Nordish Hellenes: the aristocracy of ancient Greece

Athena Parthenos

As can be seen in my first comment of the last thread, a white nationalist has no idea of what nordicism is. Stubbs said in a VNN exchange that I included in The Fair Race, “Nordicism has come to refer the recognition that some parts of Europe have undergone significantly more mongrelization than others.” It is just that simple. But white nationalists, still under the firm grip of egalitarianism despite claims to the contrary, freak out before such no-brainer.

Below, a section that I forgot to translate last year into the article “Were the Greeks blond and blue-eyed?”


Adriano Romualdi said, cautious about the above information:

From all these data it would be unfair to infer that in all periods of Greek history blondes have constituted an overwhelming majority. But the truth is that they were numerous and, above all, set the tone for the ruling class (The Indo-European).

Exactly the same is true of India or Rome. Blond or redheads were the gods, heroes, kings, great men; in short, the Aryan people who formed the minority and dominant aristocratic caste. The mob, on the other hand, the numerous submitted people, were swarthy.

In fact, the American anthropologist J.L. Angel calculated in 1944, after a careful examination of the skulls of ancient Greece, that the Nordic predominantly constituted around 27 percent of the Greek population during the classical era. However, Angel is much concentrated in the area of Attica, i.e., the state of Athens, the Piraeus port, etc., where there was a strong foreign presence through trade and slavery. In other areas the Nordic aspect should have been more strongly represented, especially in territories that formed ponds of pure Hellenic blood and where there was no immigration from North African and Oriental slaves. Generalizing, the poet Bacchylides describes the Spartan youth as blonde, coinciding with another poet, Tyrtaeus of Sparta. Later Dicaearchus described the Thebans on the same terms.

Some will object that in the ancient representations of typical Greek jars the gods are represented as dark. Yes, sometimes scenes are depicted of homosexuality, that inevitably remind me of the Etruscans. But the craftsmen of Greece did not belong to the Greek aristocracy, but to the Mediterranean village of the conquered and subdued, who had adopted the gods of the conquerors and represented them as they pleased, that is, how they saw themselves. It is not there where we must seek information about the appearance of the gods, but in the art of the true Hellenes. The mythology and poetry of Greece, which itself was created by them, certainly describes the gods and heroes as Nordic-looking, as we have seen. And the Greek statues, made not by Mediterranean artisans but by real artists, imbued the Hellenes the sacred meaning of their art and also represent very clearly the Nordic ideal of beauty. Unfortunately, Christianity did a thorough job in eliminating most classic art, but the little of it that has reached us speaks for itself.

The Greeks were enthusiast physiognomists, interpreting the character and personality of an individual from the physical features, especially of the face. Few have seen it, but the Greek statues were made with that knowledge in mind and therefore represent not only a beautiful body, but a beautiful body that also carries a beautiful soul.

Artemis

The Greeks, perhaps above any other Indo-European peoples, gave immense importance to the racial aspect: beauty, fitness and biological quality as a presentation card which connects closely with the cult of the body and sports, something typically Greek. The ideal beauty of the Greeks, without any doubt, was Nordic (precisely to distinguish themselves from the aboriginal, conquered people): Apollo, Adonis and Paris, three famous male idols for their beauty, were described as Nordic-looking. As for women, the most beautiful of all time, the legendary Helen of Sparta (later Helen of Troy and, even later, Helen of Sparta again): white, blond and blue-eyed like “Golden Aphrodite,” the goddess of love.

Even in the 4th century CE, when Greece had fallen, Rome itself was reeling, and anti-white and anti-pagan genocides were around the corner throughout the empire, the physician and sophist Jewish Adamantio described the “authentic” Greek, as opposed to the mestizo masses that were adopting Christianity, thus:

Where the Hellenic and Ionic race has been kept pure, we see, well built, with fair skin and blond tall men a wide construction; the flesh is firm, the limbs straight and well made. The head is medium sized and is easily moved; the neck is strong, the hair clear, smooth and a little curly; the face is rectangular with thin lips, straight nose and bright, intense eyes full of light; because of all nations, the Greeks are those with lighter eyes.


Conclusion

Were the Greeks, then, blond and blue-eyed?

