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Tag: Christian problem (CP)

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Dominion (book)

Dominion, 6

Or:

How the Woke monster originated

The following quotes are taken from the chapter ‘Exodus: 632’ of Dominion. Tom Holland begins by talking about something the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius did: forcefully baptise the Carthaginian Jews. As we have seen in my criticism of Richard Wagner from a week ago, this is a fatal error. The litmus test are the genes, as the Nazis well saw; not the faith. But even by the 7th century the values were already so inverted that race didn’t matter, only state ideology.

The site of the [Jerusalem] Temple had been converted into a rubbish tip, a dumping-ground for dead pigs and shit; Jews themselves—except for one day a year, when a delegation was permitted to climb Mount Moria, there to lament and weep—were banned from Jerusalem; legal restrictions on their civic status grew ever more oppressive. It was forbidden them to serve in the army; to own Christian slaves; to build new synagogues. In exchange, Jews were granted the right to live according to their own traditions—but only so that they might then better serve the Christian people as a spectacle and a warning. Now, with his abrupt new shift of policy, Heraclius had denied them even that. [page 180]

What is striking about this passage is what Eduardo Velasco, in his webzine Evropa Soberana, wrote in his master essay on the struggle between Rome and Jerusalem. Yahweh, interpreted psychologically, means a very iron will of the Hebrews. Initially, the republican Romans had the same will, Velasco tells us. But through the imperial centuries, and later due to Christian subversion, that will was diluted; leaving only the will of the Jews to survive as a people. Otherwise, the Greco-Romans would have maintained, clandestinely as the Jews did, the Aryan religion in the face of the destruction of their temples by the Christians.

So it was, in Carthage, that the emperor’s policy was punctiliously applied. Any Jew who landed in the city risked arrest and forcible baptism. All he had to do was cry out in Hebrew when twisting an ankle, or perhaps expose himself at the baths, to risk denunciation. [page 181]

Having to see the dicks of a kike to know that he is a kike only shows that, even since those times, Mediterranean miscegenation had already erased the emaciation line between Aryan and Semitic. From the time when such miscegenation was consummated Rome was lost; Christianity only institutionalized that genetic reality.

Holland then devotes several pages to the greatest historical event of that century: the irruption of Islam. It seems most natural to me that, once the Mediterranean lost the Nordic stock it still possessed during the Punic Wars, the sandniggers would rise and triumph over these Christian mudbloods.

In the event, two sieges were required to wrest Carthage from Christian rule. After the city had been captured the second time, and its inhabitants slaughtered or enslaved, its conqueror razed its buildings to the ground. The masonry was then loaded into wagons and carted along the bay. There, on a hill, stood the small town of Tunis. Long in the shadow of Carthage, its time had now come. The building of a new capital from the rubble of the old proclaimed the triumph of Islam in one of the strongholds of the Christian West: the home of Cyprian, of Donatus, of Augustine. Such a thing was not meant to happen. For many centuries, the Christians of Africa had tended the flame of their faith. Just as the Israelites had followed Moses through the desert, so had they, members of the pilgrim Church, been guided through the centuries by the Holy Spirit. But now a new people, warriors who themselves claimed to be on an exodus, had seized the rule of Africa; and the Africans, for the first time in four hundred years, found themselves under the rule of masters who scorned the name of Christian. As in Jerusalem, so in Tunis, the conquerors did not hesitate to proclaim that a new revelation, God-given and uncorrupted, had superseded the old. It was not churches that were built out of the demolished walls and columns of Carthage, but places of worship called by the Arabs masajid: ‘mosques’. [187-188]

Just as the devastation of Rome didn’t cause any cognitive dissonance to Pope Gregory, mentioned in the previous entry, at this point Europeans were no longer capable of questioning the Christian theocracy when suffering these calamities. We can already imagine the fate the Arabs would have faced before genetically pure, pagan Romans discovering both the scientific method and industrial, military technology. In a nutshell, no Christian takeover of the pagan world, no Islam. (See Deschner’s book in the featured post that shows how the Church took it upon itself to destroy all the classical knowledge accumulated over the centuries.)

Holland then provides an overview of how England came to be, repudiating its pagan past:

It was, however, conveniently located for Rome; and it was from Rome, back in 597, that a band of monks sent by Pope Gregory had arrived in Kent. Britain, the home of Pelagius and Patrick, boasted ancient Christian roots; but many of these, in the centuries following the collapse of Roman rule, had either withered or been pulled up and trampled underfoot. Germanic-speaking warlords, carving out kingdoms for themselves, had seized control of the richest third of the island. Calling themselves variously Angles, or Saxons, or Jutes, they had been proudly and swaggeringly pagan. Rather than accept the Christianity of the conquered natives, as the Franks had done, they had scorned it. All the same, they had kept a careful eye on the world beyond their shores. They had been alert to the potency of Frankish kingship, and to the allure of Rome. When the Pope’s emissary arrived in Britain, he had been given a cautious welcome. The king of Kent, after contemplating the mysteries revealed to him by Augustine, and weighing up the various opportunities that acceptance of them promised, had submitted to baptism. Over the following decades, a succession of other warlords across eastern Britain had done the same. [pages 188-189]

The Anglo-Saxon tribes, like the Germanic ones, never had such a firm will to perpetuate themselves as Hitler would have. The reason for this is that a religion had not yet emerged which had the Aryan race as its basic principle, as National Socialism had. It is vital to understand that both Eduardo Velasco and William Pierce erred in considering Sparta the paradigm to emulate. History tells us loudly that only the Germany of the Third Reich understood the laws of life to the point of elaborating a State that complied with them. Using the metaphor of the recent series on the Nibelung ring, only Hitler had the will to return it to the river nymphs. The rest of the Aryans wanted to have power by possessing it (remember: the Wagnerian tetralogy ends in tragedy).

