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Ancient Rome Emperor Julian

Gibbon on Julian – 3

Edward-Gibbon

The History of the Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire

Chapter XIX




Besides the reigning emperor, Julian alone survived, of all the numerous posterity of Constantius Chlorus. The misfortune of his royal birth involved him in the disgrace of Gallus. From his retirement in the happy country of Ionia, he was conveyed under a strong guard to the court of Milan; where he languished above seven months, in the continual apprehension of suffering the same ignominious death, which was daily inflicted almost before his eyes, on the friends and adherents of his persecuted family.

His looks, his gestures, his silence, were scrutinized with malignant curiosity, and he was perpetually assaulted by enemies whom he had never offended, and by arts to which he was a stranger. But in the school of adversity, Julian insensibly acquired the virtues of firmness and discretion. He defended his honor, as well as his life, against the insnaring subtleties of the eunuchs, who endeavored to extort some declaration of his sentiments; and whilst he cautiously suppressed his grief and resentment, he nobly disdained to flatter the tyrant, by any seeming approbation of his brother’s murder.

Julian most devoutly ascribes his miraculous deliverance to the protection of the gods, who had exempted his innocence from the sentence of destruction pronounced by their justice against the impious house of Constantine. As the most effectual instrument of their providence, he gratefully acknowledges the steady and generous friendship of the empress Eusebia, a woman of beauty and merit, who, by the ascendant which she had gained over the mind of her husband, counterbalanced, in some measure, the powerful conspiracy of the eunuchs.

By the intercession of his patroness, Julian was admitted into the Imperial presence: he pleaded his cause with a decent freedom, he was heard with favor; and, notwithstanding the efforts of his enemies, who urged the danger of sparing an avenger of the blood of Gallus, the milder sentiment of Eusebia prevailed in the council. But the effects of a second interview were dreaded by the eunuchs; and Julian was advised to withdraw for a while into the neighborhood of Milan, till the emperor thought proper to assign the city of Athens for the place of his honorable exile. As he had discovered, from his earliest youth, a propensity, or rather passion, for the language, the manners, the learning, and the religion of the Greeks, he obeyed with pleasure an order so agreeable to his wishes. Far from the tumult of arms, and the treachery of courts, he spent six months under the groves of the academy, in a free intercourse with the philosophers of the age, who studied to cultivate the genius, to encourage the vanity, and to inflame the devotion of their royal pupil.

Their labors were not unsuccessful; and Julian inviolably preserved for Athens that tender regard which seldom fails to arise in a liberal mind, from the recollection of the place where it has discovered and exercised its growing powers. The gentleness and affability of manners, which his temper suggested and his situation imposed, insensibly engaged the affections of the strangers, as well as citizens, with whom he conversed. Some of his fellow-students might perhaps examine his behavior with an eye of prejudice and aversion; but Julian established, in the schools of Athens, a general prepossession in favor of his virtues and talents, which was soon diffused over the Roman world.

Whilst his hours were passed in studious retirement, the empress, resolute to achieve the generous design which she had undertaken, was not unmindful of the care of his fortune. The death of the late Cæsar had left Constantius invested with the sole command, and oppressed by the accumulated weight, of a mighty empire. Before the wounds of civil discord could be healed, the provinces of Gaul were overwhelmed by a deluge of Barbarians.

The Sarmatians no longer respected the barrier of the Danube. The impunity of rapine had increased the boldness and numbers of the wild Isaurians: those robbers descended from their craggy mountains to ravage the adjacent country, and had even presumed, though without success, to besiege the important city of Seleucia, which was defended by a garrison of three Roman legions. Above all, the Persian monarch, elated by victory, again threatened the peace of Asia, and the presence of the emperor was indispensably required, both in the West and in the East. For the first time, Constantius sincerely acknowledged, that his single strength was unequal to such an extent of care and of dominion. Insensible to the voice of flattery, which assured him that this all-powerful virtue, and celestial fortune, would still continue to triumph over every obstacle, he listened with complacency to the advice of Eusebia, which gratified his indolence, without offending his suspicious pride.