Depends on what you mean by “Greek.” The founders of classical Greek culture (and pre-classical, Homeric, Achaean or Mycenaean) as well as the posterior dominant and active Greek aristocracy, did not descend from the original inhabitants of the Greek soil. They were invading Hellenes (and maybe some Illyrian groups allied with them). That is to say: Indo-European peoples who entered Greece from the north, from the Balkans and Central Europe. These invaders of whom descended, among others, the Achaeans (Mycenaean civilization and “Homeric” Greece), the Ionians (Athenians), the Dorians (Spartans), people from Thessaly (Thebans) and Macedonians (like Alexander the Great) were predominantly Nordic.

If in the case of the Romans, a strong presence of Nordic blood is evident in their upper social strata (see “Were the Romans blond and blue-eyed?”), especially during the Republic, in the case of the Hellenes their taste for beauty and its relationship with Nordic appearance with the tall, with divine heritage and noble birth, absolutely infested the entire civilization, culture, literature, mythology and poetry. It was a world where the Oriental slaves had no place but at the bottom of the social pyramid. That is why the Jews worked hard to introduce Christianity in Europe: without it Europe would have been impregnable for them forever.

On the whole of the population of Greece, I do not think that the Nordics ever predominated. They may have been more than a third of the total population after the Second Hellenic wave (brought by the Dorians). In any case, despite being in the minority, they were the architects of the polis (city-state), culture, art and Greek civilization, while the rest of the population formed a mob that had little to do with the Hellenic culture as we know it today.


Bibliography

To dig deeper into the phenotype of the ancient Greeks it is recommended:

- GV De Lapouge L’Aryen: Social Rôle Son (1889).

- W. Ridgeway, The Early Age of Greece (1901), Volume I.

- Hans FK Günther, Rassengeschichte hellenischen des Volkes und des römischen: Mit einem Anhang – Hellenische römische Köpfe nordischer und Rasse (1929).

- Hans FK Günther (1961) “Like a Greek God”, Translated by Vivian Bird Rassenkunde Hellenischen des Volkes. Northern World, VI (1), 5-16.

- Hans F.K. Günther, Rassenkunde Europas: Mit der besonderer Berücksichtigung Rassengeschichte Hauptvölker indogermanischer der Sprache (1929).

- J. L. Myres Who Were the Greeks? (1930).

- K. Jax, Die weibliche griechischen Schönheit in der Dichtung (1933).

- Wilhelm Sieglin, Die blonden indogermanischen Haare der Völker des Altertums (1935).

- O. Reche, Rasse und der Heimat Indogermanen (1936).

- Hans FK Günther, Lebensgeschichte hellenischen des Volkes (1956).

- JL Angel, (1943) “Ancient Cephallenians: The Population of a Mediterranean Island”. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, I, 229-260.

- JL Angel, (1944) “A Racial Analysis of the Ancient Greeks: An Essay on the Use of Morphological Types”. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, II, 329-376.

- JL Angel, (1945) “Skeletal Material From Attica”. Hesperia, XIV, 279-363

-. JL Angel, (1946) “Race, Type, and Ethnic Group in Ancient Greece.” Human Biology, XVIII, 1-32.

- JL Angel, (1946) “Skeletal Change in Ancient Greece”, American Journal of Physical Anthropology, IV, 69-97.

- JL Angel, (1946) “Social Biology of Greek Culture Growth”. American Anthropologist, XLVIII, 493-533.

- Moonwomon B., (1994) “Color Categorization in Early Greece”. Journal of Indo-European Studies, XXII, 37-65.

- R. Peterson, (1974) “The Greek Face”. Journal of Indo-European Studies, II, 385-406.

- W. Ridgeway, (1909) “The Relation of Anthropology to Classical Studies.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, XXXIX 10-25.

- And the whole of Greek literature which, alas, is not read anywhere near as much as it should. This is why the lies tend to thrive in this area, especially when there are inferior complexes involved.

(For the original in Spanish see: here)

Civilisation’s “Romance and Reality”

For an introduction to these series, see here.

Below, some indented excerpts of “Romance and Reality,” the third chapter of Civilisation by Kenneth Clark, after which I offer my comments.

Originally I posted this entry on April 15 of the last year, but now that I posted another entry about Spain’s Teresa of Ávila I would like to see some feedback in the comments section about my thoughts on St. Francis from those interested in child abuse as a subject.

Ellipsis omitted between unquoted passages:

I am in the Gothic world, the world of chivalry, courtesy and romance; a world in which serious things were done with a sense of play—where even war and theology could become a sort of game; and when architecture reached a point of extravagance unequalled in history. After all the great unifying convictions of the twelfth century, High Gothic art can look fantastic and luxurious—what Marxists call conspicuous waste. And yet these centuries produced some of the greatest spirits in the human history of man, amongst them St Francis and Dante.

