makes it profoundly relevant. Moreover, many admit, with Louis Rougier, that ‘revolutionary ideology, socialism, the dictatorship of the proletariat, derive from the pauperism of the prophets of Israel. In the criticism of the abuses of the old regime by the orators of the Revolution, in the prosecution of the capitalist regime by the communists of our days, the echo of the furious diatribes of Amos and Hosea against the course of a world in which the insolence of the rich oppresses and flays the poor resounds; as do the harsh invectives of Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature against imperial Rome’ (op. cit.).

Celsus would not find it challenging to identify even today ‘a new race of men, born yesterday, without a country or traditions…, united against all institutions… and glory in common execration.’ Once again, in the Western world, the fanatici, sometimes living ‘in community,’ truly stateless, hostile to all ordered structures, to all science, hierarchy and borders, to all selection, separate themselves from the world and denounce the ‘Babylon’ of modern times. Just as the first Christian communities proclaimed the abolition of all natural categories for the exclusive benefit of the ecclesia of believers, today, a neo-Christianity [Editor’s emphasis] is spreading, which announces the imminent advent of a new Parousia, of an egalitarian world unified by the overcoming of ‘old quarrels,’ the socialisation of Love and the flight forward in the delay of the ‘social.’ On December 30, 1973, Brother Roger Schutz, Prior of Taizé, declared: ‘Above all, there must be Love, because it is Love that gives us unity.’

Ancient Christianity rejected the world. The Church of classical times distinguished the order above from that of here below. Neo-Christianity boldly transferring its secular hopes from heaven to ‘here below’, secularises its theodicy. It no longer celebrates the solemn marriage of converts with the mystical Bridegroom but the marriage of Christ and humanity through the intercession of the universal Spirit of socialism. It too rejects the world, but only the present one, affirming that it can be ‘changed,’ that another must succeed it, and that the messianic union of the ‘disadvantaged’ can, through its intelligent intervention, fulfil on earth the old dream of the biblical prophets: to stop history and make injustices, inequalities and tensions disappear.

‘Today more than ever, the Greek Spirit, transformed into a scientific spirit, and the messianic spirit transformed into a revolutionary spirit, are irreconcilably opposed. The existence of cold-blooded sectarians and fanatics to whom subjective participation in a body of revealed truths, in gnosis, gives, in their own eyes, rights over everything and everyone, the right to do everything and to allow themselves everything, persists in posing a question of life or death to a society that is on the verge, not of a war of religion, but of something close to that historical plague: the war of civilisation’ (Jules Monnerot, Sociology of the Revolution, Fayard, 1969).

Certain critics repeat against European civilisation and culture the words of Orosius and Tertullian against Rome: today’s setbacks are the punishment for its past faults. It pays for its ‘pride’, wealth, power, and conquests. The barbarians who come to plunder it will make it atone for the sufferings of the Third World, the impotent ambition and the humiliation of the poorly endowed. On its ruins, the Jerusalem of the new times will be built. Then, we will see the disappearance of ‘the veil of mourning that veiled all peoples, the shroud that covered all nations’ (Isaiah XXV, 7). We are once again faced with the same moralising interpretation of history. But neither history nor the world is governed by morality.

The world is mute: it gravitates in silence. In his essay on The Jewish Question, Marx stated that only communism could ‘fulfil in a profane way the human foundation of Christianity’, thus pointing out the ‘revolutionary inadequacies’ of Christian doctrine (‘religion of the slaves, but not a revolution of the slaves’) and the affinities between the two prophetic systems, the spiritual and the terrestrial. Roger Garaudy clarifies these words by recalling that Christianity was ‘an element that disintegrated Roman power’. He adds:

The hostility to the imperial cult, the refusal to participate in it, and even more so the prohibition of Christians from serving militarily in the Empire at a time when recruitment was becoming increasingly difficult and when the number of Christians was increasing daily, a prohibition which persisted until the 4th century, had a clear revolutionary meaning. Moreover, there is in the character of Christ, magnified by the collective imagination of the first Christians, and heir of numerous messiahs similar to the Essene ‘Lord of Justice’, an undeniable revolutionary aspect (Marxisme du XXe siecle, La Palatine, 1966).

Engels, who reminds us that ‘like all great revolutionary movements, Christianity was the work of the popular masses,’ also noted the kinship between the two doctrines: the same messianic certainty, the same eschatological hope, the same conception of truth (well perceived by O. Tillich).

