web analytics

Tag: Savitri Devi

Categories
Exterminationism Neanderthalism Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 86

But that’s not all. The visible world around them was infinitely more beautiful than what is spread out today—or was spread out already yesterday and the day before yesterday—, in the vicinity of human agglomerations. It was more beautiful because there were then few men, and many animals, and trees, and immense inviolate spaces.

There is no worse enemy of the beauty of the world than the unlimited proliferation of man. There is no worse enemy of the quality of man himself than this overgrowth: it cannot be repeated too often that a choice must be made between ‘quantity’ and ‘quality’.

______ 卐 ______

 

Editor’s note: This is where the light-years of distance between Savitri and me compared to today’s racialists is most noticeable. It isn’t enough to say that there are billions of Neanderthals on the planet who disfigure the world. The Mauritian scale has to be climbed to level 10. In other words, grab hold of the Christian ethics that our parents and secular schooling instilled in us, wipe our asses with it, and do it publicly (as Putin is currently defecating on American hubris).

The Aryan who fails to understand this is not a real Aryan but a eunuch lobotomised with NT values.
 

______ 卐 ______

 
The history of our cycle is, like that of any cycle, the history of an indefinitely prolonged struggle between quality and quantity, until the victory of the latter: a complete victory, but a very short one, since it necessarily coincides with the end of the cycle, and the coming of the Avenger, whom I have called by his Sanskrit name: Kalki.

If I say that the heroic but practically useless attempt at ‘recovery’ represented by Hitlerism is the last—beyond which any effort of whatever magnitude against the current of Time, is doomed to immediate failure—it is because I know of no force in the present world able to stop universal decadence, in particular to pitilessly reduce the number of men while raising the quality of the survivors; none, that is, apart from that sole champion of the Powers of Light and Life, fully victorious: Kalki. Despite all the power and the prestige at his disposal, Adolf Hitler was unable to create—recreate—the conditions that were and remain essential for the blossoming of a Golden Age. He could neither suppress technology nor reduce the number of people in the world to anything like one-thousandth of what it is today, that is, practically to what it was during the centuries before our Dark Age.

It is possible and even probable that, victorious, he would have tried to do so, gradually. But his victory would have had to be complete, and not only on a European but on a world scale; and there would have been no power on earth to rival his and to thwart his work.

But then he would have been Kalki Himself, and we would now be living at the dawn of a new cycle. In fact, he needed technology, and at least a growing German population, to carry out his fight against the tide of time under the present conditions.

If, like many of his great predecessors who left behind them new civilisations, he had been partially successful in material terms, his work would hardly have lasted at all, simply because it was set in an era so close to the end of the cycle. Everything suggests that it would have deteriorated in a few years, given the sordid selfishness and stupidity of the vast majority of our contemporaries, even of the best races. The most skilful cook cannot make an appetising and healthy omelette with rotten eggs.

However atrocious it may seem to us, with its immediate and distant consequences, the military defeat of 1945 was still better than the galloping degeneration of a Hitlerian civilisation that appeared too late, after the definitive closure of the era of possible, albeit ephemeral, rectification!

Even in the collapse of the Third German Reich, even in the horror of the last days of the Führer and his ultimate followers in the Chancellery Bunker, under the blazing inferno that Berlin had become, there is a grandeur worthy of the tragedies of Aeschylus or the Wagnerian Tetralogy. The combat without hope and weakness of the superhuman hero against inflexible Destiny—his destiny, and the world’s—replayed itself there, undoubtedly for the last time.

The next time it won’t be giants or demigods, but miserable dwarfs who will suffer the inevitable destruction: billions of dwarves, banal in their ugliness, without character, who will disappear before the Avenger like an anthill destroyed by a lava flow.

In any case, whether or not we survive the painful childbirth of the new cycle, we won’t be among these dwarfs. The ordeal of 1945 and especially of the post-war years—the victoriously overcome ordeal of seductive prosperity—will have made us, the few, what we are and what we remain. And in the roar of unleashed power that will mark the end of all that we so cordially despise, we shall greet with a shiver of ecstasy the Voice of divine revenge, whose triumph will be ours—even if we must perish.

Better that, a hundred times, than participation in universal degeneration under a glorious security (but increasingly devoid of all meaning!) which would undoubtedly have been our lot, if the victorious Reich had survived the ‘twenty-fifth hour’.

Categories
Human sacrifice Pre-Columbian America Psychohistory Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 85

I was taught, as was everyone else, that prehistoric man was ‘a barbarian’, of whom I would be afraid if, as I am, I found myself, by the effect of some miracle, in his presence. I doubt it very much, when I think of the perfection of the skulls of the ‘Cro-Magnon race’, of superior capacity to those of the most beautiful and intelligent men of today. I doubt it when I recall the extraordinary frescoes of Lascaux or Altamira; the rigour of the drawing, the freshness and harmonious blending of the colours, the irresistible suggestion of movement, and especially when I compare them to those decadent paintings, without contours, and what is more, without any relation to healthy visible or invisible reality, which the cultural authorities of the Third Reich judged (with good reason) to be suitable for furnishing the ‘museum of horrors’. I doubt it when I remember that in these caves, and many others, no trace of blackening of the stone due to any smoke was found.

This would suggest that the artists of twelve thousand years ago (or more[1]) didn’t work by torchlight or wick lamps. What artificial light did they know that allowed them to decorate the walls of caves as dark as dungeons? Or did they possess, over us and over our predecessors of the great periods of art, the physical superiority of being able to see in the thickest darkness, to the point of being able to navigate at leisure and to work there without lighting? If this were so, as some rightly or wrongly have assumed, the normal reaction of a perfection-loving mind to these representatives of pre-history, at least, should be not retrospective anguish, but unreserved admiration.