As she perceived that the remembrance of Gallus dwelt on the emperor’s mind, she artfully turned his attention to the opposite characters of the two brothers, which from their infancy had been compared to those of Domitian and of Titus. She accustomed her husband to consider Julian as a youth of a mild, unambitious disposition, whose allegiance and gratitude might be secured by the gift of the purple, and who was qualified to fill with honor a subordinate station, without aspiring to dispute the commands, or to shade the glories, of his sovereign and benefactor. After an obstinate, though secret struggle, the opposition of the favorite eunuchs submitted to the ascendency of the empress; and it was resolved that Julian, after celebrating his nuptials with Helena, sister of Constantius, should be appointed, with the title of Cæsar, to reign over the countries beyond the Alps.

Although the order which recalled him to court was probably accompanied by some intimation of his approaching greatness, he appeals to the people of Athens to witness his tears of undissembled sorrow, when he was reluctantly torn away from his beloved retirement. He trembled for his life, for his fame, and even for his virtue; and his sole confidence was derived from the persuasion, that Minerva inspired all his actions, and that he was protected by an invisible guard of angels, whom for that purpose she had borrowed from the Sun and Moon.

He approached, with horror, the palace of Milan; nor could the ingenuous youth conceal his indignation, when he found himself accosted with false and servile respect by the assassins of his family. Eusebia, rejoicing in the success of her benevolent schemes, embraced him with the tenderness of a sister; and endeavored, by the most soothing caresses, to dispel his terrors, and reconcile him to his fortune. But the ceremony of shaving his beard, and his awkward demeanor, when he first exchanged the cloak of a Greek philosopher for the military habit of a Roman prince, amused, during a few days, the levity of the Imperial court.

The emperors of the age of Constantine no longer deigned to consult with the senate in the choice of a colleague; but they were anxious that their nomination should be ratified by the consent of the army. On this solemn occasion, the guards, with the other troops whose stations were in the neighborhood of Milan, appeared under arms; and Constantius ascended his lofty tribunal, holding by the hand his cousin Julian, who entered the same day into the twenty-fifth year of his age.

In a studied speech, conceived and delivered with dignity, the emperor represented the various dangers which threatened the prosperity of the republic, the necessity of naming a Cæsar for the administration of the West, and his own intention, if it was agreeable to their wishes, of rewarding with the honors of the purple the promising virtues of the nephew of Constantine. The approbation of the soldiers was testified by a respectful murmur; they gazed on the manly countenance of Julian, and observed with pleasure, that the fire which sparkled in his eyes was tempered by a modest blush, on being thus exposed, for the first time, to the public view of mankind.

As soon as the ceremony of his investiture had been performed, Constantius addressed him with the tone of authority which his superior age and station permitted him to assume; and exhorting the new Cæsar to deserve, by heroic deeds, that sacred and immortal name, the emperor gave his colleague the strongest assurances of a friendship which should never be impaired by time, nor interrupted by their separation into the most distant climes. As soon as the speech was ended, the troops, as a token of applause, clashed their shields against their knees; while the officers who surrounded the tribunal expressed, with decent reserve, their sense of the merits of the representative of Constantius.

The two princes returned to the palace in the same chariot; and during the slow procession, Julian repeated to himself a verse of his favorite Homer, which he might equally apply to his fortune and to his fears. The four-and-twenty days which the Cæsar spent at Milan after his investiture, and the first months of his Gallic reign, were devoted to a splendid but severe captivity; nor could the acquisition of honor compensate for the loss of freedom.

His steps were watched, his correspondence was intercepted; and he was obliged, by prudence, to decline the visits of his most intimate friends. Of his former domestics, four only were permitted to attend him; two pages, his physician, and his librarian; the last of whom was employed in the care of a valuable collection of books, the gift of the empress, who studied the inclinations as well as the interest of her friend. In the room of these faithful servants, a household was formed, such indeed as became the dignity of a Cæsar; but it was filled with a crowd of slaves, destitute, and perhaps incapable, of any attachment for their new master, to whom, for the most part, they were either unknown or suspected.

