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Evil Summer, 1945 (book) Thomas Goodrich

1945 (II)

Prologue:
Germany must perish

It is a cool, overcast day. It is an April day so typical in southern Germany, not quite winter, not quite spring.

They stand painfully, unbearably alone against a gray wall, under a gray Bavarian sky. Two of the three have their arms held high, facing the camera. The arms of these two are raised in such a way as to suggest that they have either been held in that position for a very long time or that they are now simply arms resigned to their fate. The other soldier has folded his arms quietly over his stomach. Perhaps he is sick. Perhaps he is wounded. Perhaps, like the others, he too simply does not care any longer.

They are all young; perhaps 17, or younger. At their feet, laying in piles up and down the line, there lay the others. Some are dead. Some, agonizing in their own blood, are yet alive. Others, no doubt, are uninjured but there they lay, unmoving, feigning death, eyes shut tight, brains pounding hard, minds screaming loud, “Why? Why? Why?” The machine-gun facing those on the ground and those yet standing is now being reloaded.

The three boys still standing are terrified. In all likelihood, one or all have lost control from fear and have urinated on themselves. Hearts are beating three times their normal rate. The pounding throb in each boy’s temples is so loud that it drowns out all other sound. Each face is pale. Each body is weak. Each mind is lost. Each boy is trying to make sense of it all. Such a thing as this cannot be happening. It is all a mistake. It surely is but a dream. Surely it is a nightmare from which they will soon awaken. Those soldiers facing them are Americans. They, like Germans, do not do such things. Each boy perhaps has a cousin or an uncle in America. They would not do such a thing.

Or perhaps the boys are beyond all this. Perhaps they know; know it is not a dream, but really happening to them. Perhaps they look to the left, then to the right, then down to their feet to see the red blood pouring in streams from those once their friends, their classmates, their cousins, even their brothers. Perhaps, as others about to die, perhaps their lives are already passing rapidly before their eyes—back to their childhoods, back to their teachers, back to their families, their pets, their girlfriends, back to the day when one of them nearly drowned in the lake and a British tourist saved him; or back to the pretty farm now turning from winter gray to spring green, the sweet­ smelling apple orchard now in bloom, the orchard he loved so much, just as his parents had, just as his grandparents had, just as their parents had.

Or perhaps the young men imagine that it was a miracle; when all else were shot by the machine-gun and died, God had sent them a miracle; a message from heaven that they would live. What else could have saved them when so many hundreds had died? Who else but God could have spared them?

We will never know what the boys were thinking as they stood alone in a sea of the dead. In a moment, the machine-gun will be reloaded and the Americans, laughing, shouting, staring at the young men with eyes of sadistic hate will then shoot them down.

Categories
Film

Shane


 Yesterday I watched again the 1953 film Shane (which I first saw in the mid-1970s).

Those who are home-schooling their kids and, at the same time, do not let them see the poisonous crap that comes from Hollywood or the MSM, should have the DVD of this movie in their homes. Unlike virtually everything we see today, the message of this movie by George Stevens cannot be more benign for an American white family.

Categories
Ancient Rome Jesus On the Historicity of Jesus (book) Richard Carrier Romulus

Unhistorical Jesus, 1

Romulus appearing to Proculus Julius.

I have read the first three chapters of Richard Carrier’s book, On the Historicity of Jesus, in addition to the later chapter on Paul’s epistles. In my entry on Thursday, about the dark night of the soul suffered by the Aryans in general and the white nationalists in particular (including the so-called revolutionaries), I mentioned the finis Africae that was in the tower that housed a large library in Umberto Eco’s gothic novel. Following the plot of the novel,[1] if there is a book that a latter-day Jorge de Burgos would like to destroy, it is precisely that of Carrier.

Last Monday I said I was tempted to start reviewing On the Historicity of Jesus for this site. The first pages of chapter 4 convinced me that I should do it.

In ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ I said that all white people are heading to Jerusalem, a metaphor that must be understood in the context of the first paragraph of ‘Ethnosuicidal Nationalists’. How Christianity managed to invert the moral compass of the Aryans, from pointing at Rome to pointing at Jerusalem, is discovered by researching the motivations of those who wrote the Gospels (remember: there’s no historical Jesus, only gospel authors).

Keep in mind what we have been saying on this site about the inversion of values that happened in the West when whites, including atheists, took the axiological message of the gospels very seriously. Based on this and the crucial part of Evropa Soberana’s essay on Jerusalem and Rome, let’s see what Carrier says at the beginning of chapter 4 of On the Historicity of Jesus.

In Plutarch’s book about Romulus, the founder of Rome, we are told that Romulus was the son of god, born of a virgin, and that there were attempts to kill him as a baby.

As an adult the elites finally killed him and the sun darkened, but Romulus’ body disappeared. Then he rises from the dead.

