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Tag: Genuine spirituality

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Neanderthalism

Exchange

Editor’s Note: My recent exchange with
Benjamin this morning is worth a post:

 

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Benjamin said: The most offensive comment I ever get from anyone in my life on anything creative or meaningful (presenting books, paintings, articles, whatever…) is ‘oh, that’s interesting’. One knows the person couldn’t give a damn about you at that point. It’s simply filler, as they never, ever elaborate why. I’m still thinking about presenting Consumption to my eldest aunt – one of my mother’s surviving sisters, and the closest to me growing up – but I know it’ll either be ‘oh that’s interesting’ or ‘that’s very sad you write that’, and ‘ I’ll have to give it some thought’, or stub words to that effect, cutting off all further emotion, discussion and commitment.

I should say, I think the only reason my mother wanted to read my book at first was to humour me, then increasingly to prove me wrong (I was critically examined over many sections), and finally in tears when she realised she couldn’t, she kind of softened towards me. I find it a tragedy she died so soon afterwards, and I never got to discuss it with her. All I know is she agreed (or if she still didn’t on anything she’s taken it into the ground with her).

Dad will never read it, that’s for sure. If you forced him to, his response would be to tut and call it fantasy, and then if I persisted, to shout at me, and to cut me off forever in rage and social embarrassment. I wrote a spurious book many years ago briefly mentioning Dad’s conduct and he did read a few lines of that one, and I remember all he said was “you don’t make me look very good in this”, and laughed a little, as if what I had written was hysterical nonsense, or a big neurotic running joke, unable always to twig that he simply wasn’t ‘very good’ to me, no. It’s not even denial.

I’m sorry for your tragedies, and for your uncle’s death. I’d like to hope that what happened to Corina and Octavio (and his daughter) cannot happen again. But how does one change society on this taboo issue if no one is prepared to read these books – or always too little too late? I suppose one can still put them out there, and hope. I always wanted psychiatry destroyed in my lifetime. I don’t think that’ll happen though, although I see it as a major gatekeeper to the (parental) trauma model being understood by the public.

I think I use you as my witness personally. I hope it isn’t an imposition. Ideally, I would have had a family or local friends to go to, but their silence and standoffish ignorance on this matter is galling. I’m not used to being asked what’s wrong.
 

I responded: That’s precisely why the encounter in my life of someone like Paulina, the first person who took pity on me, was so important even though it happened more than twenty years after my teens (what Miller calls an “enlightened witness”). Ideally, someone should appear when you’re being abused as a child. That and only that could have saved us (what Miller calls a “helping witness”). The sad thing is that many didn’t have either…

And when it comes to the mental health professions, psychiatry is the way the System defends itself; like the Inquisition defended the Roman Church against the dissidents of the time. Thomas Szasz wrote a book comparing psychiatry to the Inquisition, and he said something that stuck with me: “An Inquisition [like psychiatry] cannot be reformed, only abolished”.

Indeed, and this shows that even people like Colin Ross, the current proponent of the trauma model, are still lost on this point—like John Read et al., who believe that change is possible within academia. They’re like white nationalists who believe that voting for Trump can bring about change. In fact, WN is another variant of country-club conservatism as Michael O’Meara put it, an American who knows French.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
 

Benjamin said: So it seems, as with the other issues we discussed recently, that it’s come down to this again: the necessity of a (violent, it’s obvious there is no other sort) revolution, in this as in all areas… what we really mean by bringing down the System, across all its entangled branches and avenues. Everything has reached a multi-faceted dead end otherwise… science, technology, academia, health, family wellbeing… the race itself is long-stalled biologically, at least since the Cro-Magnon era. I suppose the only thing to do now is to school would-be revolutionaries and auxiliary radicals on why they’re fighting (or will be fighting), which I suppose is what this site functions as, beyond your autobiographical space.

Personally, from what I note, the 4 words ["Eliminad todo sufrimiento innecesario" —Ed.] seem far harder for people to latch onto and assimilate than the vaguer, more generalised concept of the 14, even though I see both as to some degree synonymous, or semi-symmetric perhaps.

Eventually we’ll have to go somewhere else for those sorts of conversations. I’m not sure of the prudence of me continuing to type this even, right out in the open. The stepping stone from the theoretical to the practical is the hardest for me to strategize, the point where mutual internal jihad had reached its zenith, so to speak, and there should then instead be organization, and such, etc.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I know I’ve found it very frustrating for decades, where no one has really taken the slightest bit of interest (care) in my history, and yet have still professed to being my friends… ‘twigging’, and realising in clarity the scale of this problem across our race drives one to want to act, and as soon as possible (even though there is no way to do that currently).
 

I responded: No: there’s no way to do it, and you can see what happened to our friend Tyrone for even suggesting it on podcasts (although years ago his parents put him in a psychiatric hospital for a while, now the System has locked him up for seven years!).