His want of experience might require the assistance of a wise council; but the minute instructions which regulated the service of his table, and the distribution of his hours, were adapted to a youth still under the discipline of his preceptors, rather than to the situation of a prince intrusted with the conduct of an important war. If he aspired to deserve the esteem of his subjects, he was checked by the fear of displeasing his sovereign; and even the fruits of his marriage-bed were blasted by the jealous artifices of Eusebia herself, who, on this occasion alone, seems to have been unmindful of the tenderness of her sex, and the generosity of her character.

The memory of his father and of his brothers reminded Julian of his own danger, and his apprehensions were increased by the recent and unworthy fate of Sylvanus. In the summer which preceded his own elevation, that general had been chosen to deliver Gaul from the tyranny of the Barbarians; but Sylvanus soon discovered that he had left his most dangerous enemies in the Imperial court. A dexterous informer, countenanced by several of the principal ministers, procured from him some recommendatory letters; and erasing the whole of the contents, except the signature, filled up the vacant parchment with matters of high and treasonable import.

By the industry and courage of his friends, the fraud was however detected, and in a great council of the civil and military officers, held in the presence of the emperor himself, the innocence of Sylvanus was publicly acknowledged.

But the discovery came too late; the report of the calumny, and the hasty seizure of his estate, had already provoked the indignant chief to the rebellion of which he was so unjustly accused.

He assumed the purple at his head-quarters of Cologne, and his active powers appeared to menace Italy with an invasion, and Milan with a siege. In this emergency, Ursicinus, a general of equal rank, regained, by an act of treachery, the favor which he had lost by his eminent services in the East. Exasperated, as he might speciously allege, by the injuries of a similar nature, he hastened with a few followers to join the standard, and to betray the confidence, of his too credulous friend. After a reign of only twenty-eight days, Sylvanus was assassinated: the soldiers who, without any criminal intention, had blindly followed the example of their leader, immediately returned to their allegiance; and the flatterers of Constantius celebrated the wisdom and felicity of the monarch who had extinguished a civil war without the hazard of a battle.

The protection of the Rhætian frontier, and the persecution of the Catholic church, detained Constantius in Italy above eighteen months after the departure of Julian.

Categories
Beauty Yearling (novel)

The Yearling, 2

Suddenly he heard his father whistle like a quail. It was the signal they used together in squirrel hunting. Jody laid down his pole and looked back to make sure he could identify the tuft of grass where he had covered his bass from the rays of the sun. He walked cautiously to where his father beckoned.

Penny whispered, “Foller me. We’ll ease up clost as we dare.”

He pointed. “The whoopin’ cranes is dancin’.”

Jody saw the great white birds in the distance. His father’s eye, he thought, was like an eagle’s. They crouched on all fours and crept forward slowly. Now and then Penny dropped flat on his stomach and Jody dropped behind him. They reached a clump of high saw-grass and Penny motioned for concealment behind it. The birds were so close that it seemed to Jody he might touch them with his long fishing pole. Penny squatted on his haunches and Jody followed. His eyes were wide. He made a count of the whooping cranes. There were sixteen.

The cranes were dancing a cotillion as surely as it was danced at Volusia. Two stood apart, erect and white, making a strange music that was part cry and part singing. The rhythm was irregular, like the dance. The other birds were in a circle. In the heart of the circle, several moved counter-clock-wise. The musicians made their music. The dancers raised their wings and lifted their feet, first one and then the other. They sank their heads deep in their snowy breasts, lifted them and sank them again. They moved soundlessly, part awkwardness, part grace. The dance was solemn. Wings fluttered, rising and falling like out-stretched arms. The outer circle shuffled around and around. The group in the center attained a slow frenzy.

Suddenly all motion ceased. Jody thought the dance was over, or that the intruders had been discovered. Then the two musicians joined the circle. Two others took their places. There was a pause. The dance was resumed. The birds were reflected in the clear marsh water. Sixteen white shadows reflected the motions. The evening breeze moved across the saw-grass. It bowed and fluttered. The water rippled. The setting sun lay rosy on the white bodies. Magic birds were dancing in a mystic marsh. The grass swayed with them, and the shallow waters, and the earth fluttered under them. The earth was dancing with the cranes, and the low sun, and the wind and sky.