Some people doubted and, on the road, Romulus appears to a friend to transmit the good news to his people (see image above). It is revealed that, despite his human appearance, Romulus had always been a god and was incarnated to establish a great kingdom on earth (keep these italicised words in mind in the context of the quotation below).

Then Romulus ascends to the heavens to reign from there. Before Christianity, the Romans celebrated the day when Romulus ascended into heaven. Plutarch tells us that the annual ceremony of the Ascension involved the recitation of the names of those who were afraid for having witnessed the feat, something that reminds us of the true end of the Gospel of Mark (Mk 16.8) before the Christians added more verses.

Carrier comments that it seems as if Mark was adding a Semitic garment onto Romulus’ original story: a Roman story that seems to be the skeleton on which the evangelist would add the flesh of his literary fiction. The phrase of Carrier that I put in bold letters convinced me that On the Historicity of Jesus deserves a review in several entries:

There are many differences in the two stories [the fictional stories about Romulus and Jesus], surely. But the similarities are too numerous to be a coincidence—and the differences are likely deliberate. For instance, Romulus’ material kingdom favoring the mighty is transformed into a spiritual one favoring the humble. It certainly looks like the Christian passion narrative is an intentional transvaluation of the Roman Empire’s ceremony of their own founding savior’s incarnation, death and resurrection [page 58].

My two cents: White nationalists are still reluctant to recognise that what they call ‘the Jewish problem’ should be renamed as ‘the Jewish-Christian problem’.

________

[1] The 1986 film The Name of the Rose featuring Sean Connery betrays the real plot of the novel. In the book the bad guy was the librarian Jorge de Burgos and the Inquisitor, Bernardo Gui, a secondary character. In the novel Gui burns the beautiful semi-feral peasant girl at the stake whereas in the Hollywood film the girl’s life is spared. In no way I recommend watching the movie unless the novel is read first (Umberto Eco’s only good novel in my humble opinion).

Categories
Racial right

Ethno-suicidal nationalists

The Suicide of Thomas Chatterton~ 1856
Oil painting on canvas, by the Pre-Raphaelite Henry Wallis

Since this is an updated version of my January 1, 2016 post, old visitors may only read my new, bold-typed phrases:

Liberals, conservatives and white nationalists are heading for the abyss. A friend whom I talked in London told me that even the pro-white movement seems to be carried away by the irresistible death wish suffered by contemporary whites. Led by the Jews, gentile liberals are driving the train into the abyss; the conservatives are simply trying to slow it down, lightly stepping on the brake here and there to hinder the liberals’ ways. Off the train, white nationalists are headed in the same direction, but at a much slower pace: they go on foot.

For the sake of clarity, let us compare the values of the white nationalists with the true defenders of the Aryan race:

• Hitler and the National Socialists organised a political party: the first step to make a difference in the real world.

The cyber-based movement of white nationalism refuses to leave the homely comfort zone. They have good reason to do so: just see what happened in Charlottesville! Since the System won’t allow a peaceful revolution, white nationalists ought to have reached the conclusion by now that violent revolution will be inevitable: something they are reluctant to do.

• The Germans clearly defined their ethnicity as Germanic, including Austria, the Scandinavian and Low Countries, Switzerland and parts of the old Soviet Union. Hitler even dreamt of sharing the world with the Anglo-Saxons.

Those who advocate white nationalism are either openly anti-eugenicists and anti-Nordicists, or do not care about Nordicism at all. Like the conservatives of the Republican Party who treat mestizos as equals, in order not to offend Mediterranean sensibilities white nationalists refuse to recognise that the standard of whiteness is the Nordic type. Many have no objection to granting the amnesty to the whitish population in Europe with dirty blood, even if that means the eventual mongrelisation of the true whites (this is why I say that nationalists are going on foot toward the abyss).

• Hitler and his closest pals abandoned Christianity, a religion of Levantine inspiration that only weakens the Germanic peoples.

Many white nationalists, unable to apostatise from the religion of our parents, proclaim their religion candidly and have been blinded about the toxicity of the Galilean cult.

• National Socialists, including Catholics and Protestants, renounced Christian ethics and became pragmatic Nietzscheans.

White nationalists are frightened by history, for example the legitimate will of the Germans to conquer those Slavs who had handed over their country to the Bolshevik Jews. (If a Reich existed today, the same could be said about the legitimacy of conquering the Judaised United States by this hypothetical German empire.)

• Hitler and the National Socialists took sexual polarity as something to be taken for granted. Like all militarist cultures, the Germans subscribed patriarchy and no woman was admitted to the leadership class.

The men of white nationalism have become unrecognizably feminised. Some of them, especially in the Alt-Right and Alt-Lite, have no problem with the feminism that has been wreaking havoc since the 1960s. National Socialists had an absolute will of biological fertility. The feminised Alt-Righters have no problem accepting that women make careers; that they enter their conferences, and some among them don’t criticise that they practice ethnosuicidal forms of natal control.