Mauricio liked my Paths of Glory metaphor. Kirk Douglas’s soldiers couldn’t go out to fight because of the hail of bullets. It was a time of staying in the trenches in a state of exasperation, but necessary…

The degenerate Aryan I recently saw in Europe is still in “happy mode”. Several sociopolitical, economic, and especially energy catastrophes will have to converge for him to enter “angry mode”; eventually a defensive “combat mode” and finally “killing mode” (bloody revolution). In the meantime, they’re behaving like lobotomised eunuchs.

Unlike Europeans, racialist Americans are no longer lobotomized: they’re beginning to think. But they’re still eunuchs. Otherwise they would already be talking about how to bring Turner’s diaries into the real world.
 

Benjamin said: P.S. I just re-read the, as you say, epistolary scold from Corina. I was particularly struck by the lines (and can only imagine how much they hurt and infuriated you):

“The damage is done and only you can fix it.”

and

“…not all people in the world are therapists or psychiatrists or psychoanalysts and we don’t want to hear about problems, let alone such serious ones. We are normal people who run away from problems. We are not interested and cannot do anything about it.”

Both directly echo things my partner has said to me before when I raise the issue of my childhood with her, the first being the equivalent of ‘just let it go’ (which is impossible naturally short of developing dementia, and translates literally as ‘repress yourself again’), or ‘get over it’ (a callous statement in itself indicating their lack of patience/empathy more than any psychological insight – they don’t realise you’re trying to do that, and can only do that if listened to). And the second a terrible misunderstanding – you are at first not looking for change, just to be listened to at all: as another example, in my case I didn’t want to be taken out of my environment when I emailed my Tyrolean penpal Harald about latter-day trauma, nor would it have been possible for him to do so, I just wanted to be listened to long-distance… also, as if one needed a license or a professional qualification to be a compassionate listener! Their ‘we’re not therapists’ line is simply a cop out to avoid them of their responsibility.

I can see why Corina wrote why she did then, as it’s all too common to, as you say, see things backwards, putting again all responsibility for both the experiences and the healing process onto the victim. People are so quick to give this prescriptive black pedagogy ‘advice’, or otherwise to act non-committal with the silent treatment, or wash their hands of the matter. Another reason I’d like vast swathes of the population exterminated, as by your 4 words doctrine – if they really can’t develop empathy for these matters then they’re simply a liability in general.
 

I responded:

Corina was the only one who saw what my parents were doing to me when I was a teenager, but she didn’t confess it to me because she was fourteen years old, and when she tried to tell my mother, she only received a slap in the face, which ended the argument for decades, until Corina herself developed paranoid symptoms, although in her lucid moments we were finally able to communicate.

But when Cori wrote that letter she was acting as an agent of the System, what Miller calls “poisonous pedagogy”. Szasz hits the nail on the head when he said that psychiatry is like paediatrics: instead of listening, they try to lecture the victim (although Szasz never fully grasped the trauma model).

All these people giving advice don’t realise that what they’re doing is similar to telling the messenger who has just escaped the clutches of someone like Jeffrey Dahmer, and wants to alert his neighbours that there’s a serial killer in the block to calm down; to seek professional help, to forgive and forget, to not suffer from self-pity but take a stress pill instead, etc. The result of this insane deafness? Another victim of the serial killer!

This crazy example is not a false analogy.

If my grandmother Yoya had listened to me during the anecdote I tell at the beginning of “Nobody Wanted to Listen” she could have acted as my helping witness, intervened to the best of her humble ability (my parents had the power), and prevent my crucifixion and, in the years to come, prevent Corina’s psychological catastrophe too. But we lacked a helping witness.

All this explains, in effect, why I have developed an exterminationist philosophy. The current version of Homo sapiens remains a kind of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis in the sense that it still needs to be greatly ennobled.

Categories
Alice Miller Child abuse

Remarkable

sentences of Alice Miller’s
Breaking Down the Wall of Silence:

 

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“…the wall of silence behind which society has sought to protect itself from the truth about cruelty and abuse in childhood”. (Foreword, page 5)

“Parents are indeed capable of routinely torturing their children without anyone interceding”. (Chapter 1, “Eve’s Initiative”, page 14)

“…remained completely repressed in me for almost sixty years. As a result, I betrayed that little girl [the inner girl that still inhabited in Miller’s heart]… There was no one to help me condemn cruelty”. (Chapter 2, “Out of the Prison of Confusion”, page 20)

“Hard as it is to believe, in the entire world there is not one single faculty in which a degree is offered in the study of psychic injuries in childhood”. (Ibid., page 25)

“So psychiatrists have… chosen not to know how psychoses develop”. (Chapter 3, “The Psychiatrists’ Campaign Against the Act of Remembering”, page 32)

“…that voice [of Miller’s inner wounded child], because it has taught me more than all the books I have ever read”. (Ibid., page 33)

“My justifiable anger makes me strong and aware. I can see through the lies because I have stopped forgiving, stopped praying or speculating, stopped laying the guilt on myself” (Ibid., page 35)

“…how damaging it is to preach forgetfulness and forgiveness. Isn’t that just what your patients have done their whole lives, and is that not why they have remained disordered?” (Ibid., pages 36-37)