Magic_moment

Jody found his own arms lifting and falling with his breath, as the cranes’ wings lifted. The sun was sinking into the saw-grass. The marsh was golden. The whooping cranes were washed with gold. The far hammocks were black. Darkness came to the lily pads, and the water blackened. The cranes were whiter than any clouds, or any white bloom of oleander or of lily. Without warning, they took flight. Whether the hour-long dance was, simply, done, or whether the long nose of an alligator had lifted above the water to alarm them, Jody could not tell, but they were gone. They made a great circle against the sunset, whooping their strange rusty cry that sounded only in their flight. Then they flew in a long line into the west, and vanished.

Penny and Jody straightened and stood up. They walked in silence.

At the house, bread was baked and waiting, and hot fat was in the iron skillet. Penny lighted a fat-wood torch and went to the lot to do his chores. Jody scaled and dressed the fish at the back stoop, where a ray of light glimmered from the fire on the hearth. Ma Baxter dipped the pieces in meal and fried them crisp and golden. The family ate without speaking.

She said, “What ails you fellers?”

They did not answer. They had no thought for what they ate nor for the woman. They were no more than conscious that she spoke to them. They had seen a thing that was unearthly. They were in a trance from the strong spell of its beauty.

Categories
Civil war Eschatology Ethnic cleansing

The end of the world as we know it

America is a powder keg. In the near future, there will be racial war from coast to coast, internecine war among whites in all regions, the rise of despotic strongmen, and finally mass ethnic-cleansing. And every day that this inevitable descent into carnage doesn’t begin, is a day that white people should be using to prepare.

I personally like Jared Taylor, but I agree with him that an American Renaissance, under present conditions, is not going to happen. I do believe that some form of America, both ideological as well as physically territorial, will emerge from the ashes of this coming hell-on-earth, similar to the way modern, ethno-nationalist Russia emerged from the Soviet Union’s demise.

—Chris

Categories
Beauty Lloyd deMause Yearling (novel)

The Yearling, 1

moment of eternity

The Yearling is a 1938 classic authored by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (1896-1953); the above is an illustration by Newell Convers Wyeth (1882-1945) of a scene in the novel.

Recently I read The Yearling for the very first time in my life—the very same old copy with Wyeth’s moving illustrations that so much inspired me as a young child, though never read it.

Now, decades later, I finally read it and the story was quite a shock. I’ll try to offer my views on it now that, for many years after my childhood, I investigated in-depth the subject of parental-filial relations.

My interpolated comments below, in brown letters:



Penny Baxter lay awake beside the vast sleeping bulk of his wife. He was always wakeful on the full moon. He had often wondered whether, with the light so bright, men were not meant to go into their fields and labor. He would like to slip from his bed and perhaps cut down an oak for wood, or finish the hoeing that Jody had left undone.

“I reckon I’d ought to of crawled him about it,” he thought.

In his day, he would have been thoroughly thrashed for slipping away and idling. His father would have sent him back to the spring, without his supper, to tear out the flutter-mill.

“But that’s it,” he thought. “A boy ain’t a boy too long.”

As he looked back over the years, he himself had had no boyhood. His own father had been a preacher, stern as the Old Testament God. The living had come, however, not from the Word, but from the small farm near Volusia on which he had raised a large family. He had taught them to read and write and to know the Scriptures, but all of them, from the time they could toddle behind him down the corn rows, carrying the sack of seed, had toiled until their small bones ached and their growing fingers cramped.

Although it is apparently nonsense to try to ponder into the soul of a fictional character—precisely what I’ll do—, I believe that Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, hereafter referred to as “Marjorie,” must have observed something like this in real life.

Folk who lived along the deep and placid river St Johns, alive with craft, with dugouts and scows, lumber rafts and freight and passenger vessels, side-wheel steamers that almost filled the stream, in places, from bank to bank, had said that Penny Baxter was either a brave man or a crazy one to leave the common way of life and take his bride into the very heart of the wild Florida scrub, populous with bears and wolves and panthers. It had been understandable for the Forresters to go there, for the growing family of great burly quarrelsome males needed all the room in the county, and freedom from any hindrance. But who would hinder Penny Baxter?