• The National Socialists pursued the fulfilment of their duty to the point of dying heroically for the fate of their race. Like the Republican Romans their ethos was severe, stoic and brutal.

Some white nationalists still live under the illusion of the American dream and the childlike pursuit of universal happiness. Like the Romans of the decadent times when the empire was committing the sin of miscegenation, these nationalists lack the Teutonic spirit of tribal sacrifice. The saying ‘We don’t stand a chance unless our men become killing machines and our women birthing machines’ sounds like anti-music to their ears. Very few want to sacrifice themselves for the 14/88 words. Who wants to become a bloodthirsty soldier or literally force our spoiled women to become birthing machines?

• From time immemorial, the number-one enemy of the Aryans has been the inexorable thirst for riches at the expense of their race (cf. the most important book that an American racist has ever written, the history of the white race by William Pierce, Who We Are). Because of that corrupting power, Hitler and the National Socialists subscribed collectivism, honour, hierarchy and militarism always in harmony with the aesthetic impulse of the Aryan soul.

In the forums of white nationalism one does not read much criticism of the largest factor of white decline: modernity after the Industrial Revolution and the artificial comfort it provides.They mention the Jews a lot, but not the mercantile societies that degenerated into consumerist materialism: the most corrupting thing for the Aryan soul for any honest reader of history.

• The National Socialists pointed to fascism, war and conquest. Just read the Führer’s various pronouncements about his projected empire or these rephrasings of what Francis Parker Yockey tells us.

Many Alt-Rightists, light-years away from the spirit of Yockey, seem to sympathise with the human rights proclaimed by the French revolutionaries and, to boot, with pacifism (what we call ‘neo-Christian ethics’).

• In his table talks, Hitler constantly spoke of the most beautiful European architecture, painting and classical music. All of this was omnipresent in the plans of what the Reich was to be after the consolidation of his conquests. At the same time, the Nazis recognised the problem of cultural degeneration in general and degenerate music in particular.

In sharp contrast, many white nationalists are amused by the Negro-American phenomenon of rock and the filth that the Hollywood Jews make us see on the big screen and our TV sets. Neo-Nazis usually don’t even know the plots of the Wagnerian operas.

* * *

But the most serious problem with white nationalists is that they have not realised that their race is their nation. Had they realised it, they would have repudiated the founding ideology of their American ‘nation’ (capitalism plus Christianity) and would do something analogous to what Jews have been doing for decades: denouncing the Hellstorm Holocaust that claimed more lives of innocent Germans than the alleged Jewish holocaust.

Eisenhower, Stalin and Churchill, who ordered that Aryan Holocaust after the war was over, ought to be considered the greatest Satans not only of the 20th century but of Western history. If white nationalists knew that their race is their nation they would have sympathised with the true martyrs, their German cousins, and would have been reporting the Hellstorm Holocaust every morning, midday and evening until the West wakes up.

They do nothing of the sort because, like the Judaised liberals and the Judaised conservatives, they are on the road to racial extinction. As our old friend Sebastian Ronin said:

Zionist Occupied Government? Pffft!
Zionist Occupied Culture? Closer.
Zionist Occupied Soul?
Bingo! The Inner Jew.

______ 卐 ______

The diamond speaks

‘Why so hard!’—said to the diamond one day the charcoal; ‘are we then not near relatives?’—

Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not—my brethren?

Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks?

And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day—conquer with me?

And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye one day—create with me?

For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,—

—Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,—harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the noblest.

This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: Become hard!—

Categories
Carl Gustav Jung James Mason Kali Yuga Name of the Rose (novel) Oracle of Delphi Psychology

Dark night of the soul

I’m looking forward to Richard Spencer and James Edwards running for president and vice president this year to let white nationalists know that, legally, they’re not going anywhere (cf. Charlottesville).

The time has come to speak about a revolution within the limits allowed by the law of the United States. As today the book Siege is the most popular of the radical wing of the nationalists, I must say a few words about the author and Siegereaders. Recently, a friend posted this on his Twitter account:

I think James Mason’s current philosophy—that there’s no need for revolutionary action because NS Germany sacrificed for us all, just wait until the climax comes—is related to the fact that Mason’s had enough days of action and is now a 66 year old Boomer in retirement phase. 

Another friend emailed me:

James Mason’s Christian Identity may seem an obvious point to start at. Not that he is CI of course, but that he apparently does nothing to vanquish Satanism from Atomwaffen [Division]. If he truly believed in his own religion then he would be writing multiple articles denouncing Satanism and proselytising his theological beliefs, and yet he concentrates on doomsaying and the occasional news commentary. If he believes in fire and brimstone then he should give them fire and brimstone. 

Not long ago Mason spoke about the entire world being punished as in the Old Testament, the innocent along with the guilty (listen to his brief audios: here). But what about the revolution that he used to preach? Is it possible that Christianity has tamed the blond beast? There are many 66-year-old Islamists who yearn to die heroically in Jihad attacks for their holy cause. What would have happened if, instead of the Christian pond to which Mason fell after writing Siege, he had reached the towers that appear below? Would he still promote revolution?