A couple of pages later, Clark says:

Several of the stories depicted in the [Chartres Cathedral] arches concern Old Testament heroines; and at the corner of the portico is one of the first consciously graceful women in western art. Only a very few years before, women were thought of as the squat, bad-tempered viragos that we see on the front of Winchester Cathedral: these were the women who accompanied the Norsemen to Iceland.

Now look at this embodiment of chastity, lifting her mantle, raising her hand, turning her head with a movement of self-conscious refinement that was to become mannered but here is genuinely modest. She might be Dante’s Beatrice.

There, for almost the first time in visual art, one gets a sense of human rapport between man and woman.

About the sentiment of courtly love, on the next page Clark adds that it was entirely unknown to antiquity, and that to the Romans and the Vikings it would have seemed not only absurd but unbelievable.

A ‘love match’ is almost an invention of the late eighteenth century. Medieval marriages were entirely a matter of property, and, as everybody knows, marriage without love means love without marriage.

Then I suppose one must admit that the cult of the Virgin had something to do with it. In this context it sounds rather blasphemous, but the fact remains that one often hardly knows if a medieval love lyric is addresses to the poet’s mistress or to the Virgin Mary.

For all these reasons I think it is permissible to associate the cult of ideal love with the ravishing beauty and delicacy that one finds in the madonnas of the thirteenth century. Were there ever more delicate creatures than the ladies on Gothic ivories? How gross, compared to them, are the great beauties of other woman-worshiping epochs.

When I read these pages for the first time I was surprised to discover that my tastes of women have always been, literally, medieval; especially when I studied closely the face of the woman at the right in the tapestry known as The Lady with the Unicorn, reproduced on a whole page in Clark’s book with more detail than the illustration I’ve just downloaded. I have never fancied the aggressive, Hollywood females whose images are bombarded everywhere through our degenerate media. In fact, what moves me to write are precisely David Lane’s 14 words to preserve the beauty and delicacy of the most spiritual females of the white race.

Alas, it seems that the parents did not treat their delicate daughters well enough during the Middle Ages. Clark said:

So it is all the more surprising to learn that these exquisite creatures got terribly knocked about. It must be true, because there is a manual of how to treat women—actually how to bring up daughters—by a character called the Knight of the Tower of Landry, written in 1370 and so successful that it went on being read as a sort of textbook right up to the sixteenth century—in fact and edition was published with illustrations by Dürer. In it the knight, who is known to have been an exceptionally kind man, describes how disobedient women must be beaten and starved and dragged around by the hair of the head.

And six pages later Clark speaks about the most famous Saint in the High Middle Ages, whose live I would also consider the result of parental abuse:

In the years when the portal of Chartres was being built, a rich young man named Francesco Bernadone suffered a change of heart.

One day when he had fitted himself up in his best clothes in preparation for some chivalrous campaign, he met a poor gentleman whose need seemed to be greater than his own, and gave him his cloak. That night he dreamed that he should rebuild the Celestial City. Later he gave away his possessions so liberally that his father, who was a rich businessman in the Italian town of Assisi, was moved to disown him; whereupon Francesco took off his remaining clothes and said he would possess nothing, absolutely nothing. The Bishop of Assisi hid his nakedness, and afterwards gave him a cloak; and Francesco went off the woods, singing a French song.

The next three years he spent in abject poverty, looking after lepers, who were very much in evidence in the Middle Ages, and rebuilding with his own hands (for he had taken his dream literally) abandoned churches.

He threw away his staff and his sandals and went out bare-foot onto the hills. He said that he had taken poverty for his Lady, partly because he felt that it was discourteous to be in company of anyone poorer than oneself.

From the first everyone recognised that St Francis (as we may now call him) was a religious genius—the greatest, I believe, that Europe has ever produced.

Francis died in 1226 at the age of forty-three worn out by his austerities. On his deathbed he asked forgiveness of ‘poor brother donkey, my body’ for the hardships he had made it suffer.

Those of Francis’s disciples, called Fraticelli, who clung to his doctrine of poverty were denounced as heretics and burnt at the stake. And for seven hundred years capitalism has continued to grow to its present monstrous proportions. It may seem that St Francis has had no influence at all, because even the humane reformers of the nineteenth century who sometimes invoked him did not wish to exalt or sanctify poverty but to abolish it.