In early Christianity, he sees ‘a completely new phase of religious evolution, destined to become one of the most revolutionary elements in the history of the human spirit’ (Contribution a l’histoire du christianisme primitif, in Marx and Engels, Sur la religion, selection of texts, Ed. Sociales, 1960). And in his eyes, Christianity is the non-plus ultra of religion, the ‘consummation’ (in the sense of Aufhebung) of all the religions that preceded it. Having become the ‘first possible universal religion’ (Engels, Bruno Bauer and Early Christianity) it is also, by the force of things, the last: every end marks a caesura, which implies another beginning. After Christianity, assuming that there is an ‘after,’ there can only come its overcoming.

Joseph de Maistre said: ‘The Gospel outside the Church is a poison,’ and Father Daniélou: ‘If we separate the Gospel from the Church, it loses its temper.’ These words have their whole meaning today, when the Church, the new catoblepas[1], seems to want to abolish its history and return to its origins. Throughout the two millennia, structures of order were established within the Church which, while adapting to the European mentality, allowed it to put into form and reason the dangerous evangelical message; the ‘poison’ having been softened, the faithful had become Mithridatic.

Today, neo-Christianity wants to put these two millennia in parentheses to return to the sources of a genuinely universal religion and give a more significant impact to its message. So, if it is true that we are living through the ‘end’ of the Church (not, indeed, of the Gospel), this end takes the form of a return to a beginning. The Gospel (pastoral ministry) increasingly separates itself from the Church (dogmatics). But this is simply a repetition: the tendency is to bring Catholics back to the ‘revolutionary’ conditions in and through which early Christianity was created. Hence, the interest of this historical overview which, while showing us what happened, tells us at the same time what awaits us.
 
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[1] The animal of which Pliny the Elder speaks, slow and stupid in appearance and which killed with its gaze (Translator’s note).

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Quotable quotes

Adolf quote

‘The great masses of the people will more easily fall victims to a big lie than to a small one’.

—Adolf Hitler

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Ancient Rome Miscegenation

Christianity:

The communism of antiquity, 6

by Alain de Benoist

 

This certainty that the Empire needed to collapse for the Kingdom to come explains the mixed feelings of the early Christians towards the barbarians. Undoubtedly, at first, they felt as threatened as the Romans.

Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, distinguished between external enemies (hostes extranei) and internal enemies (hostes domestici). For him, it was the Goths that Ezekiel was referring to when he spoke of the people of Magog. But, in the second stage, these barbarians, who were soon to be evangelised, became auxiliaries of divine justice. Christians could not admit that their fate was linked to that of a ‘Babylon of impudence’. That is why the Carmen de Providentia or the Commonitorium of Orentius are scarcely interested in other than the ‘enemies within.’ In the 3rd century, in his Carmen apologeticum, a Christian author, Comodian, speaks of the Germans (more precisely of the Goths) as ‘executors of God´s designs.’ In the following century, Orosius, in turn, affirms that the barbarian invasions are ‘God´s judgement’ that come ‘in punishment for the faults of the Romans’ (poenaliter accidisse). It is the equivalent of the ‘plagues’ Moses used to blame the Pharaoh.

On 24 August 410, Alaric, king of the Visigoths, after besieging Rome for several weeks, entered the city by night through the Porta Salaria. It was a converse patrician, Proba Faltonia, of the Anician family, who, after sending her slaves to occupy the gate, had it surrendered to the enemy. The Visigoths were Christians, and the spiritual and ideological solidarity bore fruit. The Anicians, of whom Amianus Marcellinus (XVI, 8) says that they were reputed to be insatiable, were known as fanatics of the Catholic party. The sack of Rome that followed was described by Christian authors with kindly strokes. Alaric’s ‘clemency’ was praised. Georges Sorel asked: ‘Were the vanquished guilty?’ St Augustine says of the Visigothic leader, he was God’s envoy and the avenger of Christianity. Oretius says that only one senator died and that it was his fault (‘he had not made himself known’), and that it was enough for Christians to make the sign of the cross be respected, and so on. ‘Such daring lies, says Augustin Thierry, were later admitted as indisputable facts’ (Alaric).