To go back beyond any period in which men who created art and symbols surely lived, would be to take a stand in the old controversy of the biological origins of man. Can we do so, without entering the realm of pure hypothesis? Can we see, in the classifiable remains of a past of a million years and more, proof of any bodily filiation between certain primates of extinct species and ‘man’, or certain races of men, as R. Ardrey has done based on the observations of an impressive number of palaeontologists? Wouldn’t the assumption that certain ‘hominid’ primates of extinct species, or even living ones, are rather specimens of very old degenerate human races, explain the data of the experiment just as well, if not better?

Men of the quite inferior races of today, who are wrongly called ‘primitives’, are, on the contrary, the ossified remains of civilised people who, in the mists of time, have lost all contact with the living source of their ancient wisdom. They are what the majority of today’s ‘civilised’ people might well become, if our cycle lasts long enough to give them time. Why shouldn’t the ‘hominid’ primates also be remnants of humans, fallen survivors of past cycles, rather than representatives of ‘gestating’ human races? As I am neither a palaeontologist nor a biologist, I prefer to stay out of these discussions, to which I couldn’t bring any new valid argument. The scientific spirit forbids talking about what we don’t know.

I know neither the age of the ruins of Tiahuanaco or Machu-Picchu, nor the secret of transporting and erecting monoliths weighing hundreds of tons; nor that of painting—and what painting!—without torches and lamps, in caves where it is as dark as in an oven or a dungeon of the Middle Ages. But I know that the human beings who painted those frescoes, erected those blocks, engraved in stone the calendar, more complex and precise than ours, according to which the civilisation of Tiahuanaco was given an approximate date, were superior to the men I see around me—even to those comrades in battle, before whom I feel so small.
 

______ 卐 ______

 
Editor’s note: Savitri obviously rambles on in these paragraphs. But it must be understood that there was no internet in her time and pseudo-anthropology and parapsychology were all the rage. I myself, in the early 1970s, used to buy Duda magazine and came to believe a lot of things because there was no sceptical criticism in the media. I remember a drawing of those ruins of Tiahuanaco in one of the issues of Duda that impressed me.

Now, after studying the pre-Columbian Amerindians of South America with reliable sources, I realise that they not only were primitive, but serial killers as I said in another instalment of this series when talking about pre-Hispanic Peru.

Regarding the specific monument that Savitri mentions, in excavations at the archaeological site of the Tiahuanaco culture, bones and human burials have been found. At the base of the first level of Akapana, dismembered men and children with missing skulls were found. On the second level, a completely disarticulated human torso was found. A total of ten human burials were found. These human sacrifices correspond to offerings dedicated to the construction of the pyramid. Savitri continues:

______ 卐 ______

 
They were our superiors, certainly not in the power, which all the moderns share, to obtain immediate results at will, merely by pressing buttons, but insofar as they could see, hear, smell, know directly both the visible world, near or distant, and the invisible world of Essences. They were closer than us, and the most remarkable of our predecessors of the most perfect ‘historical’ civilisations, to this paradisiacal state that all the forms of the Tradition make, at the beginning of times, a privilege of not yet fallen man. If they were not—or were no longer—all sages, at least there lived among them proportionally many more initiates then, even in our more remote Antiquity, more or less datable.

___________

[1] The paintings in the Lascaux caves date from the ‘Middle Magdalenian’ (Larousse).

Categories
Archeology Autobiography Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 84

What does it mean to speak of the irrevocable impossibility of ‘rectification,’ in the sense in which a devotee of the cyclic theory of History—such as, in India, the first ranks of orthodox Hindus; such as, in the West, a Rene Guénon or Julius Evola—would understand this idea?

It means—and there it is almost a ‘self-evident truth’—the continuation of the course of events and currents of thought, and the evolution of the human and non-human world, as we have known it for as long as there has been a history, that is to say, for as long as we have been able, with the help of relics and documents, to construct for ourselves an idea, as non-arbitrary as possible, of the past.

We can hardly go back more than a few millennia if we want to confine ourselves to history proper, i.e. to a more or less explainable human past. We can only look back a few tens of thousands of years, starting with mysteriously preserved art objects whose meaning and use we ignore, but whose obvious perfection we nevertheless admire.

A few years ago I saw, in the small museum of the chateau of Foix, a flint statuette of such a model, and such an expression, that none of the masterpieces of Tanagra surpasses it in beauty. The anonymous sculptor who left this marvel lived, the guide tells me, ‘some thirty thousand years ago’. What did he want to do, no doubt spending several years of his life giving a soul to this insignificant fragment of the hardest stone there is? Did he want to represent a deity—to create a concrete form that helped him and others to concentrate the mind, the first step towards the ‘realisation’ of the Unthinkable? Did he want to immortalise a beloved face? To attract scattered forces to a point—and which ones?—for a definite aim. And which one?

Only those who live ‘in the eternal’ and who can, through a created object, enter into effective contact with its creator, who is always present for them, could say. I cannot. But I do know the deep impression that this statuette left on me: the impression of a forbidden world, separated from ours by some impenetrable veil, and of a quality far superior to ours; of a world where the ‘average man’, the simple craftsman, was so much closer to the hidden Reality than the greatest of our relatively recent artists (not to mention, of course, all the producers of ‘modern art’!).