St Francis is a figure of the pure Gothic time—the time of crusades and castles and of the great cathedrals. But already during the lifetime of St Francis another world was growing up, which, for better or worse, is the ancestor of our own, the world of trade and of banking, of cities full of hard-headed men whose aim in life was to grow rich without ceasing to appear respectable.

Of course, Clark could not say that Francesco’s life was a classic case of battered child. Profound studies about child abuse would only start years after the Civilisation series. Today I would say that, since Francesco never wrote a vindictive text—something unthinkable in the Middle Ages that would not appear until Kafka’s letter to his father—, he internalized the parental abuse with such violence that his asceticism took his life prematurely.

What is missing in Clark’s account is that Francesco’s father whipped him in front of all the town people after Francesco stole from his shop several rolls of cloth. After the scourging inflicted by his father, with his own hands, and public humiliation, a citizen of Assisi reminded him that the town statutes allowed the father to incarcerate the rebellious son at home. Pedro shut Francesco in a sweltering, dark warehouse where “Francesco languished without seeing the light except when his father opened the door for Pica [the mother] taking a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.” After several weeks of being locked Francesco escaped and, always fearful of his father, hid in a cave. The earliest texts add that in the cave he often wept with great fear.

Francesco then embarked on a spectacular acting out of his emotional issues with his father. He made a big scene by returning to Assisi, undressing in the town’s square in front of Bishop Guido and addressing the crowd: “Hear all ye, and understand. Until now have I called Pedro Bernadone ‘my father’. But I now give back unto him the money, over which he was vexed, and all the clothes that I have had of him, desiring to say only, ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven,’ instead of ‘My father, Pedro Bernadone.’”

To everyone’s surprise Francesco broke with his wealthy parents forever, thus renouncing any possible reconciliation. So resolute was his parental repudiation, writes a Catholic biographer, that from that day on Pedro and Pica disappear from all the biographies of their son. There is no historical evidence of reconciliation, and no information about his parents or the circumstances of their death.

But I don’t want to diminish the figure of St Francis. Quite the contrary: in my middle teens I wanted to emulate him—and precisely as a result of the abuse inflicted by my father on me. And nowadays our world that has Mammon as its real God—trade, banking and dehumanized cities that are rapidly destroying the white race—, this will always remind me what Clark said about St Francis.

Nevertheless, despite my teenage infatuation with the saintly young man of Assisi, I doubt that poor Francesco’s defence mechanism to protect his mind against his father’s betrayal could be of any help now…

Uncle Adolf’s table talk – 5

“I have dipped into Mein Kampf but never read it: it was written only partly by Hitler, and that is the problem. More important are… Hitler’s table talks: daily memoranda which first Heim (Bormann’s adjutant, whom I interviewed) and then Picker wrote down at his table side”. —David Irving


the-real-hitler
 
Night of 21-22 July 1941

[Gratitude to the Jesuits - Protestant fanaticism - Similarities between Germany and Italy - Dante and Luther - The Duce is one of the Caesars - The march on Rome - a turning-point in history - Delightful Italian towns - Rome and Paris.]
 

When all’s said, we should be grateful to the Jesuits. Who knows if, but for them, we might have abandoned Gothic architecture for the light, airy, bright architecture of the Counter-Reformation? In the face of Luther’s efforts to lead an upper clergy that had acquired profane habits back to mysticism, the Jesuits restored to the world the joy of the senses.

It’s certain that Luther had no desire to mould humanity to the letter of the Scriptures. He has a whole series of reflections in which he clearly sets himself against the Bible. He recognises that it contains a lot of bad things.

Fanaticism is a matter of climate—for Protestantism, too, has burnt its witches. Nothing of that sort in Italy. The Southerner has a lighter attitude towards matters of faith. The Frenchman has personally an easy way of behaving in his churches. With us, it’s enough not to kneel to attract attention.

But Luther had the merit of rising against the Pope and the organisation of the Church. It was the first of the great revolutions. And thanks to his translation of the Bible, Luther replaced our dialects by the great German language!

It’s remarkable to observe the resemblances between the evolution of Germany and that of Italy. The creators of the language, Dante and Luther, rose against the ecumenical desires of the papacy.

Each of the two nations was led to unity, against the dynastic interests, by one man. They achieved their unity against the will of the Pope.