Around 442, Quodvulteus, bishop of Carthage, claimed that the ravages of the Vandals were pure justice. In one of his sermons, he tried to console a faithful member who had complained about the devastation: ‘Yes, you tell me that the barbarian has taken everything from you… I see, I understand, I meditate: you, who lived in the sea, have been devoured by a bigger fish. Wait a little: an even bigger fish will come and devour the one who devours, despoil the one who despoils, take the one who takes… This plague that we are suffering today will not last forever: in truth, it is in the hands of the Almighty’. Finally, at the end of the 5th century, Salvianus of Marseilles affirms that ‘the Romans have suffered their sorrows by the just judgement of God’.

In the 2nd century, the City had been invaded by foreign cults. A temple to the Great Mother had been erected on the Palatine Hill, where fanatici officiated. Moral contagion did the rest. ‘Through the gap opened in the barrier that closes the horizon of terrestrial life, they were going to penetrate all sorts of chimaeras and superstitions, drawn from the inexhaustible reservoir of the Oriental imagination.’ (Bouché-Leclercq). These were the bacchanalia, the rites with mysteries, the Isiac cult, the cult of Mithra, and finally, Christianity. The words ‘The last of his family’ were written in the tombs more frequently. Pompey’s line had disappeared in the 2nd century, and also Augustus’ and Maecenas’ lines.

Rome was no longer Rome; all the rivers of the East flowed into the Tiber. It was only much later, in the Renaissance, that Petrarch (1304-1374) observed that the ‘black epoch’ (tenebrae) of Roman history had coincided with the era of Theodosius and Constantine; while in northern Europe, in the early 16th century, Erasmus (c. 1469-1536) claimed, although he called himself a ‘militiaman of Christ’, that the true barbarians of ancient times, the ‘real Goths’, had been the monks and scholastics of the Middle Ages.

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Quotable quotes

Adolf quote

‘All propaganda has to be popular and has to accommodate itself to the comprehension of the least intelligent of those whom it seeks to reach’.

—Hitler

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Ancient Rome Bible Christendom

Christianity:

The communism of antiquity, 5

by Alain de Benoist

 
Christian doctrine was a social revolution. It did not affirm for the first time that the soul existed (which would not have made it original), but that everyone had one identical at birth. The men of ancient culture, who were born into a religion because they were born into a fatherland, tended instead to think that by adopting a behaviour characterised by rigour and self-control they might succeed in forging a soul, but that this was a fate reserved undoubtedly for the best. The idea that all men could be gratified with it indifferently and simply by the fact of existing was shocking to them. On the contrary, Christianity maintained that everyone was born with a soul, which was equivalent to saying that men were born equal before God.

On the other hand, in its rejection of the world, Christianity presented itself as the heir of an old biblical tradition of hatred of the powerful, of the systematic exaltation of the ‘humble and the poor’ (anavim ébionim), whose triumph and revenge over wicked and proud civilizations had been announced by prophets and psalmists. In the Book of Enoch, widely disseminated in the first century in Christian circles (cited in the epistles of Jude XV, 4, and of Barnabas: XV), we read: ‘The Son of Man will raise kings and the powerful from their beds and the strong from their seats; he will break their strength… He will overthrow kings from their thrones and their power. He will make the mighty turn their faces away, and cover them with shame…’ (Enoch XLVI, 4-6).

Jeremiah takes pleasure in imagining the future victims in the form of animals for the slaughter: ‘Separate them, O Yahweh, like sheep for the slaughter, and reserve them for the day of slaughter’ (Jeremiah XII, 3). To the women of the powerful, whom he calls ‘cows of Bashan’ (Amos IV, I), Amos predicts: ‘Yahweh has sworn by his holiness: The days will come upon you when you will be lifted with hooks, and your descendants with fishing spears’ (IV, 2). The psalms outline the beginning of the class struggle, and the same spirit will inspire ‘the first groups of Christians and later the monastic orders’ (A. Causse, op. cit.). ‘In the end, there is only one theme in the Psalms,’ says Isidore Loeb, ‘which is the struggle of the poor against the wicked, and his final triumph thanks to the protection of God, who loves the one and hates the other’ (Littérature des pauvres dans la Bible).

The poor are always the victims of injustice. They are called the Humble, the Holy, the Just and the Pious. They are unfortunate, prey to all evils; they are sick, invalid, alone, abandoned, relegated to a valley of tears, they water their bread with tears, etc. But they bear their pain; they even seek it out because they know that such trials are necessary for their salvation, that the more they are humiliated, the more they will triumph, the more they suffer, the more they will one day see others suffer. As for the wicked, they are rich, and their wealth is always culpable.