In the next few pages Holland talks about an Anglian monk, Bede, but I would just like to focus on a single passage:

Bede used, though, what he could. Why had Gregory sent a mission to be the salvation of his people? Because, so Bede reported, he had seen blond-haired boys for sale in Rome’s market and, struck by their beauty, asked from where they came; then, on being told that the slaves were Angles, made a fateful pun. ‘It is fitting,’ he said, ‘for their faces are those of angels—and so they should properly share with the angels an inheritance in heaven.’ [page 192]

On this site, I have already quoted a few words from the preface to Thomas Hubbard’s book, Homosexuality in Greece and Rome, a preface that I read online. I have to get a hard copy and read it all because I get the impression that sexually abusing children by an institution didn’t start in the classical world but in Christendom.

In time, the Saxons and the Jutes would indeed come to think of themselves as sharing a single identity with the Angles—and even to accept their name. Their kingdoms, following their union, would be known as Anglia and, in their own language, Englalonde. Just as the inheritance of scripture had inspired a momentous new configuration of identities in the Near East, so also in Britain. The elements of Exodus, so evident in the stories that Muslims told of their origins, were shaping, at the far end of the world, the cocoon of myth in which another people were being formed: the English. [page 193]

The last pages of the chapter are devoted to the rise of the Franks.

Even as Poitiers was being fought, collections of sayings attributed to Muhammad were being compiled that, in due course, would come to constitute an entire corpus of law: Sunna… The Talmud, an immense body of law compiled by Jewish scholars—rabbis—in the centuries prior to the Arab conquest of the Near East, had never threatened the inheritance of Paul’s teachings as the Sunna did… Few, if any, who fought at Poitiers would have realised it, but at stake in the battle had been nothing less than the legacy of Saint Paul.

‘For you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God.’ The Pope, when he quoted this line of scripture in a letter to Pepin, was not merely flattering the Franks, but acknowledging a brute reality. Increasingly, it was the empire ruled by the heirs of Charles Martel—the Carolingians—that defined for the papacy the very character of Christian rule. Paul I, unlike his predecessors, had failed to notify the emperor in Constantinople of his election. Instead, he had written to Pepin. The Byzantines, struggling for survival as they were against relentless Muslim onslaughts, appeared to Christians in Rome—let alone in Francia or Northumbria—an ever more alien and distant people. Even more spectral were the lands that for centuries had constituted the great wellsprings of the Christian faith: Syria and Palestine, Egypt and Africa. The days when a man like Theodore might freely travel from Tarsus to Canterbury were over. The Mediterranean was now a Saracen sea. Its waters were perilous for Christians to sail. The world was cut in half. An age was at an end. [pages 197-198]

If Judeo-Christianity first flourished in Syria and Palestine, Egypt and Africa, it is clear that we are not talking about an Aryan religion for the consumption of pure Aryans, but a mudblood religion for the consumption of mudbloods.

Categories
Catholic religious orders Destruction of Greco-Roman world Dominion (book)

Dominion, 5

Or:

How the Woke monster originated

A soothsayer lay buried nearby who, according to Homer, had interpreted the will of Apollo to the Greeks, and instructed them, at a time when the archer god had been felling them with his plague-tipped arrows, how to appease his anger. Times, though, had changed. In 391, sacrifices had been banned on the orders of a Christian Caesar. Apollo’s golden presence had been scoured from Italy. Paulinus, in his poetry, had repeatedly celebrated the god’s banishment. Apollo’s temples had been closed, his statues smashed, his altars destroyed. By 492, he no longer visited the dreams of those who slept on the slopes of Gargano… In 391, the endemic aptitude of the Alexandrian mob for rioting had turned on the Serapeum and levelled it; four decades later, the worship of Athena had been prohibited in the Parthenon. [pages 159-160]

By the end of the fifth century, it was only out in the wildest reaches of the countryside, where candles might still be lit besides springs or crossroads, and offerings to time-worn idols made, that there remained men and women who clung to ‘the depraved customs of the past’. Bishops in their cities called such deplorables pagani: not merely ‘country people’, but ‘bumpkins’. The name of ‘pagan’, though, had soon come to have a broader application. Increasingly, from the time of Julian onwards, it had been used to refer to all those—senators as well as serfs—who were neither Christians nor Jews. It was a word that reduced the vast mass of those who did not worship the One God of Israel, from atheist philosophers to peasants fingering grubby charms, to one vast and undifferentiated mass…

Certainly no Christian could imagine that it was enough merely to have closed down their temples. The forces of darkness were both cunning and resolute in their evil. That they lurked in predatory manner, waiting for Christians to fail in their duty to God, sniffing out every opportunity to seduce them into sin, was manifest from the teachings of Christ himself. His mission, so he had declared, was to ‘drive out demons’. [page 161]

Five pages later Holland speaks of a remarkable pope:

Gregory, though, had no illusions as to the scale of Rome’s decline. A city that at its peak had boasted over a million inhabitants now held barely twenty thousand. Weeds clutched at columns erected by Augustus; silt buried pediments built to honour Constantine. The vast expanse of palaces, and triumphal arches, and race-tracks, and amphitheatres, constructed over the centuries to serve as the centre of the world, now stretched abandoned, a wilderness of ruins. Even the Senate was no more. [page 166]

The rhythms of the city—its days, its weeks, its years—had been rendered Christian. The very word religio had altered its meaning: for it had come to signify the life of a monk or a nun. Gregory, when he summoned his congregation to repentance, did so as a man who had converted his palace on the Caelian into a monastery, who had lived there as a monk himself, pledged to poverty and chastity, a living, breathing embodiment of religio. The Roman people, hearing their new pope urge them to repentance, did not hesitate to obey him. Day after day, they walked the streets, raising prayers and chanting psalms. Eighty dropped dead of the plague as they went in procession. Then, on the third day, an answer at last from the heavens. The plague-arrows stopped falling. The dying abated. The Roman people were spared obliteration…

Gregory, when he sought to make sense of the calamities being visited on Italy, turned above all to the Book of Job. Its hero, given through no fault of his own into the hands of Satan, and plunged into abject wretchedness, had endured his sufferings with steadfast fortitude. Here, so Gregory argued, was the key to understanding the shocks of his own age. Satan was abroad again. Just as Job had been cast into the dust, so now were the blameless suffering disaster alongside sinners. [pages 167-168]