It was not hindrance. But in the towns and villages, in farming sections where neighbors were not too far apart, men’s minds and actions and property overlapped. There were intrusions on the individual spirit. There were friendliness and mutual help in time of trouble, true, but there were bickerings and watchfulness, one man suspicious of another. He had grown from under the sternness of his father into a world less direct, less honest, in its harshness, and therefore more disturbing.

He had perhaps been bruised too often.

As will be seen by the end of the novel, the way he was treated by the preacher will have consequences in the way Penny treated his only son. As to the mother, Marjorie tells us that “The babies were frail, and almost as fast as they came, they sickened and died.”

It is a pity that nobody in the white nationalist scene is familiar with the work of Lloyd deMause, since this pattern of many babies that became “sick and died” is common among mothers that actually are not doing their best for the survival of their offspring. Again, it would be nonsense to psychoanalyze a purely fictional character, but I am pretty sure that Marjorie observed actual happenings in the real world before writing her most famous book.

Marjorie describes the main character, the surviving son, thus:

The mirror showed a small face with high cheek bones. The face was freckled and pale, but healthy, like a fine sand. The hair grieved him on the occasions when he went to church or any doings at Volusia. It was straw-colored and shaggy, and no matter how carefully his father cut it, once a month on the Sunday morning nearest the full moon, it grew in tufts at the back. “Drakes’ tails,” his mother called them. His eyes were wide and blue. When he frowned, in close study over his reader, or watching something curious, they narrowed. It was then that his mother claimed him kin.

It must be noted that Jody’s skinniness (I would call it “leptosomatic physique”) was direct inheritance from his father, since Marjorie writes about the two, “There was room enough for the two thin bony bodies.”

The first adventure in The Yearling was a failed attempt to kill a large bear who had been causing havoc among the family’s farm animals. Three dogs joined the hunting with father and son but one of the dogs fled in panic while the other two charged heroically at the wild beast while Penny tried to fix his broken shotgun.

A whine sounded in the bushes. A small cringing form was following them. It was Perk, the feice. Jody kicked at him in a fury.

As a child I’d never had expected this behavior from the cherubic boy I saw in Wyeth’s illustrations. Penny patiently explained his son that even a coward dog should not be mistreated.

Penny was a good man. Later he and his son Jody visited their rude neighbors, the Forresters, to get a new shotgun. Jody’s only friend in such a remote place was a Forrester kid called Fodder-wing. Handicapped since birth, this kid is presented in the novel as an animal lover. The following is a dialogue between Fodder-wing and Jody:

He said, “Hey.”

Fodder-wing said, “I got a baby ‘coon.”

He had, always, a new pet.

“Le’s go see it.”

Fodder-wing led him back of the cabin to a collection of boxes and cages that sheltered his changing assortment of birds and creatures. The pair of black swamp rabbits was not new.

The timeframe of novel is the aftermath of the American Civil War. The above dialogue caught my attention because it shows the jump of empathy or “psychoclass” (again, a deMause term) from those times and our current times.

A year ago my niece received a wonderful gift: a little rabbit. I observed her pet’s behavior for a while and concluded that it is cruel to put these absolutely cute creatures in cages. They need open spaces and feel real soil beneath their limbs. Presently rabbit lovers know that their pets must be free at least four or five hours a day, preferably in the backyard or home’s garden. Many rabbit owners allow their pets move freely in their flats if they cannot afford gardens. Compared to them, even the most sensitive member of the Forresters belonged to another class, empathetically speaking.

After the scene of Jody and Fodder-wing’s diverse pets outdoors, the next scene occurs indoors, in the Forrester home:

Buck said, “Leave the young un stay, Penny. I got to go to Volusia tomorrow. I’ll ride him by your place.”

“His Ma’ll rare,” Penny said.

“That’s what Ma’s is good for. Eh, Jody?”

“Pa, I’d be mighty proud to stay. I ain’t played none in a long while.”

“Not since day before yestiddy. Well, stay, then, if these folks is shore you’re welcome. Lem, don’t kill the boy if you try out the feice afore Buck gits him home to me.”