“…what was previously regarded as a sin—criticism of our parents—is, in reality, our only chance of becoming healthy”. (Ibid., page 38)

“Psychoanalysis does not distort the truth by accident. It does so by necessity. It is an effective system for the suppression of the truth about childhood, a truth feared by our entire society. Not surprisingly, it enjoys great esteem among intellectuals”. (Chapter 4, “Blindman’s Buff and the Flight from the Facts in Psychoanalysis”, pages, 42-43)

“…fear of the truth about child abuse is a leitmotif of nearly all forms of therapy known to me”. (Ibid., page 48)

“Hate that we have experienced is not a poison, but one way out of the trap…” (Chapter 5, “The Media and the Wall of Silence”, page 61)

“To dismiss such people as ‘self-pitying’ only says something about one’s own early experiences…” (Ibid., page 71)

“And why, anyway, do human beings go on worshipping such horrific gods? (Chapter 6, “Child Sacrifice as ‘Tradition’”, page 77. Miller is referring to the god of the Jews. See also pages 193-199 of my book Day of Wrath.)

“The danger does not lie with individuals, however criminal they may be. Far more, it lies in the ignorance of our entire society… Teachers, attorneys, doctors, social workers, priests, and other respected representatives of society protect parents… Even the child protection agencies insist that this crime, and this crime alone, should go unpunished”. (Chapter 8, “The Monstrous Consequences of Denial”, page 87)

“The majority of therapists fear this truth. They work under the influence of destructive interpretations culled from both Western and Oriental religions, which preach forgiveness… they offer traditional morality… Forgiveness does not resolve latent hatred and self-hatred but rather covers them up in a very dangerous way”. (Chapter 9, “The Liberating Experience of Painful Truth”, page 131)

“By refusing to forgive, I give up my illusions. A mistreated child, of course, cannot live without them. But a grown-up therapist must be able to manage it. His or her patients should be able to ask: ‘Why should I forgive, when no one is asking me to? I mean, my parents refuse to understand and to know what they did to me. So why should I go on trying to understand and forgive my parents and whatever happened in their childhood, with things like psychoanalysis and transactional analysis? What’s the use? Whom does it help? It doesn’t help my parents to see the truth. But it does prevent me from experiencing my feelings, the feelings that would give me access to the truth. But under the bell-jar of forgiveness, feelings cannot and may not blossom freely’. Such reflections are, unfortunately, not common in therapeutic circles, in which forgiveness is the ultimate law”. (Ibid., page 135)

“This ideology is indivisible with the command ‘Thou shalt not be aware’ [of the cruelty your parents inflicted to you] and with the repetition of that cruelty on the next generation.

”But the demand for forgiveness that I often encounter can pose a danger for therapy, even though it is an expression of our culture. Mistreatment of children is the order of the day, and those errors are therefore trivialized by the majority of adults. Forgiving can have negative consequences, not only for the individual, but for society at large, because it can mean disguising erroneous opinions and attitudes, and involves drawing a curtain across reality so that we cannot see what is taking place behind it.

”The possibility of change depends on whether there is a sufficient number of enlightened witnesses to create a safety net for the growing consciousness of those who have been mistreated as children, so that they do not fall into the darkness of forgetfulness, from which they will later emerge as criminals or the mentally ill”. (Ibid., pages 135-136)

“How much unnecessary suffering [emphasis by Ed.] would I, my children and their future children, have been spared if I had been able to read this book when I was young…” (Ibid., letter to Miller, page 157)

“If one day the secret of childhood were to become no longer a secret, the state would be able to save immense sums that it spends on hospitals, psychiatric clinics, and prisons maintaining our blindness. That this might deliberately happen is almost too incredible a thought”. (Ibid., page 143)

Categories
Autobiography

‘Giants’

Finally, I decided to title my essay ‘Augustine and other influential “giants” of the Christian Era’, which was published on this site from 30 March to 7 this month. Yesterday and today I edited it, and its PDF version can be read here. It is an important essay because it begins to give an idea of the literary genre I want to inaugurate with my trilogy.

My output as a writer is divided into two: books written in my mother tongue and what I post on The West’s Darkest Hour. The importance of essays like this is that, at last, it begins to become apparent why subjects as seemingly dissimilar as self-knowledge and white decline are connected.

To see the connection it is essential to put out of our minds the inane autobiographies that appear on the market for mass consumption—prolefeed for the proles—such as those written by film stars for example, and realise that we are talking about something astronomically different.

Knowing oneself, in the sense of the Delphic Oracle’s commandment (how different from the Judeo-Christian commandment to honour one’s parents!), is vital to save the Aryan from the process of self-destruction he is undergoing.

Categories
Autobiography

Halcyonic

Recently, I have had to make intensive use of my mobile phone against my will because I need to use the said device for banking operations. Having prostituted my soul in such a way; having to use hours of my time to familiarise myself with the wretched ‘applications’ of the phone, leads me to say a few things.