Some pages later the author introduces us to the subject of how Christian eschatology began to be understood:

The new Jerusalem and the lake of fire were sides of the same coin. For the earliest Christians, a tiny minority in a world seething with hostile pagans, this reflection had tended to provide reassurance. The dead, summoned from their graves, where for years, centuries, millennia they might have been mouldering, would face only two options. The resurrection of their physical bodies would ensure an eternity either of bliss or torment. The justice that in life they might either have been denied or evaded would, at the end of days, be delivered them by Christ. Only the martyrs, those who had died in their Saviour’s name, would have been spared this period of waiting. They alone, at the moment of death, were brought by golden-winged angels in a great blaze of glory directly to the palace of God. All others, saints and sinners alike, were sentenced to wait until the hour of judgement came. This, though, was not the vision of the afterlife that had come to prevail in the West. There, far more than in the Greek world, the awful majesty of the end of days, of the bodily resurrection and the final judgement, had come to be diluted. That this was so reflected in large part the influence—ironically enough—of an Athenian philosopher. ‘When death comes to a man, the mortal part of him perishes, or so it would seem. The part which is immortal, though, retires at death’s approach, and escapes unharmed and indestructible.’ So had written Plato, a contemporary of Aristophanes and the teacher of Aristotle. No other philosopher, in the formative years of the Western Church, had exerted a profounder influence over its greatest thinkers. Augustine, who in his youth had classed himself as a Platonist, had still, long after his conversion to Christianity, hailed his former master as the pagan ‘who comes nearest to us’. That the soul was immortal; that it was incorporeal; that it was immaterial: all these were propositions that Augustine had derived not from scripture, but from Athens’ greatest philosopher. Plato’s influence on the Western Church had, in the long run, proven decisive. [pages 171-172]

I have always been suspicious of Plato and Aristotle for the simple fact that they were the pagan philosophers that Christianity spared in the Middle Ages. What did all those pagans whose works disappeared with the destruction of the Library of Alexandria have to say?

Monks who knelt for hours in sheeting rain, or laboured on empty stomachs at tasks properly suited to slaves, did so in the hope of transcending the limitations of the fallen world. The veil that separated the heavenly from the earthly seemed, to their admirers, almost parted by their efforts. ‘Mortal men, so people believed, were living the lives of angels.’ Nowhere else in the Christian West were saints quite as tough, quite as manifestly holy, as they were in Ireland.

That the island had been won for Christ was a miracle in itself. Roman rule had never reached its shores. Instead, sometime in the mid-fifth century, Christianity had been preached there by an escaped slave. Patrick, a young Briton kidnapped by pirates and sold across the Irish Sea, was revered by Irish Christians not just for having brought them to Christ, but for the template of holiness with which he had provided them. Whether working as a shepherd, or fleeing his master by ship, or returning to Ireland to spread the word of God, angels had spoken to him, and guided him in all he did; nor had he hesitated, when justifying his mission, to invoke the imminence of the end of the world. A century on from Patrick’s death, the monks and nuns of Ireland still bore his stamp. They owed no duty save to God, and to their ‘father’—their ‘abbot’. Monasteries, like the ringforts that dotted the country, were proudly independent. [pages 173-174]

The infinite mendacity of Christianity is particularly noticeable in Ireland. It is known that the average Irish person has a relatively low IQ compared to the European countries with the highest IQ. It was sheer stupidity to inject seminal chalice into the asses of the novices, instead of impregnating the Irish women. The Catholic vows of celibacy resulted in the poor monks burning themselves internally, trying to calm their impetus with the cloistered ephebes: a dysgenesis opposite to what the Jews have been done for centuries. Even rabbis marry, promoting eugenics that has led them to conquer the highest IQ.

An iron discipline served to maintain them. Only a rule that was ‘strict, holy and constant, exalted, just and admirable’ could bring men and women to the dimension of the heavenly. Monks were expected to be as proficient in the strange and book-learned language of Latin as at felling trees; as familiar with the few, ferociously cherished classics of Christian literature that had reached Ireland as toiling in a field. Like Patrick, they believed themselves to stand in the shadow of the end days; like Patrick, they saw exile from their families and their native land as the surest way to an utter dependence upon God. Not all headed for the gale-lashed isolation of a rock in the Atlantic. Some crossed the sea to Britain, and there preached the gospel to the kings of barbarous peoples who still set up idols and wallowed in paganism: the Picts, the Saxons, the Angles. Others, heading southwards, took ship for the land of the Franks.

Columbanus—‘the Little Dove’—arrived in Francia in 590: the same year that Gregory was elected pope. The Irish monk, unlike the Roman aristocrat, came from the ends of the earth, without status, without pedigree; and yet, by sheer force of charisma, he would set the Latin West upon a new and momentous course. Schooled in the ferociously exacting monasticism of his native land, Columbanus appeared to the Franks a figure of awesome and even terrifying holiness. [pages 174-175]

This [eternity], when supplicants ventured through the woods that surrounded Luxeuil and approached the settlement founded by Columbanus, was what they hoped to find. The very wall that enclosed the monastery, raised by the saint’s own hand, proclaimed the triumph of the City of God over that of man. The shattered fragments of bath-houses and temples had been built into its fabric: pillars, pediments, broken statuary. These, converted to the uses of religio, were the bric-à-brac of what Augustine, two centuries previously, had identified as the order of the saeculum. [page 177]

No surprise, then, that in time the wings of the most powerful angel of them all should have been heard beating golden over Columbanus’ native land. Almost certainly, it was Irish monks studying in Bobbio who brought home with them the cult of Saint Michael. From Italy to Ireland, the charisma of the warrior archangel came to radiate across the entire West. [page 178]

An icon depicting the Archangel Michael in St Mark’s Basilica, Venice, 11th century. This image appears in Holland’s book.

Categories
Dominion (book) Emperor Julian So-called saints

Dominion, 4

Or:

How the Woke monster originated

For previous instalments of this series, see here, here and here.