They are happy, build cities, perform pre-eminent social functions, and command armies, but they will one day be punished in proportion as they dominate. ‘Such is the social ideal of Jewish prophecy,’ says Gerard Walter, ‘a kind of general levelling which will make all class distinctions disappear and lead to the creation of a uniform society from which all privileges of any kind will be banished. This egalitarian sentiment, carried to its ultimate limits, is linked to an irreducible animosity against the rich and the powerful, who will not be admitted into the future kingdom. The ideal humanity of the announced times will include all the just without distinction of creed or nationality’ (Les origines du communisme, Payot, 1931).

The second book of the Sibylline Oracles paints a picture of humankind regenerating in a new Jerusalem under a strictly communist regime: ‘And the land will be common to all; there will be no more walls or frontiers. All will live in common and wealth will be useless. Then there will be no more poor or rich, no tyrants or slaves, no great or small, no kings or lords, but all will be equal’ (Or. Sib. II, 320-326).

Given this, it is easier to understand why Christianity initially seemed to the ancients to be a religion of slaves and heimatlos, a vehicle for a kind of ‘counterculture’ that only achieved success among the dissatisfied, the declassed, the envious and the revolutionaries avant la lettre: slaves, artisans, fullers, carders, shoemakers, single women, etc. Celsus describes the first Christian communities as ‘a mass of ignorant people and gullible women, recruited from the dregs of the people,’ and his adversaries hardly try to disabuse him on this point. Lactantius preaches equality in social conditions: ‘There is no equity where there is no equality’ (Inst. VII, 2). Under Heliogabalus, Calixtus, bishop of Rome, recommends that converts marry slaves.

For this reason, there is no idea more odious to the Christian than that of the fatherland: how can one serve both the land of one’s fathers and the Father who is in heaven? Salvation does not depend on birth, belonging to a city, or the seniority of one’s lineage but exclusively on respect for dogmas. From then on, it is enough to distinguish believers from unbelievers, and all other boundaries must disappear. Paul insists on this: ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither male nor female…’ Hermas, who enjoyed great authority in Rome, condemns the converts to perpetual exile: ‘You servants of God live in a foreign land. Your city is very far from this one’ (Sim. I, I).

Such a disposition of spirit explains the Roman reaction. Celsus, a patriot concerned about the health of the State, who sensed the weakening of the Imperium and the decline of civic feeling that the triumph of Christian egalitarianism could provoke, begins his True Discourse with these words: ‘A new race of men born yesterday, without homeland or traditions, united against all religious and civil institutions, persecuted by justice, accused of infamy by all and who glory in this common execration: that is what Christians are. Factious men who pretend to make a separate ranch and separate themselves from common society.’ And Tacitus, who says that they were detested for their ‘abominations’ (flagitia), accuses them of the crime of ‘hatred of the human race.’ ‘As soon as it was suppressed,’ he says, ‘this execrable superstition was once again breaking out not only in Judea, the cradle of the plague, but in Rome itself, where all the horrors and infamies that exist flow from all sides and are believed…’

The imperial principle is at this time the instrument of a conception of the world carried out as a vast project. Thanks to it, the Pax Romana reigns in an ordered world. Filled with admiration, Horace exclaims: ‘The ox wanders safely through the fields fertile by Ceres and Abundance, while sailors everywhere plogh the peaceful seas.’ In Halicarnassus, a tripartite inscription in honour of Augustus proclaims: ‘Cities flourish amid order, concord and wealth.’ But for the early Christians the pagan State is the work of Satan. The Empire, the supreme symbol of a proud force, is nothing but arrogance worthy of ridicule. The harmonious Roman society is declared without exception guilty, for its resistance to monotheistic demands, traditions and way of life, are so many offences against the laws of heavenly socialism. And as guilty, it must be punished; that is, destroyed. Like a lengthy complaint, the Christian literature of the first two centuries breathes out its rosary of anathemas. With feverish impatience the apostles preach the ‘hour of vengeance,’ ‘so that all things which are written may be fulfilled’ (Luke XXI, 22). As the Fathers of the Church did after them, they announce the imminence of revenge, of the ‘great night’ when everything will be turned upside down. The Epistle of James contains a call to class struggle: ‘Come now, you rich people! Weep and howl for the misery that will come upon you. Your riches are corrupted and your clothes are moth-eaten’ (V,1-2).