One of my sponsors is correct, at least in part, to blame technology for Aryan decline. I became aware of this a few years ago when, far from the cities and their mundane noise, I had a moment of halcyonic rapport in the countryside, touching a tree.

The communion with nature made me realise what an incredible level of degradation it is to live in a metropolis, or even a modern town (recently I was complaining about the noise of the air conditioner in the village where I live). I even plan to unplug the refrigerator so as not to listen to the damn engine while meditating, and to get into the habit of buying my groceries daily so that I don’t need to refrigerate food.

Categories
3-eyed crow Arthur Schopenhauer Solitude

Schopen

by Art of Thinking

Why did some of the brightest brains in history prefer to be alone? Why do outstanding intellectuals stay away from social life? For those who possess great intelligence is seclusion a privilege or a curse? These issues were addressed by Arthur Schopenhauer, one of the 19th century’s most gloomy and visionary philosophers who was anything but benevolent towards society.

Schopenhauer believed that the world was full with shallow individuals with small-minded goals and engrossed in pointless discussions and amusements. A natural talent had to distance himself from this unimpressive performance. According to his own words, all great spirits end up alone. Was he correct or is this disdain for social life only a sign of a lack of interpersonal connections? Think about notable individuals who were renowned for their brilliance and their seclusion. Are they merely misunderstood and destined to roam alone, or are they examples of intellects that are superior to common souls?

Let’s examine Schopenhauer’s theories. As the world around him moves forward, picture a genius who is totally absorbed in his ideas and lost in intricate theories. He wonders about the future of humanity [e.g., will Parrish-like Nordids survive?—Ed.]. While everyone else is preoccupied with discussing the weather, he inevitably isolates himself as he attempts to comprehend the nature of being [e.g., the whys of the fair race’s darkest hour—Ed.]. Others engage in frivolous conversations.

According to Schopenhauer this distance is an unavoidable result of intellectual superiority rather than a decision. He believed that the more a person stood out for his intelligence, the harder it was for him to find peers on the same level, with whom he could share his thoughts and emotions. Schopenhauer believes that a natural barrier between the individual and society is created by superior intelligence, because those who have a broader perspective on the world have very different interests and concerns than the majority.

Only in solitude can a man be himself since he can only be genuinely free when he is alone. He cannot enjoy freedom if he does not love solitude. Schopenhauer saw isolation as both a burden and a necessary haven. According to him, social norms and the petty interests of the majority frequently suffocate intelligence. He noted that people with higher levels of intelligence frequently felt uncomfortable interacting with the general public because they were able to see beyond the obvious and comprehend truths that were not readily apparent to them.

Friedrich Nietzsche was another thinker who cherished isolation. But seclusion comes at a cost: a strong sensation of alienation might result from deviating from societal norms. Schopenhauer was aware of this and thought that, although it could be freeing for brilliant thinkers, solitude could also be a weight because they have a deeper perspective on the world than most of us will ever be able to understand. So many of the greatest thinkers in history experience periods of worry and sadness. This is not because they were weak. The crucial question that follows is whether loneliness is a good thing or a bad thing.

For Schopenhauer, it was obvious great thinkers welcome their solitude as a blessing. Their greatest achievements might be possible if they are isolated, enjoy silence, and are free from social mediocrity.

Categories
3-eyed crow

A sage

without a kingdom

The following words of a YouTuber reminded me of some things… (my translation from Spanish to English):

Being intelligent is a problem. Not because intelligence itself is negative, but because the world is not designed for those who see beyond it. From an early age you were told that intelligence would open doors, that it would make you stand out, that it would set you free. This is a lie. Intelligence doesn’t set you free, it isolates you. It doesn’t make you fit in, it separates you. It doesn’t give you an advantage, it makes you a target. If you’re here, you’ve already lived it. Overthinking is a self-imposed punishment.

This reminded me that, although I’m a 14-word priest, white nationalists—sympathisers of Christianity in general—ignore me because I realised that the CQ is more relevant than the JQ. The vlogger continues:

As your mind expands, you find superficial conversations unbearable, other people’s stupidity becomes background noise, and pervasive mediocrity feels like a weight you have to carry every day. And the worst thing is that you can’t say anything. If you do, you are arrogant. If you try to explain what you see, you are trolling. If your existence exposes the incompetence of others, you are the problem. Nietzsche understood this better than anyone. Society is not a community of individuals seeking truth; it is a control mechanism based on slave morality, a code designed to glorify obedience and punish independence.

Are you smarter than the rest? Congratulations, now you will be called arrogant. Do you think differently? Now you are conceited. Do you see what others ignore? Now you are a threat. If you talk too much, they isolate you. If you keep quiet, you end up drowning in your own mind. It’s a dead end.

That’s why so many end up faking it. They reduce their speech, disguise their thoughts, and hide their ideas behind common phrases so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. They learn to be mediocre to survive among mediocre people. And if they don’t, they are devoured.

Intelligence not only isolates you, it makes you the enemy. Because the one who sees beyond is a problem for those who have built their lives with their eyes closed. People don’t want the truth. They want confirmation of their beliefs, they want validation of their illusions, they want security in their cage. You are the crack in their walls, the reminder that they could have been something more.