Impossible to know. But I still would like to say something about the pond.

I do not believe in the magic of the Tarot. But I do believe, as Jung said, that the figures in the pack of cardsrepresent archetypal symbols. And from this angle I can use the symbol of The Moonto offer my views on Mason and his epigones. Unlike the ‘psychoanalysis’ of the Jew Freud, Jung’s analyses had much more Aryan overtones. So here I would like to interpret the two quotations cited above, and what I’ve heard of Mason, from the point of view of what Sallie Nichols wrote about the card of The Moon. [1]

As we see in the picture, the hero that Nichols sees in other Tarot cards does not appear in The Moon. The intellectual ego of the hero has been submerged in a pond. He fell deeply into a depression, because unlike the hopeful card The Star, no human figure appears to help him out of the darkness. He is as immersed in the aqueous unconscious as is the prehistoric crab imprisoned in the pond. This is the blackest moment in the journey of the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana: a journey towards the knowledge of our Self (the ideal of the Oracle of Delphi).

The territory that is on the other side of the water is unknown land, a country unexplored until now. Advancing through this place full of abysmal terrors and infinite promises (the towers of distance) requires great courage, more than Mason and his epigones have shown in their later years, as it involves full apostasy (not pseudo-apostasy) from the religion of our parents. As in the initiation rites that we will see in the forthcoming articles about Emperor Julian, in the transition that the hero must now face he should go by naked and alone.

He cannot go back to the mandates of Christian ethics because, expelled from worldly conventions, the hero has been rejected by civilisation, by Western humanity. It takes courage and faith to act as our ancestral enemy, Abraham, did: to get away ‘from your people, from your loved ones, from your home, in search of the land to which I will lead you’ (Gen. 12: 1).

In a route that goes exactly opposite Jerusalem (to Jerusalem all whites of our century are heading), our hero must transform himself to be reborn from the night of terror. We find other accidents in the sky that are bad omens, because the multicoloured drops that appear, unlike the card of The Sun, are directed from the earth to the sky. It is as if the Goddess Moon, as a devouring mother, called to herself all the creative energy of the land of the white man, leaving it desolate and empty.

It is the Dark Night of the Soulthat the most famous saints of the language of Cervantes spoke about, as in the poetry of Saint John of the Cross. In psychological terms, it symbolises a victory of Jerusalem over Rome: the devouring aspects of the unconscious that have resulted in a historical psychosis throughout the West. The Moon of the image seems to suck the energies of the hero, leaving him totally weakened to even think about revolutionary action.

But rebelling against Judeo-Christianity also has its perils. The dogs of Hecate, also trapped under the spell of the Goddess of Night, could tear the hero apart, leaving him raging and foaming at the mouth into a perpetual night: a psychosis without recovery like the one Nietzsche suffered from 1889 to 1900, when he died. Only in the regions of greatest terror, such as the darkest hour of the West, can the golden treasure be found. As Jung said, enlightenment is not achieved by imagining (as stupid New Agers do) figures of light. It is achieved by making ourselves familiar with our darkest side (what I do with my autobiographical books).

The hero sees the river crab trapped in the pond. He feels that it can be prepared to abandon his annoying carapace (the last Christian vestiges) and climb the scale of evolution (as the Greeks, Romans, and also those who dined at the Führer’s table had done). Wet with our own dew of the lacrimae lunae, the tears of the moon, when we are faced with this card the golden towers look very attractive. One wants to move forward to discover what’s inside them. There is no possible return: the road, especially in other pictorial versions of the Tarot’s Moon, leads clearly forward.

The towers of the card are the knowledge that this site provides, especially what we say here about the history of Christianity and how Christian ethics have turned the Aryans into lunatics: a perpetual night of the soul from which not even the revolutionaries have awakened. Regular visitors to this site will remember that, last July, I interrupted my weekly publication of Siege. Mason had written:

In Southern Europe, Christianity came to power slowly, via more subtle means, while in Northern Europe it was brought to power largely by the use of the sword.

Interspersed in Siege’stext I offered my reply:

Mason wrote this article the year of my first visit to the US. There was no internet and Mason was completely unaware that Southern Europe had suffered an ISIS-like takeover by fanatic Christians after Constantine empowered them. Remember: the real history of early Christianity has only been revealed to the general public of our times thanks to the efforts of Karlheinz Deschner in German, Vlassis Rassias’ book Demolish Themin Greek, and more recently Catherine Nixey in English. At the time that Mason wrote his article only ivory-tower academics knew about the apocalypse that southern whites had suffered in the 4th and 5th centuries. 