Thirty thousand years! In perpetuity without beginning or end, that was yesterday. Some archaeologists, whose assessments I cannot, in my ignorance, judge the accuracy or error of, attribute ten times this age to the enigmatic carved and sculpted blocks of Tiahuanaco. Assuming that they are right, or that they are only wrong by a few millennia, it was only yesterday. It is difficult, beyond a certain distance, to distinguish differences in the past. This already applies to the very short period of a human’s life.

Unlikely as it may seem, my earliest clear memories are of the time when I was between one and a half and two years old. I can see the flat my parents lived in at that time, with its furniture. I can easily relive the impression made by certain knick-knacks, and several episodes connected with the child’s car in which my mother used to take me for a ride. But these memories, which go back to, let’s say, 1907, seem to me hardly older than the first film, Quo Vadis?, that I saw, in April 1912, since it was preceded by Newsreels, one of which, the most important and the only one that I remember, was none other than the famous sinking of the Titanic. If I were to live for several centuries, I would undoubtedly put the memories of my tenth and my fiftieth year ‘on the same level’ (in the way that ‘pre-dynastic’ Egypt and that of Pharaoh Tjeser, the great king of the 3rd Dynasty, seem to me, in the fog of time, to be almost contemporary).

Thus all that I can say of the more or less remote milestones that scientists, specialists in prehistory, discover along the path of creative men—we don’t even know which—is that they evoke the whole of a past in which all that counts for me, and in particular the beauty, strangely surpasses the present that I see around me.

Categories
3-eyed crow Kali Yuga Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book) Third Reich

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 83

The leaders who have led, or will lead, some phase of the eternal struggle ‘against Time’ after the limit point where a last great recovery would still have been possible—after what Virgil Ghéorghiou calls ‘the twenty-fifth hour’—, haven’t been able and won’t be able to leave behind them anything in this visible and tangible world, except a handful of clandestine disciples.

And these have, and will have, nothing to look forward to—except the coming of Kalki; or the Saoshyant of the Zoroastrians, the Maitreya Buddha of the Buddhists, the glorious fighting Christ as expected by the Christians at his ‘second coming’,[1] the Mahdi of the Mohammedans, the immortal Emperor of the Germans surging forth, armed, from his enigmatic Cave at the head of his avenging Knights. He who returns for the last time in our cycle has many names. But He is the same under all of them.

Now He is known by His action, that is, by His victory over all, followed by the dazzling dawn of the next cycle: the new Satya Yuga, or Age of Truth.

The defeat in this world of a Leader who fought against universal decadence, and therefore against the very meaning of Time, is enough to prove that this Leader, however great he may have been, was not Him. He may well have been Him in essence: the eternal Saviour, not of ‘man’ but of Life who ‘returns’ innumerable times. But he was certainly not Him, in the ultimate form in which He must reappear at the end of every cycle.

Adolf Hitler was not Kalki, though he was, essentially speaking, the same as the ancient Rama Chandra, or the historical Krishna, or Siegfried, or the Prophet Mohammed, the Leader of a true ‘holy war’ (i.e., of a ceaseless struggle against the Forces of disintegration; against the Forces of the abyss). He was, like every great Fighter against the current of Time, a Forerunner of Kalki. He was, still in essence, the Emperor of the Cave. With him the latter reappeared, intensely awake and in arms, as he had reappeared before in the person of various great German leaders, especially Frederick II of Prussia, whom Adolf Hitler so revered. But this was not his last and final reappearance in this cycle.

In both cases he had awakened to the sound of the distress of his people. Carried away by the enthusiasm of the action, he had, with his faithful barons, dashed a few steps out of the cave.

Then he returned to the shadows, the Omniscient Ravens having told him that it was, despite impressive signs, ‘not yet the time’.

Frederick II founded the Old Prussian Lodges, through which the more-than-human truth was to continue to be passed on to a few generations of initiates after him. Adolf Hitler left his admirable Testament, in which he too exhorts the best to keep their blood pure, to resist the invasion of error and lies—of the counter-Tradition—and to wait.

He knew that the ‘twenty-fifth hour’ had come, and long ago. At the age of sixteen, as I have already mentioned, he had a premonition of his own materially useless but necessary struggle.

As a German, as an Aryan, a man conscious of the excellence of the Aryan race, although he was an integral part of it, he was eager to defeat the world arrayed against him and his people. He was striving with all his strength, with all his genius, for the building of a superior and lasting society, a visible reflection of the cosmic order, the Reich of his dreams.

And he was striving against all hope, against all reason, in an inordinate effort to stop at all costs the levelling, the dumbing down, the disfigurement of the most beautiful and gifted variety of men; to prevent forever its reduction to the state of a mass without race and character. And he struggled, with all the bitterness of an artist, against the shameless destruction of the living and beautiful natural environment, in which he rightly saw an increasingly patent sign of the imminent victory of the Forces of disintegration.

His irrational confidence in an in extremis salvation using the ‘secret weapon’; his feverish expectation, under burning Berlin, of the entry into action of ‘General Wenck’s army’, which had long since ceased to exist, are reminiscent, in dramatic absurdity, whatever Christians may think, of Christ’s attitude in Gethsemane, praying that the chalice of suffering, which he had come to drink to the dregs, might be removed from his lips.

Adolf Hitler—since he was a combatant against Time, whose kingdom, if it belonged to the eternal, was also ‘of this world’—clung to the illusion of total victory and, despite everything, of an immediate recovery to the end. He clung to it, I repeat, as a German and as a man. As an insider, he knew that this was an illusion, that it was ‘too late’ already in 1920. He had seen it, on that extraordinary night on top of Freienberg in 1905. And the real leaders of the ‘Black Order’—in particular those of the Ahnenerbe, aware as he was of the inevitability of the cycle that was nearing its end—were already preparing, before 1945, the clandestine survival of the essential, beyond the collapse of National Socialist Germany.