James, who has read the Book of Enoch, predicts terrible tortures for the rich and the pagans. He imagines the final judgment as a ‘knock to the throat,’ ‘a kind of immense slaughterhouse to which thousands of the well-off, fat and splendid, and with all their wealth on them, will be dragged. He is joy at seeing them go one by one, returning their ill-gotten gains before feeding with their fat the formidable carnage he glimpses in his dreams’ (Gérard Walter, op. cit.). Above all, he accuses the rich of deicide: ‘You condemned and killed the Just One.’ (V, 6.) This thesis, which makes Jesus the victim, not of a people, but of a class, will soon become popular. Tertullian writes: ‘The time is ripe for Rome to end up in flames. She will receive the reward her works deserve’ (On Prayer, 5).

The Book of Daniel, written between 167 and 165 b.c.e., and the Book of Revelation are the two great sources from which this holy fury draws. St. Hippolytus (c. 170-235), in his Commentary on Daniel, places the end of Rome around the year 500 and attributes it to the rise of democracies: ‘The toes of the statue in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream represent the coming democracies, which will separate from each other like the ten toes of the statue, in which iron will be mixed with clay.’ Around 407, St. Jerome, in another Commentary on Daniel, defines the end of the world as ‘the time when the kingdom of the Romans will be destroyed.’ Other authors repeat these prophecies: Eusebius, Apollinaris and Methodius of Olympus. The revolutionary ardour against Rome, the ‘accursed city,’ ‘new Babylon,’ and ‘great harlot’ knows no bounds. The city is the last avatar of Leviathan and Behemoth.

In all these apocalypses, sibylline mysteries and double-meaning prophecies, in all this mental trepidation, hypersensitive to ‘symbols’ and ‘signs,’ in all this psalm-like literature, we find more imprecations than would have been necessary to warm the spirits, shake the imaginations and even arm still hesitant hands. This explains the accusations that followed the burning of Rome in the year 64.

Deuteronomy ordered the services of God to slaughter unbelieving populations and burn their cities in honour of Yahweh, and Jesus repeated the image: ‘He who does not abide in me will be thrown out like a branch that withers, and is gathered and thrown into the fire and is burned’ (John XV, 6). And indeed, from Rome to the bonfires of the Inquisition, much will burn. Sacred pyromania will be exercised without respite. ‘This idea (that the world of the impious will be destroyed by fire),’ says Bouché-Leclercq, ‘had been received by Christians from Jewish seers, from those prophets and sibilants who invoked lightning as quickly as a torch, iron as quickly as fire on the cities and peoples hostile to Israel. Never has the imagination burned so much as in the prophecies of Isaiah and Ezekiel, the richest collection of anathemas that religious literature has ever produced.’

‘In this opinion of a general fire,’ adds Gibbon, ‘the faith of Christians came to coincide with the Eastern tradition… The Christian, who based his belief not so much on the fallacious arguments of reason as on the authority of tradition and the interpretation of Scripture, awaited the event with terror and confidence, was sure of its ineluctable imminence. As this solemn idea permanently occupied his mind, he regarded all the disasters that befell the Empire as so many infallible symptoms of the agony of the world.

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Quotable quotes

Adolf quote

‘If today I stand here as a revolutionary, it is as a revolutionary against the Revolution’.

—Hitler

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Aryan beauty Homer

Derek

I listened to a couple of black guys’ recent interview with Derek Lambert and found it very instructive.

What I loved about the interview was a family anecdote. In trying to reason gently with his Christian mom, rather than giving her the exegetical spiel he mentions on his MythVision podcasts, Derek compared the NT to the tale of Odysseus: the religion of the ancient world for white people. At one point, Derek mentioned that the Greek Gods were absolutely beautiful physically (which is just what I’ve tried to convey on this blog since the site’s earlier incarnations)! So admirably did he summarise the adventures of Odysseus that, in a soliloquy, I said to myself: This segment could very well have come from the lips of an NS man trying to raise Aryan children!

Indeed, Derek’s words about The Odyssey are the best introduction to the ethos of Homer’s epic poem that I know of. Alas, although in that interview Derek spoke eloquently about the dishonesty of Christian apologists, as a good neochristian he doesn’t tolerate ‘racists’, ‘homophobes’ and ‘misogynists’ (see here why we put quotation marks around these words).