But not only ivory-tower academics knew about real history. To write JulianGore Vidal had to read a huge amount of classical literature while living in Rome (he wrote the novel from April 1959 to January 1964). That knowledge, the one that Vidal became acquainted with without knowing this site, is the treasure that the towers of the faraway keep. Ever since I read the book of Nichols, those towers have reminded me of the library tower of The Name of the Roseby Umberto Eco, located in the Middle Ages when knowledge of certain forbidden books was feared by a monk who began to poison those who dared to read them.

Satanism in Atomwaffen? That’s pseudo-apostasy, as these bubs are still immersed in the pond of Xtian symbols.

Christian Identityinfluence on Mason? All that and more is just howling at the Moon in a dense and haunted night instead of reaching the finis Africae.[2]

_______

[1] Sallie Nichols (1908-1982) was a lecturer at Jungian organisations in California. A long-time student of Jung’s psychology, she had the opportunity to study at the Carl Gustav Jung Institute in Zurich while Jung was still alive. 

[2] In Eco’s novel the finis Africae was a hidden room in the tower that contained the forbidden works of the pagans.

Categories
Ancient Rome Christendom Jerusalem St Paul

Commissary to the Gentiles, 4

by (((Marcus Eli Ravage)))

Perhaps the bitterest foe of the sectaries was one Saul, a maker of tents. A native of Tarsus and thus a man of some education in Greek culture, he despised the new teachings for their unworldliness and their remoteness from life. A patriotic Jew, he dreaded their effect on the national cause. A traveled man, versed in several languages, he was ideally suited for the task of going about among the scattered Jewish communities to counteract the spread of their socialistic pacifistic doctrines. The leaders in Jerusalem appointed him chief persecutor to the Ebionim.

He was on his way to Damascus one day to arrest a group of the sectaries when a novel idea came to him. In the quaint phrase of the Book of Acts he saw a vision. He saw as a matter of fact, two.

He perceived, to begin with, how utterly hopeless were the chances of little Judea winning out in an armed conflict against the greatest military power in the world. Second, and more important, it came to him that the vagabond creed which he had been repressing might be forged into an irresistible weapon against the formidable foe.

Pacifism, non-resistance, resignation, love, were dangerous teachings at home. Spread among the enemy’s legions, they might break down their discipline and thus yet bring victory to Jerusalem. Saul, in a word, was probably the first man to see the possibilities of conducting war by propaganda.

He journeyed on to Damascus, and there to the amazement alike of his friends and of those he had gone to suppress, he announced his conversion to the faith and applied for admission to the brotherhood.

On his return to Jerusalem he laid his new strategy before the startled Elders of Zion. After much debate and searching of souls, it was adopted. More resistance was offered by the leaders of the Ebionim of the capital. They were mistrustful of his motives, and they feared that his proposal to strip the faith of its ancient Jewish observances and practices so as to make it acceptable to Gentiles would fill the fraternity with alien half-converts, and dilute its strength. But in the end he won them over, too. And so Saul, the fiercest persecutor of Jesus’ followers, became Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles. And so, incidentally, began the spread into the pagan lands of the West, an entirely new Oriental religion.

Unfortunately for Paul’s plan, the new strategy worked much too well. His revamped and rather alluring theology made converts faster than he had dared hope, or than he even wished. His idea, it should be kept in mind, was at this stage purely defensive. He had as yet no thought of evangelizing the world; he only hoped to discourage the enemy. With that accomplished, and the Roman garrisons out of Palestine, he was prepared to call a truce.

But the slaves and oppressed of the Empire, the wretched conscripts, and the starving proletariat of the capital itself, found as much solace in the adapted Pauline version of the creed as the poor Jews before them had found in the original teachings of their crucified master. The result of this unforeseen success was to open the enemy’s eyes to what was going on.

Disturbing reports of insubordination among the troops began pouring into Rome from the army chiefs in Palestine and elsewhere. Instead of giving the imperial authorities pause, the new tactics only stiffened their determination. Rome swooped down upon Jerusalem with fire and sword, and after a fierce siege which lasted four years, she destroyed the nest of the agitation (70 a.d.). At least she thought she had destroyed it.

The historians of the time leave us in no doubt as to the aims of Rome. They tell us that Nero sent Vespasian and his son Titus with definite and explicit orders to annihilate Palestine and Christianity together. To the Romans, Christianity meant nothing more than Judaism militant, anyhow, an interpretation which does not seem far from the facts. As to Nero’s wish, he had at least half of it realized for him. Palestine was so thoroughly annihilated that it has remained a political ruin to this day. But Christianity was not so easily destroyed.

Indeed, it was only after the fall of Jerusalem that Paul’s program developed to the full. Hitherto, as I have said, his tactic had been merely to frighten off the conqueror, in the manner of Moses plaguing the Pharaohs. He had gone along cautiously and hesitantly, taking care not to arouse the powerful foe. He was willing to dangle his novel weapon before the foe’s nose, and let him feel its edge, but he shrank from thrusting it in full force.