And we who follow them and him also know that there will never be a Hitlerian civilisation.

No, hope no more to see us again,
Sacred walls that could not preserve my Hector.

I remember this verse that Racine puts in the mouth of Andromache, in scene IV of the first act of his tragedy of that name. And I think that the grandiose parades to the rhythm of the Horst Wessel Lied, under the folds of the red, white and black swastika standard, and all that glory that was the Third German Reich, the nucleus of a pan-Aryan Empire, are as irrevocably past as the splendours of prestigious Troy; as ‘past’ and as immortal, because one day Legend will recreate them, when epic poetry is again a collective need.

He who returns from age to age, both destroyer and preserver, will appear again at the very end of your cycle, to open to the best the Golden Age of the next cycle. As I have recalled in these pages, Adolf Hitler was waiting for it. He said to Hans Grimm in 1928: ‘I know that I am not the One who is to come’, that is, the last and only fully victorious Man against Time of our cycle. ‘I only take on the most urgent task of preparation (die dringlichste Vorarbeit), for there is no one to do it’.

One incommensurably harder than he will accomplish the final task—the task of rectification—on the ruins of a humanity that believed all was permitted because it is endowed with a brain capable of calculations, and which largely deserved its fall and its loss.

__________

[1] The Deuteria Parousia spoken of by the Greek Orthodox Church.

Categories
Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 82

 

Chapter XI: Incurable decadence

No longer gigantic, like unto the Spirits, proud and free,
But servile, crawling, crafty, cowardly, envious,
Frozen flesh where nothing stirs or trembles any more,
Man will swarm anew under the skies.
—Leconte de Lisle (Qaïn; Poèmes Barbares).

An impure air embraces the globe stripped
Of the woods that sheltered it in their sublime mantle;
The mountains, under vile feet, have lowered their summits;
The mysterious heart of the ocean is defiled.
—Leconte de Lisle (L’Anathème; Poèmes Barbares).

 
The perpetuation of Hitlerism as an expression of the eternal, more than human, tradition—and in particular of the Germanic form of this tradition—adapted to our time, doesn’t, however, mean the resurgence, in the more or less near future, of the new civilisation that was taking shape within the framework of the Third Reich.

As I have tried to show in another study,[1] all religious or political leaders (or both) whose action is directed against decadence, against the false values inseparable from the childish overestimation of ‘man’, fail in the long run, even when they appear to succeed—for decadence is the true direction of Time against which no one should expect, during a cycle, to remain victorious forever.

Despite this, some manage to establish a civilisation that is linked, in its basic principles, to some particular form of Tradition. They do this at the cost of certain necessary compromises on the exoteric level, which ensure the permanent enthusiasm of the crowd to them, the consequence of spectacular success.

Legislation based on their teaching still governs States, if not continents, centuries after their death. And although their work is crumbling and disintegrating all the more rapidly because they came later in the succession of promoters of ‘redress’; although, if they could ‘come back’ they would hardly recognise their creation in what has become over time the civilisations they founded, they have left something visible, something pitifully sclerotic—sometimes even degenerate—but at least historically significant.

But there are others whose creation against the guiding trends of their time ends with them. This happens when inspired leaders refuse those compromises which, more and more as the ages pass, are the indispensable conditions of success in this world. But it also happens whenever such leaders live and act in a ‘doomed’ age, i.e., when no ‘rectification’ of any scope (and duration) is possible any longer—no matter how worthy and skilful the initiator may be.

Only Kalki, the last of the avatars of Vishnu, or by whatever name men who are attached to the various expressions of the one Tradition like to call him, is assured of success in a battle against the tide of Time. And this success will then be total, consisting of nothing less than that absolute reversal of values that characterises the end of one world and the birth of an unknown and long unthinkable world. Accompanied by unprecedented destruction, it will signify the end of the present cycle: the end of the Dark Age, from which nothing good could come; the end of this cursed humanity, and the Appearance of conditions of life and means of expression similar to those of every Golden Age.

_________

[1] In The Lightning and the Sun, a book completed in early 1956 and published in Calcutta in 1958.

Categories
Currency crash Lord of the Rings Racial right Richard Wagner Rudolf Hess Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 80

It is impossible to say to what extent the Thüle Gesellschaft [a German occultist and Völkisch group] was in possession of this priceless heritage, coming from the depths of the ages. Certainly some of its members were—Dietrich Eckart, Rudolf Hess, and the Führer himself had it. One of the traits of the initiate would be the ability to feign anger, madness, imbecility, or any other human state whenever he deemed it appropriate for his purposes. The Führer forced himself, as he said,[1] to ‘appear tough’.

And his all-too-famous fits of rage—the existence of which the enemy pounced on with delight, as if they were a source of ridicule, exploitable ad infinitum—were, according to Rauschning, ‘carefully premeditated’ and ‘intended to disconcert those around him and force them to capitulate’.[2] Hermann Rauschning, who at the time of writing his book hated his former master, had no reason to destroy, as he does, with the stroke of a pen, the legend that aimed to discredit him in the eyes of more than one well-meaning man. Or rather, if he had a reason, it could only be, despite everything, a remnant of intellectual honesty.

As for Rudolf Hess, the comedy of ‘amnesia’ that he played so masterfully at the Nuremberg trial has fooled the most experienced psychiatrists. And the ‘normal’, sometimes even playful, tone of his letters to his wife and son[3]—tone that disconcerts the reader, in a man who was captive for more than thirty years—would be enough to prove his superhumanity. Only an initiate can write, after three decades in a cell, in the light-hearted and detached manner of a husband and father on holiday from his family for three weeks.