When I first read Nietzsche when I was seventeen, I was very confused. At the time I wanted to rebel against my father’s traumatic Catholicism the way normies did and still do: through modern freethinker thought. I didn’t understand why Nietzsche fulminated against believers and non-believers alike. As a teenager, I never imagined that even the most militant atheists were still, axiologically, Christian.

I didn’t start to understand Nietzsche until, alarmed by the Islamisation of Europe, I read the aggregations of a Swede that I would eventually collect in the entry ‘The red giant’ (to honour Nietzsche, since 2021 this article has been available in German). The following quotes from Holland’s Dominion are taken from the chapter ‘Charity: AD 362’:

The shock of this cut Flavius Claudius Julianus [Emperor Julian] to the quick. The nephew of Constantine, he had been raised a Christian, with eunuchs set over him to keep him constant in his faith. As a young man, though, he had repudiated Christianity—and then, after becoming emperor in 361, had committed himself to claiming back from it those who had ‘abandoned the ever-living gods for the corpse of the Jew’. A brilliant scholar, a dashing general, Julian was also a man as devout in his beliefs as any of those he dismissively termed ‘Galileans’. Cybele was a particular object of his devotions. It was she, he believed, who had rescued him from the darkness of his childhood beliefs. Unsurprisingly, then, heading eastwards to prepare for war with Persia, he had paused in his journey to make a diversion to Pessinus. What he found there appalled him. Even after he had made sacrifice, and honoured those who had stayed constant in their worship of the city’s gods, he could not help but dwell in mingled anger and despondency on the neglect shown Cybele. Clearly, the people of Pessinus were unworthy of her patronage. Leaving the Galatians behind, he did as Paul had done three centuries before: he wrote them a letter.

‘My orders are that a fifth be given to the poor who serve the priests, and that the remainder be distributed to travellers and to beggars.’ Julian, in committing himself to this programme of welfare, took for granted that Cybele would approve. Caring for the weak and unfortunate, so the emperor insisted, had always been a prime concern of the gods. [pages 137-138]

One of the problems with us apostates from the Christian faith is that we fail to realise that this mania for helping the dispossessed is also Christian, even in non-Christian contexts. On this site, I have generally spoken well of Emperor Julian, but like all apostates, he probably never realised that, axiologically, he was still a Christian…

The heroes of the Iliad, favourites of the gods, golden and predatory, had scorned the weak and downtrodden. So too, for all the honour that Julian paid them, had philosophers. The starving deserved no sympathy… The young emperor, sincere though he was in his hatred of ‘Galilean’ teachings, and in regretting their impact upon all that he held most dear, was blind to the irony of his plan for combating them: that it was itself irredeemably Christian. ‘How apparent to everyone it is, and how shameful, that our own people lack support from us, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galileans support not only their own poor, but ours as well.’ [page 139]

The reversal of Greco-Roman values was already taking place at the time of the reign of the house of Constantine, i.e. the descendants or relatives of the first Christian emperor.

The wealthy, men who in previous generations might have boosted their status by endowing their cities with theatres, or temples, or bath-houses, had begun to find in the Church a new vent for their ambitions. This was why Julian, in a quixotic attempt to endow the worship of the ancient gods with a similar appeal, had installed a high priest over Galatia and urged his subordinates to practise poor relief. Christians did not merely inspire in Julian a profound contempt; they filled him with envy as well. [page 140]

There was no human existence so wretched, none so despised or vulnerable, that it did not bear witness to the image of God. Divine love for the outcast and derelict demanded that mortals love them too… ‘The bread in your board belongs to the hungry; the cloak in your wardrobe to the naked; the shoes you let rot to the barefoot; the money in your vaults to the destitute.’ The days when a wealthy man had only to sponsor a self-aggrandising piece of architecture to be hailed a public benefactor were well and truly gone. [pages 140-141]

In the following pages, Holland informs us that the quixotic Emperor Julian perished fighting the Persians, and gives us further evidence of how values were reversed:

And if so, then Martin—judged by the venerable standards of the aristocracy in Gaul—represented a new and disconcerting breed of hero: a Christian one. Such was the very essence of his magnetism. He was admired by his followers not despite but because of his rejection of worldly norms. Rather than accept a donative from Julian, he had publicly demanded release from the army altogether. ‘Until now it is you I have served; from this moment on I am a servant of Christ.’ Whether indeed Martin had truly said this, his followers found it easy to believe that he had… By choosing to live as a beggar, he had won a fame greater than that of any other Christian in Gaul… [pages 146-147]

No longer was Greco-Roman statuary, which so beautifully displayed the superb Aryan beauty, the benchmark for honouring the Aryan Gods. Now that the god of the Jews was in charge, it was necessary to admire their antithesis:

The first monk in Gaul ever to become a bishop, he was a figure of rare authority: elevated to the heights precisely because he had not wanted to be. Here, for anyone bred to the snobbery that had always been a characteristic of Roman society, was shock enough. Yet it was not only the spectacle of a smelly and shabbily dressed former soldier presiding as the most powerful man in Tours that had provoked a sense of a world turned upside down, of the last becoming first… As a soldier, though, he did have his heavy military cloak; and so, taking out his sword, he cut it in two, and gave one half to the beggar. No other story about Martin would be more cherished; no other story more repeated. This was hardly surprising. The echo was of a parable told by Jesus himself. The setting, as recorded in Luke’s gospel… [pages 147-149]

This image in a museum in Bamberg, Germany, which also appears in full colour in Holland’s book, shows Christ watching Martin sharing his cloak with a beggar. Holland then takes us to the year 394 to discuss the conduct of a billionaire, Meropius Pontius Paulinus:

Paulinus would present himself as a visual reproach to their extravagance. Pale from his sparse diet of beans, and with his hair roughly cropped like a slave’s, his appearance was calculated to shock. His body odour too. In an age when there existed no surer marker of wealth than to be freshly bathed and scented, Paulinus hailed the stench of the unwashed as ‘the smell of Christ’. [page 151]

As Hitler saw, Christianity was a religion that introduced spiritual terror into the Aryan soul. In the following paragraphs Holland explains the causes of such behaviour in a Roman who would once have used his wealth to honour Aryan beauty:

…he [Paulinus] far preferred another passage from the gospels. The story had been told by Jesus of a rich man, Dives, who refused to feed a beggar at his gates named Lazarus. The two men died. Dives found himself in fire, while Lazarus stood far above him, by Abraham’s side… Such was the fate that haunted Paulinus—and that he was resolved at all costs to avoid. [page 153]

In the final pages of the chapter, Holland informs us how the church reacted, thanks to the rationalisations of its African theologian, St Augustine, to reconcile the church’s love of riches with these Gospel passages. Yet Holland informs us that Clovis, the founder of the Merovingian dynasty, used to pray to St Martin: something which shows that even the most powerful warlord was already bowing down to a so-called saint.