Plato described this thousands of years ago in his Myth of the Cave. Imagine a group of people chained in a cave, seeing shadows on the wall, believing that this is the only reality. One day, one of them breaks free and sees the outside world. He discovers the truth. And when he returns to tell the others, what do they do? They reject him, they attack him, and they want to kill him. Because the problem is not that people don’t understand. It’s that they don’t want to understand [e.g., understand the Christian question—Editor]. It is easier to live in the dark than to accept that you have wasted your whole life looking at shadows.

The intelligent is a problem because his existence exposes the self-deception of others. If you have tried to share what you know, you have seen it with your own eyes. People don’t want depth, they want entertainment. They don’t want critical thinking, they want distraction. They are not interested in knowing reality; they want you to play along, to go with the flow, to not force them to think too hard. If you confront them with the truth, they crucify you.

That is why intelligence is an exile. No matter how hard you try, you will always be too much for the world and not enough to change it. You don’t fit into society because society is not made for those who think for themselves. It is made for stability, for conformity, for the balance of mediocrity. Those who see beyond that are ignored or destroyed. Most of history’s geniuses ended in ruin, in madness, in isolation. Not because they were incapable, but because their minds operated at a level where the rest could not follow. Socrates was condemned to death for asking uncomfortable questions. Galileo was persecuted for challenging the establishment. Nietzsche died alone and despised.

So the question is not whether intelligence is a burden. The question is what you’re going to do with it. You have two ways: pretend you’re not smarter than everyone else, reduce yourself, hide what you know, and numb your mind with banalities so you don’t feel alone. Or accept it. But accepting intelligence is not comfortable. It is to understand that you will be isolated, that you will be an outsider, and that you will never fit in. Intelligence is a condemnation if you let it be.

But it can be a tool if you learn to use it. You don’t need approval. You don’t need validation. You don’t need to fit in. You just need to know that most people will never understand you. And that it doesn’t matter. Because the world is not made for lone wolves. It’s made for herds. Intelligence doesn’t just make the weak uncomfortable. It makes those who rule uncomfortable. Because power is not maintained by force, it is maintained by ignorance. The world is not made for lone wolves, but a pack of wolves rule the flock. The difference is that the wolf of power is not a lone genius; he is a predator who learned to play by the rules of the pack. The one who is intelligent but does not understand how power works is just a sage without a kingdom.

You cannot dominate an awakened society. You cannot control thinking people. That is why, from birth, we are programmed to accept the balance of mediocrity. Ignorance is glorified, difference is punished, and genius is ridiculed. We are taught to repress our ideas, not to make too much noise, not to stand out too much. It is a systematic domestication. Foucault put it bluntly: power does not need to enslave you physically if it gets you to accept your enslavement yourself. No dictatorship is needed if the herd believes that the rules are for its own good. There is no need for explicit punishment if they make the punishment social exclusion. If you think too much, you will be an outcast. If you challenge the establishment, you’re in trouble. If you decide not to play along, you will be silenced. History bears this out. The world’s greatest thinkers were not rewarded for their genius; they were persecuted for it. The wolves who control the flock have no interest in having more wolves who might question them. If a wolf does not follow the rules of power, he is eliminated or ridiculed into a harmless buffoon.

Look around you. Look at what is glorified. Disposable culture, empty entertainment, quick and simplified thinking. It is not coincidental. It is intentional. Mediocrity is the best weapon of power. Because a sleeping mind does not rebel. Because someone distracted is easier to control. Because it is easier to entertain than to educate. The problem is that most intelligent people do not understand that they are at war. They still believe that truth alone is enough. That if they explain logically what is wrong, they will be listened to. They will not. It is not about logic. It is about power. Camus described it accurately: the man who thinks too much is confronted with the absurd. But society does not want to face the truth. It prefers the comfort of the known. That’s why the intelligent end up isolated, exhausted, and without the strength to keep fighting.

The rest I do not translate because the author doesn’t seem to understand the examples he himself gave: Socrates, Galileo and Nietzsche. In their time they had no chance to become ‘strategists’ or ‘foxes’ as the author says, as they lived against their time (remember Nietzsche’s tragic life).

Categories
Quotable quotes

Adolf quote

‘All great movements are popular movements. They are the volcanic eruptions of human passions and emotions, stirred into activity by the ruthless Goddess of Distress or by the torch of the spoken word cast into the midst of the people’.

—Hitler

Categories
3-eyed crow Thomas Goodrich

Goodrich

In my previous post on Tom Goodrich, I said: ‘Only those who are knocked off the tower by their parents or guardians and become disabled, but are survivors, are able to cross the Wall in search of the raven’, tacitly referring to the metaphor of the featured post in this blog. I want to delve a little deeper into the subject. In a 2015 interview, Goodrich confessed early on:

Born in Kansas as Michael Thomas Schoenlein, I was adopted at age five. I spent my first years on my grandma’s farm in Missouri, then moved to Kansas. My biological dad was a professional musician, alcoholic and drug addict. About the age of 8-11, I was raped and sodomized on a daily basis. Other than that, I led a fairly normal childhood. After the military, I graduated from Washburn University in Kansas with a degree in history.