The Führer apparently outgrew his masters in the Thule Society (or elsewhere), and escaped the influence that some of them—one will never be clear which ones—would have wanted to have on him. He had to do it, being sovereign, being one of the visages of the One Who Returns.

And if, suddenly, the war took a wrong turn; if, to say the least, the point of no return was Stalingrad, which according to some, was the very site of the ancient Asgard, the fortress of the Germanic Gods, it is undoubtedly because, for some hidden reason, it had to be so. And hadn’t the young Adolf Hitler had that revelation under the night sky, on the summit of Freienberg, at the gates of his beloved city of Linz, at the age of sixteen?

The immediate material cause, or rather the occasion of the fatal turn, must have been not a strategic error on the part of the Führer—it is acknowledged that he never made a mistake in this area—but some sudden and unfortunate stiffening in his attitude towards the adversary. Siegfried, the superman, once showed pride of the same magnitude by refusing, so as not to appear to give in to the threat, and therefore to fear, to return to the Daughters of the Rhine the Ring which was theirs by right.

This gesture would have saved Asgard and the gods. The hero’s refusal precipitated its downfall. The new Siegfried, undoubtedly, also not to appear ‘weak’, although no challenge had been thrown at him, refused to exploit, as he certainly could, the goodwill of these people of Ukraine—anti-communists, aspiring to their autonomy—who had initially received his soldiers as liberators.

(March in Ukraine, historical; SS-Volunteer Division.) Did he do so knowingly, realising that the loss of the war, inscribed in the stars from all eternity, was a necessary catastrophe for Germany and the entire Aryan world, which only the trial by fire could one day purify? Only the gods know. The speed with which Germany, in the first years after the war, took the bait of material prosperity without any ideals, shows how much, despite the enthusiasm of the great National Socialist rallies, it was only incompletely freed from its comfortable humanitarian moralism, and only superficially armed against the Jewish influence, both ‘political’ and profound—that is, in the field of values.
 

______ 卐 ______

 

Editor’s note: This is central.

A few years ago, I used to say that the primary cause of the Aryan decline was that they succumbed to the One Ring, obviously referring to Wagner’s magnum opus, his Tetralogy (see for example: here).

And last year, when I promised myself that I would learn German and started to study it hard, I gave up when I discovered, just by reading the German grammar book I was reading, that the Germans betrayed themselves horrendously after the Second World War. What is the point of learning the language of the Nazis if German speakers are now anti-Nazis?

On this site I have been saying some very harsh things about the Americans. But however flawed their patriotic racialism may be (like what I recently said about Jared Taylor), they at least represent a firm step over the psychological Rubicon in the sense that American white nationalists are no longer in Normieland. They just need to finish crossing it, and The West’s Darkest Hour provides the stepping stones to do so.

What have the Germans done after their Fuhrer lost the war? The traitors donned one of the surrogate rings of the One Ring and have now become wraiths of what they were! I have already said it but it bears repeating:

In Tolkien’s universe, the Ringwraiths, the nine fallen kings or black riders, became the dreaded ring-servants of the Dark Lord Sauron. These Ringwraiths are Great Britain, France, Italy, Germany, Sweden, the other Nordic countries, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. All of these wimp countries of the American Empire consider the anti-white wars that occurred in the 1860s and the 1940s to be good.

The fiat currencies of the Ringwraiths are pegged to the dollar. When the One Ring is destroyed—when the US dollar crashes—, like Sauron, the kings of these reigns will also lose their power. Mordor’s power comes from the One Ring, from the privilege that its banknotes have become the world’s reserve currency. Since the ring will fall into the Mount Doom lavas in the not-too-distant future, such a milestone will mark the beginning of the fall not only of Mordor, but of the nine Ringwraiths.

If after such a catastrophe the Aryan race manages to survive, it is not clear which Indo-European language will be adopted by the survivors.

________

[1] Rauschning, Hitler m’a dit, page 34.

[2] Ibid., page 84

[3] Frau Ilse Hess published two collections of letters of her captive husband: London, Nuremberg, Spandau and Prisoner of Peace.

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

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 79

But that is still nothing. What is most extraordinary is that this cult of the Führer survived, in this country, the collapse of the Third Reich. I found it alive during my stay in India from 1957 to 1960, and I found it again, to my joy, and despite intensified Communist propaganda, in 1971, and this, I repeat, especially in the circles most faithful to Tradition.

In the book she devoted to India, in the collection Petite Planète, the orientalist Madeleine Biardeau, herself clearly hostile to our Weltanschauung, is obliged to note this with regret, not to say with bitterness. ‘In no country’, she writes, ‘have I heard more praise for Hitler. Germans are praised for no other reason than that they are his countrymen’. [1] And she is also forced to admit that Hindu resentment of British rule—now finished anyway—isn’t enough to account for this worship. The scholar has, underhandedly as one would expect it, an explanation that is suitable for her. The Hindu, she says, feels and honours the presence of the Divine in all that is ‘great in evil’. In other words, he is free from the moral dualism that still underlies, almost invariably, the value judgements of Western man.

This is certainly true. But it does not suffice as an explanation. The only justification for the praise of an Aryan leader who is a stranger to India lies not in the fact that the Hindu easily transcends moral dualism, but in the reason for this fact.

This reason is to be found in the Hindu’s attachment to Tradition, not elsewhere; in his acceptance of sacred knowledge with full confidence, even if he has not acquired it himself.