They shouted with laughter. Penny shouldered the new gun with his old one and went for his horse.

Even while Penny was, metaphorically speaking, two quantum leaps above the Forresters as to what elemental empathy is concerned, in my opinion he was not empathetic enough.

If I had a beautiful young son like Jody, I would never leave him spending a night among the masculine, Neanderthalesque neighbors even if I had no reason to suspect that any of them had “feelings” for my little angel. (To be continued…)

Categories
Indo-European heritage Michelangelo Who We Are (book) Zeus

Only Zeus saves

Statue-of-Zeus-at-Olympia

Can the white race be spared from extinction? If I was a billionaire, yes.

With billions I would reconstruct the temple of Zeus, probably in Greece or somewhere in Italy, or maybe in Germany since the ancient Greeks and Etruscans, as well as the original Latins and Sabines, were far more Nordish than the mongrelized whites you find closest to the Mediterranean Sea.

Just as the immigrant Jews in the 19th and 20th centuries misleadingly described themselves as “people of the Jewish faith” to the gentile Americans who accepted them, in these times of hate-speech laws throughout Europe building a movement under the umbrella of an ancient religion could grant us plausible denial that our purpose was not “racist,” but cultural.

Think a minute about it. You can only imagine the awe and wonder that a pagan temple as magnificent as St Peter’s Basilica, the legacy of Michelangelo Buonarroti, would cause in the deracinated eyes of contemporary westerners. Would it remind them of their lost heritage and true roots? As Manu Rodríguez told me in his letter:

In short, we need to create the Aryan community (ecclesia), which, for the above circumstances, we never had. The Aryan ecclesias need to thrive in our towns and cities. Our “priests” (for lack of a better word) are not experts in theology but in history, anthropology and Indo-European linguistics… They must be skilled in the various Indo-European traditions.

These days that I have been mentioning Rodríguez’s articles, the following phrase in the article I translated yesterday caught my attention:

We’ll have to start from the beginning. We have to ask ourselves who we are.

For those who have not read Pierce’s Who We Are, it’s high time to take a good look at it and see what would be taught in our temples.

If you already have read it but not any of Rodríguez’s articles, you may start with his article, “The God who Unleashes and Liberates.”

Categories
Enlightenment Racial studies

Another major deception by the Left

Every one either praises or blames the Enlightenment for the enshrinement of equality and cosmopolitanism as the moral pillars of our times. This is wrong. Enlightenment thinkers were racists who believed that only white Europeans could be fully rational, good citizens, and true cosmopolitans.

 

_____________________________

Read the rest of this scholarly article at Counter-Currents.

Categories
Final solution Indo-European heritage Kali Yuga Psychoanalysis Universalism Vikings

Aryan thoughts, white thoughts (1)

by Manu Rodríguez

Translated from Spanish

The Messianic Jewish universalism, the democratic, socialist or social and political ideals, have ended up by reducing to a minimum our identity and our bio-symbolic pride and ethnicity. The Aryan nation (Aryans aware of themselves) is now a minimum percentage of its potential population (all white peoples).

The trans-national, trans-racial, trans-cultural ideal that these ideologies preach us (beyond peoples, races, cultures), and that are the staple food in our schools, our media, our mass culture, our universities, our streets, have managed to finally affect us. There are hundreds of years of the same. Please note that the Jewish Messianism has been spreading its venomous message for almost two thousand years. The communist and democratic universalism are a thing of recent times, but have only come to reinforce the old narrative. These two are the same ideals.

Such ideals (such teachings, such ubiquitous messages), after hundreds of years have achieved their purposes: transforming wolves and bears into kids and lambs. We, our peoples, have become weak, insecure, and timid creatures.

All this comes to mind after some news from Norway, outlined in Gates of Vienna and reviewed by Kevin MacDonald at The Occidental Observer in recent days. It is about a situation where the Norwegians are trapped in neighborhoods or areas with a high number of Asian and African-Muslim population. The starting point is a report on the schools. Apparently Norwegian pupils (boys and girls) are in the minority and are constantly insulted or assaulted by the allochthonous young Muslims. This outrageous state of affairs has generated, apparently, more than individual survival strategies.