Categories
Friedrich Nietzsche

Postscript

I would like to add to what I said yesterday.

While it is true that suppressing the errors of both Wagner’s and Nietzsche’s worldviews, while assimilating their insights, produces a Hitlerian synthesis (by which I mean the critical view of Judeo-Christianity that the Führer confessed to his closest friends), the Wagner/Nietzsche thesis-antithesis was, and remains, extremely asymmetrical.

In my post yesterday I mentioned two German biographers of Nietzsche. I was referring to Curt Paul Janz and Werner Ross, whose voluminous treatises on the German philosopher’s life I own and are boring as hell, unless the reader has a passionate interest in Nietzsche’s tragic life (as I have). So, for those new to the subject, I recommend the more lyrical prose of an Austrian biographer of Nietzsche I have already linked to several times on this site. The Spanish translation of Werner Ross’ book, by the way, I read it all in 1995:

If there is one thing that emerges from all these biographies that I have read and conscientiously weighed up, it is the revelation that Christianity condemned Nietzsche, to use the poet-philosopher’s words, to a seventh solitude: absolute solitude that over the years annihilated him psychologically. That’s the tremendous asymmetry I was talking about, compared to the much famed and incredibly beloved Wagner by Europeans in general and Germans in particular. See for example this video about the famed composer:

One German gets all the glory and the other is condemned to the extent that nobody wants to listen to him, to the point of losing his mind. And it all has to do, of course, with the fact that the Aryans were Christians in the 19th century. And even in the 21st century the racial right loves those who echo Wagner’s anti-Semitism, but those who also blame Christianity are ignored.

As only a Hitlerian synthesis between Wagner and Nietzsche would save the white race, the Aryan man, still clinging to Christian ethics, is lost. He is like Siegfried whose potion made him lose his ancestral memory to the extent of betraying Brunhild, as we will see in my post tomorrow.

The dialectical synthesis I was talking about yesterday could only be realised if a substantial percentage of JQ-conscious Aryans were also conscious of the Christian Question. But there aren’t, and on the racial right I see no willingness whatsoever to put the religion of our parents in the dock.

Categories
Friedrich Nietzsche Richard Wagner

Dialectic synthesis

On the eleventh of this month, I said that what moved me to present the story of Richard Wagner’s tetralogy was to try to elucidate a little more of Savitri Devi’s point of view, insofar as I consider her book, together with my footnotes, to be a kind of manifesto of The West’s Darkest Hour.

I’m still four entries short of completing the tetralogy’s story (the penultimate, which deals with Siegfried’s death, will be the longest in the series) according to the Argentine publisher who summarised the story when I was a child. I’ve already taken several images from those illustrated booklets, as can be seen here, here, here and here. But I would like, at once, to put down in writing some of my conclusions even before I finish translating the series.

I have just reviewed my thick biographical volumes on Friedrich Nietzsche, written by two German scholars. Nietzsche apparently lost his sanity on the last day of 1888. It is fascinating to note that his last essay before losing his mind was ‘Nietzsche contra Wagner’. Recall that, years before, Wagner and Nietzsche had been great friends. These are my conclusions:

Wagner was absolutely right to consider Jewry a parasite; and the later Nietzsche, i.e. the Nietzsche of the last months of 1888, was absolutely wrong to hate anti-Semites. But Wagner was completely wrong in believing that it was enough to baptise the Jews to make them good. For example, when for his last opera, Parsifal, he was assigned a Jewish conductor, Wagner rebelled and said that he would only accept him if he was first baptised. Such a stance reminds me of the American E. Michael Jones, although Jones is a Catholic and Wagner was a Protestant.

On the other hand, Nietzsche was right to condemn Judeo-Christianity as the key factor in the decline of Aryan culture, as we can see in this quote written before his upheaval. Precisely because of this, Nietzsche began to distance himself from Wagner when he began to see that the composer was making concessions to Christian morality.

The dialectic synthesis, so to speak, between the grave rights and grave wrongs of both Wagner and Nietzsche, provides a picture in which the contradictions of both are resolved. Resolving the contradictions of both positions is what I attempt on this site: unlike the latter Nietzsche we must be aware of the JQ, but, also, unlike Wagner we must be aware of the CQ.

All this has to do with Savitri’s book because, if our understanding of the cause of the dark hour isn’t perfect (Savitri wasn’t as anti-Christian as Nietzsche), we won’t be able to save the Aryan man. We will end up deceived by unscrupulous rascals like those who deceived Siegfried and eventually killed him. There is more I would like to say about the Wagnerian tetralogy but for tonight the above is enough.

(Incidentally, this image also appears in one of the booklets I used to leaf through as a child, which I still have in my library after so many decades of leafing through them for the first time.)

Categories
Dominion (book)

Dominion, 3

Or:

How the Woke monster originated

Eusebius claims in his Ecclesiastical History that, as a young man, Origen secretly paid a physician to surgically castrate him: a claim which affected Origen’s reputation for centuries, as demonstrated by these 15th-century depictions of Origen castrating himself.

 

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In what follows I will comment on some notable passages from Tom Holland’s Dominion chapter ‘Belief AD 177: Lyon’. For the previous two instalments of this series (a series that I put on hold for a few months due to the huge task of proofreading Savitri Devi’s book), see here and here.