It is in the name of this more-than-human science that he finds it natural that, under certain conditions, what on the average human scale would seem ‘evil’ is not.

It is in the light of the doctrine of necessary violence, exercised without passion ‘in the interest of the Universe’—i.e., of Life, not of ‘man’—it is in the light of the venerable Bhagawad-Gita that proclaims the innocence of violence of this nature, that the orthodox Hindu can see in the Master of the Third Reich—despite all the propaganda of concentration camps that have saturated all the rest of the men on this Earth for several decades—something other than ‘the incarnation of evil’.

Moreover, it is impossible not to be struck by the similarity of spirit between Hitlerism and, not, certainly, the philosophies of non-violence, which have broken away from the Brahmanical trunk, or the dissident Hindu sects, but the most rigorous and ancient Brahmanism. Both are centred on the idea of purity of blood, and the indefinite transmission of wholesome life—especially the life of the racial elite; the life from which can emerge the man whose self-mastery raises him to the rank of a God. Both exalt war in an attitude of detachment—‘war without hatred’ [2] —because ‘nothing better can happen to the Kshatriya’—or the perfect SS warrior—‘than a righteous combat’[3]. Both establish on the Earth, as do all traditional doctrines, a visible order modelled on cosmic realities and the very laws of life.

This worship of the Führer, surviving in India despite so much enemy propaganda well beyond the disaster of 1945 is, moreover, a proof—if one needed one—that Hitlerism, stripped of its contingent German expression, is also indeed attached to the primordial—Hyperborean—tradition of which Brahminism seems to be the most ancient living form.

It is undoubtedly related to it by what has, despite the imposition of Christianity, survived in Germany of a very old and properly Germanic traditional form, deriving from a common source of the holy ‘Arctic fatherland’ of the Vedas and the Edda.

_____________

[1] Madeleine Biardeau, L’Inde, collection Petite Planète.

[2] This is the subtitle of a post-war book on the career of Feldmarschall Rommel.

[3] The Bhagawad-Gita, Chant II, verse 31.

Categories
Hinduism Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book) Third Reich

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 78

I have always, however, been pleasantly struck by the understanding I have encountered, as a Hitlerite, among orthodox Hindus of all castes.

I related at the beginning of these talks the episode of the young Shudra, with the beautiful historical name of Khudiram, who showed more sense of true values—and a more accurate appreciation of Adolf Hitler’s role—than all the Democrats of Europe and America put together. I have also quoted Satyananda Swami, the founder of the Hindu Mission, for whom, however, the creation of a common Hindu front against the clutches of Islam, Christian missionaries, and Communism, counted even more than strict observance of orthodoxy. The latter held our Führer to be ‘incarnation of Vishnu—the only one in the West’.

I could, on this subject, multiply my recollections and recall for example that admirable Brahmin of Poona, Pandit Rajwadé, so versed in the work of Nietzsche as in the sacred texts (which he commented on, twice a week, before a narrow circle of disciples) and who professed the deepest admiration for ‘the chakravarti king [universal ruler] of Europe’ who had come to ‘re-establish the true order’ in a world adrift. I could relate the words of another unusual man—less literate perhaps, but gifted with a strange power of clairvoyance—whom I met at the beginning of the war in a friendly family, of which he was the guru or spiritual master. This wise man said to me: ‘Your Führer can only be victorious because the gods themselves dictate his strategy. Every night he divides himself into two and comes here to the Himalayas to receive instructions’.

I wondered what Adolf Hitler would have thought of this unexpected explanation of the German army’s victories. I then said to the holy man:

‘It is, in this case, unquestionable that he will win the war.’

‘No’ he replied, ‘for there will come a time when his generals will reject his divine inspiration and disobey him—will betray him!’

And he added: ‘It cannot be otherwise; if he is an Incarnation, he is not the supreme Incarnation—the last of this cycle’—Alas!

(City of joy: Calcutta by Samir Barman.) But that’s not all. How could I forget the atmosphere of the orthodox Hindu families with whom I am most familiar? That, for instance, of the house of one of my brothers-in-law, then still living, and a physician at Medinipur, [1] with whom I was staying during the Norwegian and early French campaigns? They all enthusiastically accepted my suggestion to go to the temple of the Goddess Kali—to the ‘House of Kali’ as we say in Bengali—to give thanks to the One who both blesses and kills for the triumphal advance of the soldiers of great German Reich.

We went in procession, carrying offerings of rice, sugar, flour, fruit, garlands of scarlet flowers—in the absence of the bloody sacrifice which the family rejected as much as I did. I can still see myself, surrounded by young people who were also proud of their Aryan ancestry, standing before the terrible Image with the curved sword. Inhaling the smoke of the incense, lulled by the haunting musicality of Sanskrit liturgical formulas, I sometimes closed my eyes to better see in my mind’s eye, like a grandiose fresco, the parade of German armoured vehicles along the roads of Europe.

I lived intensely my role as a link between the oldest living Aryan civilisation in the East and this Aryan West that Adolf Hitler was conquering to return it to itself and regenerate it. Then I looked at my nephews and nieces, and the young Brahmins, their neighbours and fellow students, who had accompanied me. And I dreamed of the day when I would finally see the new Emperor—the eternal Emperor—of the Twilight Lands [Abendland = West], awake and rising from his mysterious cave, and when, greeting him with my outstretched arm, I would say to him, ‘Mein Führer, I bring you the allegiance of the elite of India!’

It didn’t seem an impossible dream then…

How could I forget the general joy in Calcutta—and no doubt in the rest of the peninsula too—at the news of Adolf Hitler’s troops entering Paris or, some twenty months later, at the announcement of the lightning advance of our allies the Japanese to the Assam border and beyond?