As every old visitor knows, I too was abused as a minor, but an even more serious abuse than sexual abuse: one of those that murder the soul (cf. Letter to mom Medusa; the next book, one I will soon begin translating into English, is entitled How to Murder Your Child’s Soul).

The vast majority of visitors to The West’s Darkest Hour imagine that these are parallel themes, Aryan preservation and the mistreatment of children (or adolescents, as was my case). But everything to do with the humanities, and indeed animals, is interrelated. For example, it will be recalled that this year I wrote some articles about Marco, a friend of the chess club whom I met half a century ago but recently visited and found him in a very clearly psychotic condition (I refer to what I wrote from the end of February to the beginning of March in six posts: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 and #6). But the psychosis of this poor devil, who is not even able to make an appointment because of his malignant narcissism (cf. instalment #3), can be observed in millions of normal people.

Yesterday, for example, I watched a recent interview between the American John Mearsheimer and the Russian intellectual Alexander Dugin. From this point on in the conversation both Mearsheimer and Dugin spoke, without mentioning the term, of the malignant narcissism that currently afflicts the entire American elites, as incapable of putting themselves in the shoes of the Other as Marco. Dugin even mentioned a rather curious personal anecdote, that there are American politicians who are under the impression that chess is… a one-person game (!), presumably the American who plays solo ‘chess’.

In my soliloquies, I have said it to myself countless times: sometimes normal people are as psychotic as Marco, but the difference is that the latter lives on government charity and his first cousin. The narcissist in a psychotic state can no longer move in the real world on his own; the elites like those mentioned by Mearsheimer and Dugin can, which makes them infinitely more dangerous than the ordinary madman.

Marco had a mother who murdered his soul, though the disorder came very late in his life. Goodrich also had someone as abusive as Marco’s mother, but unlike him Goodrich not only survived psychologically but ennobled his soul to the extent of becoming an overman (the crow metaphor I use so much).

So, taking into account the recent conversation between Mearsheimer and Dugin, I could say that the two themes that have moved me to write are related: the psychic ravages of parental abuse, and deciphering why the white race is committing suicide: which includes the narcissistic American elites. In fact, I dare say that only people who, like Tom, were able to develop an emergent spin on their personal tragedy, have been able to see the historical past as it happened: and precisely for the reasons Tom mentioned in my post yesterday, to humbly listen to the voice of the vanquished.

Only a person who was internally broken, but who unlike millions of madmen didn’t succumb to psychosis (‘What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger!’) was able to understand what the German people suffered in WW2, even up to 1947 when the Allies were still perpetrating a Holocaust of defenceless Germans.

That man was Tom.

As one of the very fans who grasped George R.R. Martin’s philosophy said, passages I have quoted on this site:

Much like the audience, the seven kingdoms don’t understand what Bran has become, or how he helped save the world. Yet, when Bran returns, the kingdom is broken just like him; and all the things that once made him useless to the militaristic culture of Westeros, now make him the ideal Fisher King: an incorruptible figurehead to help usher the new system. And thus Bran the Broken is immortalized as the story around which the kingdoms of Westeros can unite.

That passage appears in ‘The power of stories’, a video linked by me recently. Here is another passage from another fan:

GRRM’s answer to the question ‘How can mortal men be perfect kings?’ is evident in Bran’s narrative: Only by becoming something not completely human at all, to have godly and immortal things, such as the Weirwood, fused into your being, and hence to become more or less than completely human, depending on your perspective. This is the only type of monarchy GRRM gives legitimacy, the kind where the king suffers on his journey and is almost dehumanized for the sake of his people.

Tom Goodrich’s tragic journey into inner space certainly taught us to know outer space better than conventional WW2 historians, who, being unable to touch the Weirwood with the palm of their hands, never saw the past as it really happened.

Categories
Art Neanderthalism Welfare of animals

‘Emergency’

I was going to post another Might is Right instalment today but I got to thinking about my recent exchanges with Benjamin in various threads, and I feel I should say a few things.

I sometimes check the number of comments on old threads, back when WDH was hosted for free by WordPress, and I’m surprised that there were threads with dozens of comments. Since I started criticising American white nationalism, calling it deficient compared to German National Socialism, and shifting my paradigm from regarding the Christian problem as infinitely more serious than the Jewish problem, the visitor traffic has collapsed.

This is compounded by the fact that, as an immense admirer of Hitler myself, the German Chancellor’s sensitivity to art and animal welfare is something that simply doesn’t exist on the American racial right.

The immense dilemma I find myself in is that this sort of thing cannot be explained by pure reason, say, by solid race realist articles like the ones Jared Taylor has been publishing for decades. It has more to do with what we might call emergent psychogenics, which I have already discussed in Day of Wrath (a book that is nothing more than a translation of some chapters of my trilogy).