Now that the worst had happened and Judea had nothing further to lose, he flung scruples to the wind and carried the war into the enemy’s country. The goal now was nothing less than to humble Rome as she had humbled Jerusalem, to wipe her off the map as she had wiped out Judea.

Categories
Evil Hate Summer, 1945 (book) Thomas Goodrich

1945 (I)

Foreword

This book is about crime and the evil things evil men do. This book is about words and hate and the powerful price of propaganda. This book is about the savage, no-quarter war waged against Japan during the summer of 1945 and it is about the equally savage no quarter “peace” waged against Germany during that same summer, 1945. There is no attempt herein to recite the numerous atrocities attributed to the Germans and Japanese by the victorious powers. Certainly, some of these crimes were true; equally certain, many of these crimes were not. Such is winning and losing. Such is war.

To most modern readers, the “unique” guilt attributed to the Axis powers in starting World War II as well as their supposed barbaric behavior in prosecuting it are too well known to repeat. For those who wish to learn more of the victor’s version of the war, a simple trip to the book store or library, or the viewing of virtually any feature-length movie or documentary film will offer up the Allied account of the war. This book is, instead, devoted to the inhuman treatment and savage atrocities directed at the losers of the war by the winners, both during and after that war. This book is about the evil things evil men do.

Just as my previous book on Allied war crimes during and after World War II in Europe—Hellstorm: The Death of Nazi Germany, 1944-1947—illustrated how deadly propaganda can be, especially when the intended target audience for such propaganda are eighteen­year-olds with weapons in their hands, so too does this book attempt to illustrate how vicious words fired by experts are far more deadly than bombs and bullets for, unlike bombs and bullets which kill only once, words kill again and again and again. Simply, Japanese and German propaganda never came close to matching Allied propaganda in pure hate; Japanese and German propaganda never had the dripping venom and murderous malice that American and British propaganda had then, and, for the most part, still has now.

While the victors, to this day, vilify and condemn the Germans and Japanese for their treatment of American POWs, never mentioned is that at least the Germans and Japanese took prisoners. Few, very few, German and Japanese soldiers survived actual combat to reach an American POW camp. While the victors, to this day, assail again and again the Germans for crimes against Jews or attack the Japanese for crimes against the Chinese, seldom does one hear about the crimes against the Germans or the crimes against the Japanese, of the deliberate firebombing of millions of German and Japanese women and children, of the wholesale rape of countless women and children, of the utter and abject subservience that both nations even today still find themselves locked in.

Finally, it is the most fervent hope of the author that after finishing Hellstorm and this, its companion study, Summer, 1945, that the reader will not simply set the volumes down and return to a life of indifference and apathy. It is the author’s greatest wish that each reader will instead work with others to ensure that never again—not in our name, not in our time, not in our world—will we ever allow such evil propaganda such as was used in World War II to ever repeat itself; that no matter who it may next be directed at, be it Germans, Japanese, Iranians, North Koreans, or Israelis, we will not ever again allow such vicious, sadistic, and evil words to be used to either create a war or create a “peace.” As the past has proved, such reckless, murderous words reap reckless, murderous harvests of innocent and guilty alike. Unless we all work to throttle evil men and their evil words and evil deeds, then soon, very soon, that evil will almost certainly be directed at us and those we love.

Thomas Goodrich
Sarasota, Florida

____________

About the author

Tom Goodrich is a professional writer who lived on the Gulf Coast of Florida while writing Summer, 1945: Germany, Japan and the Harvest of Hate (The Palm Press, Siesta Key, Florida, 2018).

His biological father was a United States Marine during the Pacific War, 1941-1945, and his adoptive father served in the US Air Force in Europe during World War II. Visit the author at thomasgoodrich.com.

Categories
Christendom Jesus Neanderthalism New Testament Parapsychology Richard Carrier

On Richard Carrier

A depiction of Ecce Homo, as Pontius Pilate
delivers Jesus to the crowd (Antonio Ciseri, 1862).

Before reading Carrier, I imagined that there was a historical Jesus crucified by Pilate if we only eliminated all the legendary tales, miracles and resurrection stories that appear in the Gospels. As I have already said, it was not until the end of last year that I changed my mind.

Discovering the mythicists reminded me strongly of what happened to me in the 1990s with CSI literature, and especially when I read a book by Robert Sheafferthat made me doubt, for the first time, of the existence of ‘psi’. The fact is that the exegetes of the New Testament, starting with Albert Schweitzer, have been in bondage of the introjects of their parents. They could never encapsulate the viruses and malwares as I have done in my mentality.

All the liberal and even secular exegetes of the New Testament that I read since the 1980s were in bondage of parental introjects. The simplest hypothesis should have been, from the beginning, the theory of a mythical Christ because no single contemporary witness outside the Bible ever bothered to write about Jesus.