The kids themselves, newspaper sellers, their faces radiant, triumphantly threw to the public the names of the captured cities—every news day: Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Rangoon, Mandalay, Akyab, Imphal in Indian territory—one after the other. The colonial government had banned listening to German radio. People who could hear German were listening to it illegally.

I know Hindus who listened to it without understanding a word just to hear the voice of the Führer. They felt that the One who spoke to the Aryan world in an ‘Indo-European’ language unknown to them was also speaking to them—at least to the racial elite of their continent.
 

______ 卐 ______

Editor’s note:

Compare this holy euphoria with the way the Americans and the British people reacted to Hitler’s divine voice! Compare it with the red letters in our very long post yesterday (‘American racial history timeline—Or—On Jared Taylor’s cherries’)!

It needs to be said a million times until it is understood: Christianity fried the brains of the Aryan man to the extent that, after WW2, the Aryan man handed over their Abendland to the Jews!

To save the white race from the anti-White war of extermination that the entire Abendland is suffering, it is an absolute categorical imperative to repudiate, with all our being, the accursed religion of our imbecilic parents.

If the Aryans of India had conquered Abendland with their religion, during WW2 Westerners, including the American and English people, would have been as euphoric at the German advance in Europe, and beyond, as these children untainted with a lethal Semitic-Christian poison.

___________

[1] Still often written as Midnapore: a city in West Bengal.

Categories
Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 77

(Left, seal of the Theosophical Society in Budapest, Hungary.) Apart from the Theosophical Society—itself in close connection with certain Masonic Lodges in the West—it was among the Hindus of the dissident sects, such as the Brahmo Samaj, that I met the only Anti-Hitlerians who crossed my path in India—apart, of course, from the great majority of non-German Europeans, and all Communists without exception. I will only mention, as an example, the Brahmo Samajist milieu which the Shantiniketan Open Air University represented then, and still represents. The poet Rabindranath Tagore, its founder, was still alive when, in 1935, I spent six months at the said University to improve my knowledge of the Bengali language and to learn Hindi. I didn’t notice anything special except the presence, as ‘German teacher’, of a Jewess from Berlin, Margaret Spiegel, known as Amala Bhen, who had come there, after two years in Gandhi’s ashram, to spread her hatred of the Third Reich among the students entrusted to her and the Hindu colleagues she could indoctrinate. I soon learned that ‘Govinda’, the Buddhist monk whose saffron-coloured robe and handsome Burmese parasol added a picturesque note to the landscape, was also a Jew from Germany. I was also told of the deep friendship between the poet and Andrews, a British man and former Christian missionary. But no one expressed any hostility to my Hitlerian faith, except Amala Bhen.

The latter, who had been introduced to me as a ‘European’ on my arrival in Shantiniketan had, after only half an hour’s conversation, realised very well the ‘pan-Aryan’ nature of Hitlerism as I understood it and still understand it. She was quick to tell me—she who had come to the end of the world ‘not to see the shadow of a Nazi’—that I was ‘worse than the whole pack rolled in one’. Those, indeed, she told me, marched through the streets of the Reich’s cities singing: ‘Today Germany belongs to us; tomorrow the whole world’, but they were thinking mainly of Germany, despite the words of their song. I, on the other hand, by insisting on the profound identity of the Hitlerian spirit and that of orthodox Hinduism, was paving the way for the future military and moral conquest and unlimited influence of a German Reich that would spill over into Asia.

These words flattered me beyond belief. But the hostility of Margaret Spiegel, known as Amala Bhen, and no doubt that of ‘Govinda’, to whom I wasn’t introduced, still seemed to me to be confined to the non-Hindu element of the University of Shantinikétan.

It was a surprise to me to learn, a few months before the Second World War, that the poet Rabindranath Tagore himself had sent a telegram of protest to the Führer against the invasion of ‘unfortunate Czechoslovakia’. What was he meddling with? I couldn’t help but praise his work as an artist. Didn’t he realise that it was mainly the unfortunate Sudeten Germans who had the right to be protected? Didn’t he know that Czechoslovakia had never been anything but an artificial state, an assemblage of the most disparate elements, built from scratch to serve as a permanent thorn in the side of the German Reich? But what am I saying? Would he even have been able to draw a map of it? So why this indiscreet intervention? Was it suggested to him by the foreigners, Christians or Jews, whom I have just named, and by others, all of them humanitarian and anti-racists—at least anti-Aryan—who occasionally haunted Shantinikétan or who lived there?

Or should I not rather admit that, however artistic he may have been—however luminous and musical a neo-Sanskrit language such as Bengali may have revealed itself under his genius pen—a Brahmin who rejected the caste system wholesale could only be anti-Hitler? The poet’s stand against the defender of the Aryan elite of Europe shocked me all the more because Rabindranath Tagore had an ivory complexion and the most classic features of the white race: physical signs of a more or less unmixed parentage with those conquering Aryas, who passed on the hyperborean tradition to ancient India. But I might have thought that, if these same visible signs of Aryan nobility couldn’t have prevented him from joining his voice to that of the despisers of the ‘Law of colour and social function’ (varnashrama dharma) in India, it was unlikely that they would have become the occasion for an awakening of ancestral consciousness linked with any sympathy for that modern European form of the Brahminical spirit which is Hitlerism.

Categories
Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 76

I do not want to go into detail about those. That would take the reader too far. But I can’t pass over in silence two organisations which originated in South India: one, the Society of Theosophy in Adyar near Madras; the other, a community formed in Pondicherry around the late Bengali sage, Aurobindo Ghosh.