Psychogenic emergency is either felt or not. Or rather: either one belongs to a higher psychoclass, or one doesn’t belong to it. As I said, it is not something that can be demonstrated by pure reason. On seeing a work of art, such as the Lorraine canvas I saw on my last trip to London, the museum visitor either feels the emergent aesthetics compared to the architectural Neanderthalism of the largest city in Europe, or he feels nothing at all. Those 18th-century Englishmen like Henry Hoare who were aesthetically emergent even designed their gardens in imitation of the Italian painter’s architecture. Either you feel art or you don’t.

Incidentally, the bridge in Stourhead’s garden whose image I posted in June in this article was also used by Kubrick in one of the scenes in Barry Lyndon: a film whose images were inspired by canvases of the period like very few films I have seen. (Perhaps the sole exception is 1956’s Lust for Life in which the director used the actual sites in Holland, Belgium and the French countryside where Vincent van Gogh lived.)

The fourteen words have to do with aesthetics, in that the white race is the only truly beautiful race from the point of view of the Gods of Olympus. The other issue is ethics, the four words, Eliminad todo sufrimiento innecesario. Like great art, you either feel the four words or you don’t. Either you are a Neanderthal (Benjamin sent me an email today describing experiments on rabbits that I don’t even want to describe) or you are an overman like Hitler, and Göring who forbade tormenting those animals.

The sad truth is that most American racialists have not reached the psychogenic level of the Führer in terms of ethics and aesthetics, and that those emergent qualities cannot be induced by arguments, criticisms or diatribes like the ones I have used in this blog. Either you start psychogenically emerging as a child or an adolescent (cf. Kubizek’s memoirs of Hitler when they were both teenagers) or you won’t.

Categories
Lightning and the Sun (book) Mein Kampf (book)

The Lightning

and the Sun, 7

Adolf Hitler’s second and even more shattering experience of the horror of the present Age began on the 10th of November 1918, as he stood, half-blind from the effects of poisonous gas, among his wounded comrades in a hospital hall at Pasewalk in Pomerania, and heard from the clergyman the latest news: the ‘November revolution’ and Germany’s capitulation; the tragic end of the first World War.

More than four years before, he had joined the war with enthusiasm, as a volunteer in a Bavarian regiment, not in an Austrian one, clearly showing thereby that he was prepared to die anytime for the German people and ‘for the Reich that embodied them,’[1] though not for ‘the State of the Habsburgs’—that artificial State of many nationalities. For he considered the war in no way as an Austrian concern, but as a struggle of the German people (including, naturally, those of Austria) ‘for their existence’[2]—as a just war. And, he had done his duty thoroughly; faithfully. And although he had, for months already, (especially since the general strike of 1917) been fearing —feeling—that some diabolical traitors’ intrigues were being carried on to rob the German front-soldier of a victory which he well deserved, yet he had not expected such an end, and so suddenly….

The grief, the indignation and temporary despair that took him over as he abruptly acquired ‘the most horrible certitude in his life’[3] are so eloquently described in Mein Kampf that nothing can throw more light upon the future, Führer’s state of mind than an extensive, quotation of his own words:

I could not remain any longer’ (i.e. remain hearing the news). ‘While my eyes once more stared into darkness, I sought my way back to the dormitory, threw myself upon my bed, and buried my burning head under the quilts and pillows.

Since the day I had stood before my mother’s grave, I had not wept. When, in my youth, Destiny had been mercilessly harsh to me, I had faced it with growing defiance. When during the long years of the war, death had taken many a dear comrade and friend of mine from our ranks, it would have seemed to me nearly a sin to complain—for they had died for Germany. And when, in the days of the terrible struggle, the slowly advancing gas had taken me in its grip, and begun to gnaw into my eyes, and when the fear of becoming blind for ever had made me feel, for a second, as though I would weaken, the voice of conscience had thundered to me: ‘Miserable wretch! You feel like weeping, while thousands are faring worse than yourself!’ And I had put up with my lot in silence. But now I could not help weeping. Now I experienced how completely every personal suffering fades away before the misfortune of one’s Fatherland.

So, it had all been in vain! In vain all our sacrifices, and all the hardships we had endured; in vain, hunger and thirst, for months without end; in vain, the hours in which, facing the terror of death, we had yet done our duty; and in vain, the death of two million men! Would not the graves of the hundreds of thousands who had gone forth full of faith in the Fatherland, never to return, break open and release the dumb heroes covered with mud and blood,—release them as revengeful spirits among the people at home, who had treated so disdainfully the highest sacrifice which a man can offer his country? Had they died for that, the soldiers of August and September 1914? Had the regiments of volunteers, in the autumn of the same year, followed for that the elder comrades? Had those boys of seventeen sunk for that into Flanders’ earth? Was that the object of the sacrifice that German mothers had brought the Fatherland when, with a grieving heart, they had sent the boys to their duty, never to see them, again? Had all that happened in order to enable, now, a handful of criminals to set their grip upon the Fatherland?!! … The more I tried, then, to think clearly about the monstrous event, the more my forehead burnt with indignation and shame. What was all the pain I felt in my eyes, compared with this wretchedness?