None. Zilch. Zero. Plenty of people, long after Jesus supposedly died, claimed he was real but outside the Bible, sorry: it is a tall tale. It is the same as happens with parapsychologists: they cannot conceive the inexistence of psi. By force of deep parental introjects the historicist exegetes (those who believe in a historical Jesus) cannot conceive the nonexistence of Jesus (which includes those who believe in the historicity of an ordinary, non-miraculous Jesus).

The implications of my finding of the last days of last year are tremendous. Now I see the tragedy of the West (and the demographic bubble that Christianity caused) in another way as I saw it before my December discovery. The nonexistence of Jesus crushes all Christianity and neo-Christianity in a most forceful way. Or rather, I can use Carrier et al for the thesis I’ve been advancing in this blog.

The Christian bug is incredibly stupider—stupid indeed was believing in the Gospels in the first place—than I previously thought. If what Carrier et al say is true, the result would be that the white race is even more ‘Neanderthal’ than I imagined before my December 28 discovery.

Richard Carrier may be a blue-pilled liberal as foolish as those at Columbia University where he studied. But just as we cannot dispatch the findings in physics or medicine of those who graduated there, neither can we reject what Carrier says in his book that, perhaps, I’ll start to review on Mondays.

Categories
Civil war

What is The Base?

by Roman Wolf ∭


• The Base is a fraternal network of self-defense and survivalist trainers, students and enthusiasts.

• Our purpose is to share and develop knowledge, skills, and abilities for the benefit of network participants.

• The Base organizes and sponsors training events worldwide through local chapters.

• Participation is open to all nationalists including members of other nationalist organizations.

• The Base strives to serve as a platform for like­ minded nationalists to meet in real life and build camaraderie.

• Participation is free but donations are welcomed to cover costs for training events and facilities.

Categories
Julian (novel)

Julian, 52

Julian presiding at a conference of Sectarians
(Edward Armitage, 1875)

 
Priscus: Macrina was a bitch. We all detested her, but because she was the niece of Prohaeresius we endured her. Julian’s description of our first meeting is not accurate. That is to say, what he remembers is not what I remember. For instance, he says that his bodyguard arrived before I answered Macrina. This is not true. I told her then and there that my silence masked compassion for the intellectual shortcomings of others since I did not wish to wound anyone, even her. This caused some laughter. Then the guards arrived.

For the historic record I should give my first impression of Julian. He was a handsome youth, thick in the chest like all his family, and muscular, a gift of nature since in those days he seldom exercised. He was far too busy talking. Gregory was not entirely inaccurate when he described Julian’s breathless and continual conversation. In fact, I used to say to him, “How can you expect to learn anything when you do all the talking?” He would laugh excitedly and say, “But I talk and listen at the same time. That is my art!” Which perhaps was true. I was always surprised at how much he did absorb.

Not until I read the memoir did I know about the conversation with Prohaeresius. I never suspected the old man of such cunning, or boldness. It was a dangerous thing to admit to a strange prince that he had consulted an oracle. But he always had a weakness for oracles.

I never liked the old man much. I always felt he had too much of the demagogue in him and too little of the philosopher. He also took his role as a great old man seriously. He made speeches on any subject, anywhere. He cultivated princes the way bishops cultivate relics. He was a formidable orator, but his writings were banal.

Let me tell you something about Macrina since Julian is not candid and if I don’t tell you, you will never know. They had a love affair which was the talk of the city. Macrina behaved with her usual clownishness, discussing the affair with everyone in intimate detail. She declared that Julian was a formidable lover, indicating that her own experience had been considerable. Actually, she was probably a virgin when they met. There were not many men of her set who would have made the effort to make her a nonvirgin. After all, Athens is famous for the complaisance of its girls, and not many men like to bed a talking-woman, especially when there are so many quiet ones to choose from. I am positive that Julian was Macrina’s first lover.

There was a funny story going around at about this time, no doubt apocryphal. Julian and Macrina were overheard while making love. Apparently all during the act each one continued to talk. Macrina is supposed to have confuted the Pythagoreans while Julian restated the Platonic powers, all this before and during orgasm. They were well matched.

Julian seldom mentioned Macrina to me. He was embarrassed, knowing that I knew of the affair. The last time we spoke of her was in Persia when he was writing the memoir. He wanted to know what had become of her, whom she had married, how she looked. I told him that she was somewhat heavy, that she had married an Alexandrian merchant who lived at Piraeus, that she has three children. I did not tell him that the oldest child was his son.

Yes. That is the famous scandal. Some seven months after Julian left Athens, Macrina gave birth. During the pregnancy she stayed with her father. Despite her daring ways she was surprisingly conventional in this matter. She was desperate for a husband even though it was widely known that the bastard was Julian’s and therefore a mark of honour for the mother. Luckily, the Alexandrian married her and declared the child was his.

I saw the boy occasionally while he was growing up. He is now in his twenties and looks somewhat like his father, which makes it hard for me to be with him. Stoic though I am, in certain memories there is pain. Fortunately, the boy lives now in Alexandria, where he runs his stepfather’s trading office. He has, Macrina once told me, no interest in philosophy. He is a devout Christian. So that is the end of the house of Constantine. Did Julian know that he had a son? I think not. Macrina swears she never told him, and I almost believe her.