It must be noted that this is not happening only in Norway but in France, Germany, England… Clearly these foreigners do not esteem us, nor respect us or fear us. In any of our nations they find nothing but isolated and helpless individuals who can be insulted and attacked with impunity. No one will come to their defense. There will be no response, no retaliation.

Why this lack of response, this silence and resignation? We cannot find, at the individual level (in the cited cases), any valor or pride or self-respect. There is no one to confront them. All seek to escape. That this has happened to the descendants of the fierce and proud Vikings makes one wonder.

Helplessness, weakness, cowardice. This is the result of our upbringing and instruction in the last hundreds of years in the hands of priests of foreign divinities and their universalist and altruistic creeds: a hideous transformation.

MacDonald is right in alluding that individualism and the atomization of white societies and lack of support, is where whites find themselves when they are beaten, intimidated, or violated by foreign groups (Asian Muslims, Africans and others). But such individualism and atomization are just symptoms. Symptoms of a people destroyed, annihilated; of a multitude of uprooted, scattered, isolated, weakened, and lost individuals.

The group conscience among us whites in Europe must be strengthened, yes, and in the Magna Europe. But from where, from which basis or fundamentals? What words, what concepts, what symbolic space will keep us together into a one? On which field will we make roots? What is the best soil?

Group conscience has to include race and culture, which is to say, body and soul. We have been so long away from home (since the Christianization), and with so contrary winds, that we have lost the path, the way, the memory. We’ll have to start from the beginning. We have to ask ourselves who we are, where we come from, and where we are going. We need to reclaim the memory, our memory: a collective self-gnosis of the Aryan peoples.

We must start from the multitude of ethnicities and cultures, from the tree of the peoples and cultures of the world, which is also the tree of life, the purer tree. Recognize, affirm this genuine, pure, natural, genuine multiplicity; watch over her, even protect her. Let us have it as sacred. In this tree we find ourselves, we recognize ourselves.

Gjuhet_indo-evropiane

We are the Aryan or Indo-European branch (a term that refers to our languages and related cultures) of that eternal tree.

The first is the self-consciousness of a people: that individuals and members feel they belong to a people. First of all we have to regain the Aryan consciousness, Aryan memory, the voice, the word, the ancestral and indigenous being, the symbolic and collective identities. This will give us back the pride, dignity, and honor; the moral courage, in short: collective self-legitimation.

When someone insults, attacks, or damages a Norwegian (or a German, or a Frenchman, or an Englishman) the Aryan people are insulted. It is something that overwhelms the entire Aryan community. They humiliate their values, their existence, their being. Those are defeats for our people.

It is all, therefore, about our people, our land, and our cultures. We won’t condone grievances, threats or aggressions directed at our peoples or our pre-Christian or contemporary traditions. They’ll not go unpunished, unanswered. And it will be the same peoples who will respond. We will have a multitude of Aryan voices that will respond with white pride, Aryan pride.

♣

We find no value in these universalistic discourses in which we disappear as peoples and cultures. In this area, on these grounds, it is only possible to speak in the name of “humanity” or “universal man.” In these narratives our existence is not even recognized. The peoples, races, and nations are to be transcended, overcome, denied and become extinct to achieve the new and universal man. This is the eternal universal slogan, the old and the new, that our enemy offers to us, their Trojan horse, their poisoned apple: their insidiousness, their fallacy, their trap, their lie.

Should we expect anything else from the enemy—the old witch, the Jewish community—than “poisoned apples”? We should be wary of all that these misérables have been offering to us for thousands of years: Christianity, Marxism, psychoanalysis… These “productions” have no other function than to destroy: destroy our cultures, our status, our confidence in ourselves; to make us disappear, to eliminate us ethnically and culturally.

It is a very ancient war and so far we know only losses and defeats. With the Christianization of our people we lost our native and ancestral cultures. The modern movements (Marxism, psychoanalysis, the Frankfurt School, post-structuralism) will culminate the termination process initiated by those apostles of European gentility. Nothing differentiates the “Peters” and “Pauls” of the past from Marx, Freud, Boas, Adorno, Marcuse, Derrida of our time. The same purpose, the same intention.