What followed, were appalling days and still worse nights. I knew that all was lost. Only fools—fools or … liars and criminals—could put their hope in the enemy’s mercy. During those nights, hatred grew in me, hatred against the originators of that deed.

In those days, I also became aware of my destiny. Now, I could only laugh at the thought of my own future, that had caused me such bitter worry only a short time before. Was it not ridiculous to build houses upon such foundations as this? At last it was clear to me that the very thing which I so often already had feared, without ever being able, in my heart, to believe it, had now happened.

Emperor William the Second had been the first German emperor to hold out his hand to the leaders of Marxism, in a gesture of reconciliation, without knowing that rascals have no honour. While they still held the Emperor’s hand in one of theirs, their other one was already seeking for the dagger.

With Jews, no pactising policy is possible, but only that of the hard ‘either—or.’

‘I decided to become a politician.’ [4]

This heart-rending autobiographical account could—historically—be described as: the passage of National Socialism from the stage of an expectant or latent incarnate Idea, to that of an active one.

Surely the incarnate Idea is, when not as old as Adolf Hitler himself, at least as old as his earliest awakening to socio-political, nay, to philosophical consciousness in general. And that took place very early: already in Linz, when not before. Yet, then, and in Vienna, although his interest in social and political problems grew and grew with the daily experience of injustice and misery, and still in Münick, after 1912, the future ruler continued to think of himself primarily as of a future architect. There may have been moments, of course, in which he thought, or at least felt, differently. There were such moments—one such moment at least, and a great one,—already in his life in Linz, if we are to believe Kubizek’s account of it.[5] But the artist’s immediate goal soon reappeared. Horrible as—in Vienna, at any rate—many of them doubtless were, the experiences of daily life were not sufficiently appalling to push it out of sight altogether. Nay, during the war, when more and more aware of the necessity of opposing to the forces of international Socialism a national organisation which would be free from the weaknesses of the Parliamentary system, Hitler had begun to think seriously of becoming politically active, he had merely visualised himself speaking in public ‘while carrying on his profession.’[6] Now, his profession, nay, his art,—for he still was, and could but remain, fundamentally, an artist,—was out of question. Every activity which was not to contribute directly and immediately to free Germany from the consequences and specially from the causes of defeat, was, out of question; and that, not merely because Adolf Hitler loved Germany above all things, but because that more-than-human intuition that classes him among the few great seers of mankind, told him that Germany’s real, deeper interest was—is, absolutely,—the real interest of Creation;—the ‘interest of the Universe,’ again to quote the immortal words of the Bhagavad-Gita. (And it is not an accident,—not a mere coincidence,—that I, a non-German Aryan intimately connected with England, Greece and India, should stress this fact. It is a sign; a symbol; the first expression of the homage of worldwide Aryandom to the latest Man ‘against Time’ and to the truly chosen Nation).

Out of the abyss of powerless despair—from that bed of, suffering upon which the nameless corporal Adolf Hitler lay weeping over Germany’s fate while his blinded eyes burned in their sockets, like red-hot embers; out of his appalling certitude that ‘all was lost,’ that ‘all had been in vain’—rose the defiant Will to freedom and Will to power of an invincible people and, beyond that, and greater than that, the perennial cosmic Will to Perfection in all its majesty; the will of the German soldier who had fought in Flanders and—identical to it; expressing itself through it,—the impesonal and irresistible Will of the eternal Warrior and Seer above Time and ‘against Time’; the Will of Him Who comes back age after age, ‘when all is lost,’ ‘when evil rules supreme,’ to re-establish on earth the reign of Righteousness.

From then onwards, the age-old Struggle for Truth—the Struggle ‘against Time’—was, in the West, to enter a new phase. It was to identify itself with the political struggle to free Germany from the bondage imposed upon her by the victors of 1918, no less than with the more-than-political one against the causes of physical and moral decay that were—and still are—threatening the existence of the natural aristocracy of the Aryan race. And the National Socialist German Labourers’ Party—the famous N.S.D.A.P., which Adolf Hitler soon evolved out of the tiny group of idealists (seven, including himself) originally called Deutsche Arbeiter Partei, which he joined in 1919—was to be the one agent of the everlasting Force of Light and Life amidst the growing darkness of the Dark Age. I say: the one; for, contrarily to all other so-called movements of regeneration, religious and secular, this political and yet infinitely more than political Movement, attacked the very root of historical decay as such: biological decay, consequence of sin against the primary natural Commandant of blood purity; in other words (from the standpoint of original Perfection), sickness; tangible, physical untruth and that moral untruth (that false conception of ‘man’) which stands to the back of it.
 

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[1] Mein Kampf, p. 179.

[2] Ibid., p. 178.

[3] Ibid., p. 222.

[4] Ibid., pp. 223, 224-225.

[5] Kubizek, pp. 140 and following.

[6] Mein Kampf, p. 192.