A few years ago I met Macrina in what we Athenians call the Roman agora. We greeted one another amiably, and sat together on the steps of the water-clock tower. I asked about her son.

“He is beautiful! He looks exactly like his father, an emperor, a god!” Macrina has lost none of her old fierce flow of language, though the edge to her wit is somewhat blunted. “But I don’t regret it.”

“The resemblance? Or being the mother of Julian’s son?”

She did not answer. She looked absently across the agora, crowded as always with lawyers and tax collectors. Her dark eyes were as glittering as ever, though her face has grown jowly and the heavy bosom fallen with maternity and age. She turned to me abruptly.

“He wanted to marry me. Did you know that, Priscus? I could have been Empress of Rome. What a thought! Would you have liked that? Do you think I would have been… decorative? Certainly unusual. How many empresses have been philosophers in their own tight? It would have been amusing. I should have worn a lot of jewellery, even though I detest ornaments. Look at me!” She tugged at the simple garment she wore. Despite her husband’s wealth, Macrina wore no tings, no brooches, no combs in her hair, no jewels in her ears. “But empresses must look the part. They have no choice. Of course I should have had a bad character. I would have modelled myself on Messalina.”

“You? Insatiable?” I could not help laughing.

“Absolutely!” The old edge returned briefly; the black eyes were humorous. “I’m a faithful wife now because I am fat and no one wants me. At least no one I would want wants me. But I’m drawn to beauty. I should love to be a whore! Except I’d want to choose the clientele, which is why I should have loved being empress! History would have loved me, too! Macrina the Insatiable!”

Anyone who saw us on those steps would have thought: what an eminently respectable couple! An old philosopher and a dignified matron, solemnly discussing the price of corn or the bishop’s latest sermon. Instead Macrina was intoning a hymn to lust.

“What would Julian have thought?” I managed to interject before she gave too many specific details of her appetite. It is curious how little interested we are in the sexual desires of those who do not attract us. “I wonder.” She paused. “I’m not sure he would have minded, No. No. No, he would have minded. Oh, not out of jealousy. I don’t think he was capable of that. He simply disliked excess. So do I, for that matter, but then I have never had the chance to be excessive, except in food, of course.” She patted herself. “You see the result? Of course I could still be a beauty in Persia. They revel in fat women.” Then: “Did he ever mention me to you? Later? When you were with him in Persia?”

I shook my head. I’m not certain why I lied to her, unless dislike is sufficient motive.

“No. I suppose he wouldn’t.” She did not seem distressed. One must admire the strength of her egotism. “Before he went back to Milan, he told me that if he lived he would marry me. Contrary to gossip, he did not know that I was pregnant then. I never told him. But I did tell him that I wanted to be his wife, although if Constantius had other plans for him (which of course he did) I would not grieve. Oh, I was a formidable girl!”

“Did you ever hear from him again?”

She shook her head. “Not even a letter. But shortly after he became Emperor he told the new proconsul of Greece to come see me and ask if there was anything I wanted. I shall never forget the look of surprise on the proconsul’s face when he saw me. One look assured him that Julian could not have had any amatory interest in this fat lady. He was puzzled, poor man… Do you think Julian knew about our son? It was not the best-kept secret.”

I said I did not think so. And I do not think so. I certainly never told him, and who else would have dared?

“Did you know Julian’s wife?”

I nodded. “In Gaul. She was much older than he. And very plain.”

“So I’ve heard. I was never jealous. After all, he was forced to marry her. Was he really celibate after she died?”

“As far as I know.”

“He was strange! I’m sure the Christians would have made a saint out of him if he had been one of theirs, and his poor bones would be curing liver complaints at this very moment. Well, that is all over, isn’t it?” She glanced at the water clock behind us. “I’m late. How much do you bribe the tax assessor?”

“Hippia looks after those matters.”

“Women are better at such things. It has to do with details. We delight in them. We are children of the magpie.” She rose heavily, with some difficulty. She steadied herself against the white marble wall of the tower. “Yes, I should have liked to have been Empress of Rome.”

“I doubt it. If you had been empress, you would be dead by now. The Christians would have killed you.”

“Do you think I would have minded that?” She turned full on me and the large black eyes blazed like obsidian in the sun. “Don’t you realize—can’t you tell just by looking at me, my dear wise old Priscus— that not a day has passed in twenty years I haven’t wished I were dead!”

Macrina left me on the steps. As I watched the blunt figure waddle through the crowd towards the magistrate’s office, I recalled her as she had been years before and I must say for a moment I was touched by the urgency of that cry from the heart. But it does not alter the fact that she was and is a sublimely disagreeable woman. I’ve not talked to her since that day, though we always nod when we see one another in the street.