Ignatius (35-109 c.e.) was one of the church fathers. When on page 114 Holland wrote, ‘while travelling through Asia Minor on his way to Rome, Ignatius, a bishop from Syria, had proudly defined it as katholikos: “universal”,’ I thought that it is essential to know the history of Christianity. It is an open book leading us, page after page, to the x-ray of the white soul: from the racial pride and tribalism of the Aryan man we see in the Spartans and the republican Romans to a subject who, in the time of the Roman Empire, lived immersed in a katholikos or universal melting pot of the various races conquered by Rome, including the Jews. On the next page Holland says:

Naturally, not sharing Marcion’s contemptuous attitude towards Jewish scripture, Irenaeus made sure to reinstate it at the head of his own canon. It was, so he declared, essential reading for all Christians: ‘a field in which hidden treasure is revealed and explained by the cross of Christ’… Alongside Luke’s gospel, he included John’s, and the two others most widely accepted as authoritative: one attributed to Matthew, a tax-collector summoned by Jesus to follow him, and the second to Mark, the reputed founder of the church in Alexandria. Compared to these, so Irenaeus declared, all other accounts of Christ’s life and teachings were but ‘ropes woven out of sand’.

A very common thing in white nationalism is to blame the Jews as the subversive tribe they indeed are, but leaving whites off the hook. In real history, a history that nationalists have never wanted to read (say, those written by William Pierce and Arthur Kemp), we see imperial lust, similar to what the US government is now doing with Russia and China, as the culprit. And of the pagan world just before the Judeo-Christians took over we can say exactly the same:

In 212, an edict was issued that would have warmed the old Stoic’s heart. By its terms, all free men across the vast expanse of the empire were granted Roman citizenship. Its author, a thuggish Caesar by the name of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus, was a living embodiment of the increasingly cosmopolitan character of the Roman world. The son of an African nobleman, he had been proclaimed emperor in Britain and was nicknamed Caracalla—‘Hoodie’—after his fondness for Gallic fashions.

This granting citizenship to all peoples of the empire reminds me that, when I was a child watching American and English films, I identified American or English with the white race. It was within my lifetime that I saw how a once proud race began to see universalism as normal to the extent of importing millions of non-whites into their respective countries. But we need to know when this madness really began.

The interest that many Greeks took in Jewish teachings, and that many Jews took in philosophy, had always been circumscribed by the prescriptions of the Mosaic covenant. Christianity, though, provided a matrix in which the Jewish and the Greek were able to mingle as well as meet. No one demonstrated this to more fruitful effect than Origen [pictured above—Ed.]. A devotion to Christianity’s inheritance from the Jews was manifest in all he wrote. Not only did he go to the effort of learning Hebrew from a Jewish teacher, but the Jewish people themselves he hailed as family: as the Church’s ‘little sister’, or else ‘the brother of the bride’. Marcion’s sneer that orthodox Christians were Jew-lovers was not one that Origen would necessarily have disputed. Certainly, he did more to embed the great body of Jewish scripture within the Christian canon, and to enshrine it as an ‘Old Testament’, than anyone before or since.

While the dynamics of Jewish infiltration of Aryan culture have not changed since the days of the Roman Empire when it was still pagan, what Western nationalists fail to see is that Christianity was at the very heart of this subversion.

Jewish the great mansion of the Old Testament may have been; but the surest method for exploring it was Greek. ‘Whatever men have rightly said, no matter who or where, is the property of us Christians.’ That God had spoken to the Greeks as well as to the Jews was not a theory that originated with Origen. Just as Paul, in his correspondence, had approvingly cited the Stoic concept of conscience, so had many Christians since found in philosophy authentic glimmerings of the divine.

Speaking about Savitri Devi’s book that we recently translated for my Daybreak Press, on Monday I commented in the comments section that, although she admires Hitler, Carolyn Yeager’s sympathy for Christianity clouds her understanding of National Socialism. Something similar could be said of Tom Holland’s sympathy for Christianity. Writing about Greek philosophers and Jewish scholars, in the following passages of Holland’s prose we can read between the lines that in these times started big time the utter imbecility that eventually received the grotesque name of ‘theology’:

Just as traditions of textual inquiry honed in Alexandria had helped Origen to elucidate the complexities of Jewish scripture, so did he use philosophy to shed light on an even more profound puzzle: the nature of God himself. [page 123]

No one, after Origen’s labours in the service of his faith, would be able to charge that Christians appealed only to ‘the ignorant, the stupid, the unschooled’. The potency of this achievement, in a society that took for granted the value of education as an indicator of status, was immense. [page 124]

Origen had created a matrix for the propagation of philosophical concepts that would prove to have momentous reach. Far from damaging his reputation, his refusal to behave in the manner of a conventional philosopher ended up only enhancing his fame. Turning sixty, Origen could reflect with pride on a career so influential that even the mother of an emperor, intrigued by his celebrity, had once summoned him to instruct her in the nature of God.

Such fame, though, was as likely to stoke hostility as admiration. The age was a treacherous one. The violence brought by Caracalla to the streets of Alexandria had been an ominous portent of even darker times ahead. In the decades that followed, sorrows had come not as single spies, but in battalions. Caracalla himself, murdered while relieving himself on campaign, had been just one of a succession of emperors slain in a blizzard of assassinations and civil wars…

The gods, it seemed, were angry. The correct religiones were manifestly being neglected. The fault, in the wake of Caracalla’s mass grant of citizenship, lay not just in Rome, but in the empire as a whole. Accordingly, early in 250, a formal decree was issued that everyone—with the sole exception of the Jews [emphasis by Ed.!]—offer up sacrifice to the gods. Disobedience was equated with treason; and the punishment for treason was death.