♣

The Aryan peoples ought to be against religious, economic and political ideologies of Semitic origin (Judaism, Jewish Messianism, Islam, Communism); against the major disseminators of these universal creeds whose invention had no other purpose than disseminating discord and dissension within a people, and to divide and confront them.

Against the intricate Semitic network! Against the universal spider! Against universalism, totalitarianism, the homogenization (Messianic Jewish, Muslim, Democrat or Communist) of the planet! Against the destroyers of peoples and cultures! This is the mission. This is our struggle, unser Kampf.

Behold the dragon, the hydra, the eternal enemies of our people and light: Vritra, Typhon, Surt. They are the dark, the gloomy, the sinister. We will make war wherever they are located. Until their extinction. We will get the entire planet rid of this serious pest. In honor of the first Aryan nation, the birth of our nation. In honor of its creator.

Ad maiorem Hitleri gloriam (AMHG).

Categories
Axiology Deranged altruism Jesus Liberalism New Testament

New Testament altruism

The “white race” has no one to blame, but themselves.

—Johan Hoeff

jesus

Throughout the latest two millennia most whites have believed in the message of the gospel, and its moral grammar, right? Contrast Hoeff’s quote with the popular mantra in some nationalist circles, “There is nothing inherently wrong with Whites.”

Before jumping angrily to this thread, please take a look at the discussion in the previous thread, preferably by becoming familiar with some of my linked articles there, including my interpretation of the deranged altruism in Wuthering Heights.

Alternatively, see Ben Klassen’s views on Christianity in general and the Sermon on the Mount in particular. Like Hoeff, Klassen maintained that, ultimately, whites are to blame for our current predicaments.

Categories
Ancient Rome Axiology Constantine Deranged altruism Egalitarianism Indo-European heritage Islam St Paul

“White people are insane”

Extracted from a thread of yesterday’s article at American Renaissance:

Commenter 1:

Even if, as Jared Taylor says, evidence for race differences in IQ becomes obvious in the future it still probably won’t change anything. It won’t necessarily make whites change their minds about immigration. There is something wrong with white people. You can’t reason with them on certain topics. They believe it is immoral to act in white group interests, and IQ tests won’t change their minds.

How come Japan and Israel can preserve their racial majorities? Because they are not insane. White people are insane. Their moral views on race are fixed and these people cannot be reasoned with on moral or intellectual grounds. That’s why I think whites, at least in America, are destined for continued perpetual decline in terms of demographics. Sorry to sound so defeatist.

Commenter 2:

I blame this suicidal mental sickness on “Christianity”. That religion is equivalent to a gulp of deadly poison, which I believe was deliberately poured into our drinking cup by our most deadly enemy.

Commenter 3:

Frankly this view shouldn’t be tolerated amongst Western traditionalists. Remember: Christianity is what conquered pagan Europe and drove back the Muslim barbaric.

Commenter 4:

This race-denying, universalist, “everybody must be equal” cult can corrupt any church, any religion, any political party, any economic system, any think tank. It’s not just Christianity. It is true that the founder of Judeo-Christianity, St. Paul, the former ethno-centric Pharisee Saul of Tarsus, preached race-denying nonsense “that there weren’t any Greeks or Jews”, just those who have accepted Jesus Christ. I look at St. Paul as the first “Neo Conservative” who supposedly “saw the light” on the Road to Damascus.

My 2 cents:

Commenter 3 misses the whole point: No Saul, no Mohamed. No decline of Rome, a decline caused partially by the fact that Constantine delivered Greco-Roman culture to the bishops, no genocidal Mongol conquests over a very weakened West.

Notice also how Commenter 3 uses “pagan” while referring to our pre-Christian, Indo-European world. He has not read the articles by the Spanish writer I have been advertising here (see e.g., this one).

Categories
Art Christendom Christian art

Bosch:

A Christian I do respect

Christ-Cross

In Hieronymus Bosch’s 1515 painting, each male Jewish face is depicted as a loathsome caricature (except that of Jesus who under Christendom’s eyes did not count as a Jew).