The first is a vast international institution of subversion in the deepest sense of the word, as Guénon showed very well in his book Le Théosophisme, une fausse religion (a book now almost impossible to find). What it would like to pass off as ‘doctrine’ is a farrago of arbitrary constructions of the mind and of some notions and beliefs whose names—karma; transmigration of souls, etc.—are taken from the Hindu tradition. These notions and beliefs themselves are just as arbitrary, just as unorthodox, as the theories into which they enter—such, for example, as Leadbeater’s idea of the ‘group soul’ of animals; such, also, everything the Theosophists teach about their various ‘Masters’: Kuthumi, Rajkoski, and others. The illustrious Lokomanya Tilak, one of whose works I have quoted above, compared Annie Besant, President of the Theosophical Society until she died in 1933—and for a time President of the Indian National Congress—to the she-devil Putna, who was sent as nursemaid to the Child-God, Krishna, to kill him with her poisonous milk. Tilak hoped that, like the young God who, while assimilating the poison with impunity, finally killed Putna by draining her of all her substance, Hindu society would be able to defend itself, and confound those who try to seduce it with cleverly disguised untruths.

The other institution developed around an apparently genuine sage. However, it tended, already during his lifetime, to fall into the category of a very clever and lucrative business. It bought, one after the other, all the houses in Pondicherry that were for sale, so that in 1960, apart from the centre where a few disciples were engaged in meditation, it included numerous workshops for pottery, carpentry, weaving, etc., the products of which were—and still are—sold for profit; mixed schools, with sports classes, and a university, provided with richly equipped laboratories.

This prosperity is said to be largely due to the business acumen of the Ashram’s ‘Mother’, a woman of Jewish origin, widowed of a Jew and later of a Frenchman[1] and the son she has from her first husband. Members of the organisation, full of both zeal and practicality, and enjoying the confidence of these two people, may also be responsible, each one following his talents. In any case, from the reception room, where numerous photographs, large and small for all pockets, of the late guru and ‘Mother’ are on sale, one is impressed by the business-like atmosphere of the place: an impression that becomes clearer and more intense during a visit to the workshops. And one is reminded, by contrast, of the spiritual radiance that emanates from some of Aurobindo Ghosh’s writings like his commentaries on the Bhagawad-Gita, his Divine Life or his Synthesis of the Yogas. One has the feeling of a profound discrepancy between this more than a flourishing organisation, which covers two-thirds of a city of more than one hundred thousand inhabitants, and the sage who lived there in complete isolation: invisible to the crowd and even to the disciples, except for a few hours a year.

Now, there is a fact that seems to me eloquent, and here it is: amid his traditional civilisation which is still that of India, it is precisely from the most secular, the most ‘modern’, in a word the most anti-traditionalist organisations, that produced the gestures, the writings or the declarations hostile to Hitlerism.

Aurobindo Ghosh, to my knowledge, never expressed a judgment ‘for’ or ‘against’ any of the great contemporary political (or more than political) figures or faiths. He had definitively left action—and what action![2]—for contemplation, and confined himself to the spiritual domain.

But by the end of 1939—or was it 1940?—the Calcutta newspapers published that the ‘Pondicherry Ashram’ had donated ten thousand pounds sterling to the Colonial Government of India ‘to help the British war effort’. Monsieur de Saint-Hilaire, known as Pavitra, secretary of the Ashram, whom I asked about this in 1960, replied that he ‘could not tell me’ whether the information collected and published twenty years earlier in the Calcutta press was correct. But he told me that ‘it might well be’ since Hitlerism was, in his opinion (and no doubt in the opinion of more than one person with influence in the Ashram), ‘against the direction of human evolution’.

Against evolution? You bet! Nothing could be further from the truth! But far from being a reason to fight it, it would be, on the contrary, a reason to support it. Universal decadence is a sign, increasingly visible, that our cycle is rapidly advancing towards its end. Any struggle against it, any return to eternal principles, is necessarily ‘against the direction of human evolution’. It is a phase of the perpetual struggle, against the current of Time. But this is, I repeat, I insist on it, a reason—the imperative reason—to exalt rather than to condemn it.

Furthermore, the leaders of the Theosophical Society—according to René Guénon, masters of counter-initiation, despite their claims to the contrary—proved, during and after the Second World War, how much they hated (and still hate) the doctrine of Adolf Hitler.

Arundale, then President of the said Society, went around India looking for compliant, i.e., purchasable, priests and ordered them to pray for the victory of the ‘Crusade’[3] against National Socialism. And one has only to open any issue of Conscience, the official organ of Theosophy, to see in it, in black and white, anti-Hitler propaganda which has nothing to envy to that of the British or American newspapers of the same period, or even to that of the press of the Soviet Union (after they heard of the rupture of the Germano-Russian Pact of 23 August 1939). It is not only to the supposed invisible ‘masters’ of the Theosophists, Koot Hoomi, Rajkoski, and others, that one attributed ‘secret missions’ for the success of the United Nations.[4]

_________

[1] Mr Paul Richard. Her first husband was called Alfassa. The ‘Mother’, still alive when these pages were written, has since died, in 1973, at the age of 95.

[2] He had, at the beginning of the century, played a leading part in the Bengal ‘terrorist’ (anti-British) movement.

[3] Crusade in Europe is the title of General Eisenhower’s book on his campaign against Germany.

[4] In 1947 Gretar Fels, President of the Reykjavik Theosophical Society, assured me that ‘Master Rajkoski’ had ‘helped the Allies to fight Nazism’.