For the first time, Christians found themselves confronted by legislation that directly obliged them to choose between their lives and their faith. Many chose to save their skins—but many did not. Among those arrested was Origen. Although put in chains and racked, he refused to recant. Spared execution, he was released after days of brutal treatment a broken man. He never recovered. A year or so later, the aged scholar was dead of the sufferings inflicted on him by his torturers. [pages 125-126]

The following pages are also very elucidating. Let us remember that the defeated Carthaginians had such a grudge against Rome that many had begun to take refuge in Judaism. But because of its universalist character, Judeo-Christianity made subversion much easier:

In the summer of 313, Carthage was a city on edge. An ancient rival of Rome for the rule of the western Mediterranean, destroyed by the legions and then—just as Corinth had been—refounded as a Roman colony, its commanding position on the coastline across from Sicily had won for it an undisputed status as the capital of Africa. Like Rome and Alexandria, it had grown to become one of the great centres of Christianity…

In 303, when an imperial edict was issued commanding Christians to hand over their books of scripture or face death, Africa had been at the forefront of resistance to the decree. The provincial authorities, determined to break the Church, had expanded on the edict by commanding that everyone make sacrifice to the gods. [page 127]

A claimant to the rule of Rome named Constantine had marched on the city. There, on the banks of the river Tiber, beside the Milvian Bridge, he had won a decisive victory. His rival had drowned in the river. Constantine, entering the ancient capital, had done so with the head of his defeated enemy held aloft on a spear. Provincial officials from Africa, summoned to meet their new master, had dutifully admired the trophy. Shortly afterwards, as a token of Constantine’s greatness, it had been dispatched to Carthage. [pages 129-130]

The Council of Nicaea

The fusion of theology with Roman bureaucracy at its most controlling resulted in an innovation never before attempted: a declaration of belief that proclaimed itself universal. The sheer number of delegates, drawn from locations ranging from Mesopotamia to Britain, gave to their deliberations a weight that no single bishop or theologian could hope to rival. For the first time, orthodoxy possessed what even the genius of Origen had struggled to provide: a definition of the Christian god that could be used to measure heresy with precision. [page 133]

Never before had a committee authored phrases so far-reaching in their impact [the Nicaean Creed—Ed.]. The long struggle of Christians to articulate the paradox that lay at the heart of their faith, to define how a man tortured to death on a cross could also have been divine, had at last attained an enduring resolution. A creed that still, many centuries after it was written, would continue to join otherwise divided churches, and give substance to the ideal of a single Christian people, had more than met Constantine’s hopes for his council. Only a seasoned imperial administrator could possibly have pulled it off. A century after Caracalla’s grant of citizenship to the entire Roman world, Constantine had hit upon a momentous discovery: that the surest way to join a people as one was to unite them not in common rituals, but in a common belief. [pages 133-134]

What neither Constantine nor the Romans in power suspected, who still carried much of the pagan tolerance in them, is that they infected the souls of the white and mudblood converts to Christianity with the intolerant virus of Judaism: a virus that would eventually infect the whole empire. Here Holland, who we should remember is sympathetic to Christianity, recounts one of the first cases of Jewish intolerance transplanted into the new Judeo-Christian world:

When Donatists stripped a Catholic bishop naked, hauled him to the top of a tower and flung him into a pile of excrement, or tied a necklace of dead dogs around the neck of another, or pulled out the tongue of a third, and cut off his right hand, they were behaving in a manner that might have appeared calculated to baffle the average Roman bureaucrat. [page 135]

Decades on from the deaths of both Caecilian and Donatus, the killings continued, the divisions widened, and the sense of moral certitude on both sides grew ever more entrenched…

Constantine, by accepting Christ as his Lord, had imported directly into the heart of his empire a new, unpredictable and fissile source of power. [page 136]

Categories
Kalki Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Savitri quote

The Führer had, says André Erissaud, ‘the feeling’—I would say, the certainty—that the Christian religion in particular had little to do with truly transcendent values.[1]

However, the whole of Western civilisation is at the same time ‘recent’ and ‘Christian.’ We must never forget this. That didn’t, however, prevent Hitler from admiring Charlemagne: the Sachsenschlüchter or ‘terminator of the Saxons’ as Alfred Rosenberg, Johann von Leers, Heinrich Himmler and a good number of other great dignitaries saw him.

Instead, Hitler saw in him the conqueror with the immense will to power, and above all the first unifier of the German people: the one who, alone at that time, had the idea of the Reich even if he had used the artificial unity of ‘faith’ to impose it, even if this faith was the Christian faith, a foreign faith. It will be remembered that Adolf Hitler insisted on the dissolving action of Christianity in the Greco-Roman world, and that he called it ‘pre-Bolshevism.’ But it doesn’t matter what this faith was (and still is) if it was the cement of a conquering Germanic Empire and, later, the occasion for the whole flowering of art that we know. Insofar as this art is beautiful it presupposes, in any case, a certain knowledge of what is eternal. The Führer thus accepted with respect, as a German heirloom, a replica of the sword of the Emperor of West.[2]

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[1] Brissaud: Hitler et l’Ordre Noir, page 111.

[2] Editor’s note: I have been very critical of American white nationalism on my website, but hardly of German National Socialism. It is time to realise that Hitler and his followers weren’t perfect. To win the war you must know what you are fighting against. Both the most populist National Socialists like Goebbels, and today’s white nationalists, emphasised Jewry. But since the Semitic hydra also includes Christianity, Islam and even what happened to the Romans during the Punic Wars, Nietzsche’s ‘Law against Christianity’ alluded to in footnote #187 must be implemented in what we might start calling Kalki’s Reich.

Rosenberg, von Leers and Himmler were closer to the truth on this point than the Führer himself! But their movement failed because, like Savitri, they didn’t fully understand how infinitely toxic everything related to Judeo-Christianity has been, including its secular offshoots. If they had been genuinely wise they would have seen that the Christians on the other side of the Atlantic were their main foe. This means that all these esoteric and archaeological raids looking for the Aryan Grail, where it was not to be found, were a fool’s errand. The Grail is anti-Christianity or, to put it in more positive terms, the transvaluation of all Judeo-Christian values back to Greco-Roman values.

Categories
Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Savitri quote

[…] the rapid disappearance of the sense of the sacred, the resurgence of the technical spirit and, above all, the disordered proliferation of man in inverse proportion to his quality. Also, while knowing that they could only be, in the name of Christian anthropocentrism, his worst adversaries, Adolf Hitler was careful not to attack the churches openly, let alone persecute them.

He did so out of political skill, and also out of fear of depriving the people of an existing faith before another had penetrated deeply enough into their souls to replace it advantageously. This didn’t prevent him from observing that the lifespan of Christianity was over; that the Churches represented nothing more than a ‘hollow, fragile and deceptive religious apparatus’[1] which wasn’t even worth demolishing from the outside since from the inside it was already crumbling. He didn’t believe in a resurrection of the Christian faith. In the German countryside Christianity had always been a veneer, a shell which had kept intact the old piety under it. And it was now a question of reviving and directing the old piety. In the urban masses he saw nothing that revealed any awareness of the sacred. He realised that ‘where everything is dead nothing can be relighted.’[2]

In any case, Christianity was, in his eyes as in ours, nothing but a foreign religion imposed on the Germanic peoples, and fundamentally opposed to their genius. Adolf Hitler despised those men who had been able for so long to content themselves with such childishness as those that the Churches taught the masses. And he was never short of sarcasm when, before those few to whom he knew intimately, he could confess the least popular aspect of his thinking. He spoke of Christianity as ‘an invention of sick brains.’[3]

What he reproached most of all was the fact that Christianity alienated his followers from Nature, that it inculcated in them a contempt for the body and, above all, presented itself to them as the consoling religion par excellence: the religion of the afflicted; of those who are ‘toiled over and burdened’ and don’t have the strength to bear their burden courageously, of those who cannot come to terms with the idea of not seeing their beloved ones again in a naïvely human Hereafter.

Like Nietzsche, he found it to have a whining, servile rotundity about it and considered Christianity inferior to even the most primitive mythologies, which at least integrate man into the cosmos. Inferior to a religion of Nature, ancestors and heroes, he liked to evoke the beauty of the attitude of his followers who, free of hope as well as fear, carried out the most dangerous tasks with detachment. ‘I have,’ he said on December 13, 1941 in the presence of Dr Goebbels, Alfred Rosenberg, Terboven and others, ‘six SS divisions composed of men who are indifferent in matters of religion. This doesn’t prevent them from going to their deaths with a serene soul.’[4]

Here, ‘indifference in matters of religion’ just means indifference to Christianity and, perhaps, to all religious exotericism; certainly not indifference to the sacred. Quite the contrary! Because what the Führer reproached Christianity, and no doubt any religion or philosophy centred on the ‘too human,’ was precisely the absence in it of true piety.

What he reproached them for was their inability to make the sacred penetrate Life, all Life, as in traditional societies. And what he wanted—and, as I shall soon try to show, the SS must have had a great role to play here—was a gradual return of the consciousness of the sacred, at various levels, in all strata of the population. Not a more or less artificial resurgence of the cult of Wotan and Thor (the Divine never assumes again, in the eyes of men, the forms it once abandoned) but a return of Germany and the Germanic world in general, to Tradition, grasped in the Nordic manner in the spirit of the old sagas including those which, like the legend of Parsifal, preserved, under Christian outward appearances, the unchanged values of the race and the imprint of eternal values in the collective unconscious of the race.

He wanted to restore to the German peasant ‘the direct and mysterious apprehension of Nature, the instinctive contact, the communion with the Spirit of the Earth.’ He wanted to scrape off ‘the Christian varnish’ and restore in him ‘the religion of the race.’[5] And, little by little, especially in the immense new ‘living space’ that he dreamed of conquering in the East, to remake from the mass of his people a free peasant-warrior people, as in the old days when the immemorial Odalrecht, the oldest Germanic customary law, regulated the relations of men with each other and their chiefs. It was from the countryside which he knew still lived on, behind a vain set of Christian names and gestures, pagan beliefs from which he intended one day to evangelise the masses in the big cities: the first victims of modern life in whom, in his own words, ‘everything was dead.’

This ‘everything’ meant for him the essential: the capacity of man and especially of the pure-blooded Aryan, to feel both his nothingness as an isolated individual and his immortality as the repository of the virtues of his race. He wanted to restore this sense of the sacred to every German—to every Aryan—in whom it had faded or had been lost over the generations through the superstitions spread by the churches as well as by an increasingly popularised pseudoscience. He knew that this was an arduous and long-term task from which one couldn’t expect spectacular success, but whose preservation of pure blood was the sine qua non of accomplishment because, beyond a certain degree of miscegenation (which is very quickly reached), a people is no longer the same people.

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[1] Rauschning: Hitler m’a dit (op. cit.), p. 69.

[2] Ibid. p. 71.

[3] Libres propos sur la Guerre et la Paix (op. cit.), p. 141.

[4] Ibid., p. 140.

[5] Rauschning: Hitler m’a dit, p. 71.

Categories
Videos

Green v. Jones

Adam Green vs E. Michael Jones – Is Christianity a Jewish Ploy?

Only ten minutes into this debate, I think Green’s point is so accurate that I’m adding this entry even though I still have more than an hour of listening to do…

Categories
Videos

Adam Green, 2

‘When you make a Jew God, then you make all Jews God.’ —Adam Green

Nick Fuentes and E. Michael Jones, heroes in some American racial right circles for their anti-Semitism, are exposed as the traitors they are to the West from the opening minutes of Green’s most recent video. If anyone watches that video, don’t miss what a rabbi said around the 36th minute (which reminds me of my Thursday post on Adam Green). And another orthodox rabbi says something similar around minute 44.

After minute 54 Green defends himself against Fuentes’ unfounded accusations of calling him a Jew. Even worse is to hear a Protestant pastor talk about the ‘debt we all owe the Jews’ after minute 58. This sermon by an influential pastor in the US shows why I say that Christians, traitors to their race, are more detrimental to our cause than Jews.

Best quote of the episode we hear at about 1: 12: ‘The real redpill is when you realise that Christianity is a Jewish trap, a Jewish deception.’ And at 1:34 Green says he will make another video about the anti-white campaign that is going on. Near 1:38 he responds to the chats and concludes that, if you don’t want a Jew-dominated West, you have to understand that Christianity is the cause of it.

Since I’m no longer visiting the racial right sites precisely because they don’t want to see the elephant in the room, I wonder if any of them has invited Green to any of their podcasts?