I must say, I always enjoy meeting the Duce. He’s a great personality. It’s curious to think that, at the same period as myself, he was working in the building trade in Germany. Our programme was worked out in 1919, and at that time I knew nothing about him. Our doctrines are based on the foundations proper to each of them, but every man’s way of thinking is a result. Don’t suppose that events in Italy had no influence on us. The brown shirt would probably not have existed without the black shirt. The march on Rome, in 1922, was one of the turning-points of history. The mere fact that anything of the sort could be attempted, and could succeed, gave us an impetus. A few weeks after the march on Rome, I was received by the Minister Schweyer. That would never have happened otherwise.

If Mussolini had been outdistanced by Marxism, I don’t know whether we could have succeeded in holding out. At that period National Socialism was a very fragile growth.

If the Duce were to die, it would be a great misfortune for Italy. As I walked with him in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, I could easily compare his profile with that of the Roman busts, and I realised he was one of the Caesars. There’s no doubt at all that Mussolini is the heir of the great men of that period.

Despite their weaknesses, the Italians have so many qualities that make us like them.

Italy is the country where intelligence created the notion of the State. The Roman Empire is a great political creation, the greatest of all.

The Italian people’s musical sense, its liking for harmonious proportions, the beauty of its race! The Renaissance was the dawn of a new era, in which Aryan man found himself anew. There’s also our own past on Italian soil. A man who is indifferent to history is a man without hearing, without sight. Such a man can live, of course—but what a life?

The magic of Florence and Rome, of Ravenna, Siena, Perugia! Tuscany and Umbria, how lovely they are!

The smallest palazzo in Florence or Rome is worth more than all Windsor Castle. If the English destroy anything in Florence or Rome, it will be a crime. In Moscow, it wouldn’t do any great harm; nor in Berlin, unfortunately.

I’ve seen Rome and Paris, and I must say that Paris, with the exception of the Arc de Triomphe, has nothing on the scale of the Coliseum, or the Castle of San Angelo, or St. Peter’s. These monuments, which are the product of a collective effort, have ceased to be on the scale of the individual. There’s something queer about the Paris buildings, whether it’s those bull’s-eye windows, so badly proportioned, or those gables that obliterate whole façades. If I compare the Pantheon in Rome with the Pantheon in Paris, what a poor building—and what sculptures! What I saw in Paris has disappeared from my memory: Rome really seized hold of me.

When the Duce came to Berlin, we gave him a magnificent reception. But our journey in Italy, that was something else! The reception when we arrived, with all the ceremonial; the visit to the Quirinal.

Naples, apart from the castle, might be anywhere in South America. But there’s always the courtyard of the royal palace. What nobility of proportions!

My dearest wish would be to be able to wander about in Italy as an unknown painter.

The White Queen

Recently I watched the black-and-white 1935 and 1952 film adaptations of Les Misérables. But I also watched the much more recent 1998 color adaptation starring Liam Neeson, Geoffrey Rush, Uma Thurman, and Claire Danes. In Victor Hugo’s novel the revolutionist Enjolras is said to have the appearance of a good-looking ephebe, with “long fair lashes, blue eyes, hair flying in the wind, rosy cheeks, pure lips, and exquisite teeth.” Now, in this politically-correct fin de siècle adaptation, Enjolras is a nigger!

This vindicates what I recently said in “My Fair Lady”: forget recent films and see only the films that our grandparents liked. This said, once in a while there are rare exceptions. The premier episode of the first and only season of The White Queen, which was broadcast last June, is a gem.

the-white-queen

You don’t have to watch the entire season since, right on episode 2, the extremely nasty court instigations began—as most of the season is set against the backdrop of the War of the Roses: two royal houses, Lancaster and York, fighting for the throne of England. Backdrop aside, I found the very first episode absolutely inspiring. In fact, that is precisely the world that we must fight for, at least visually!

There’s a scene that lasts less than a minute when, in the gardened path leaving their home, the commoner Rivers family wears white roses to honor Edward IV. The scene, which depicted a beautiful, rather large family, elevated my spirit to the heights of my inner world (so to speak): the world I would like to create on Earth. The blond children together with their elder brothers and beautiful sisters and parents in bucolic England are the perfect embodiment of why the fourteen words must be our creed and religion.

I highly recommend renting the season and watch the very first episode: the series premiere. (The whole season on the other hand will only make you suffer because of the nasty court intrigues of the War of the Roses.)

Were the Greeks blond and blue-eyed?

– II –

DemeterThis piece has been chosen for my collection in The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour. It has been slightly modified and presently can be read as a PDF within the book, ready for printing in your home for a comfortable reading.

Quotable quote

“We need a regime that (1) bans pornography and (2) erects statues of gorgeous naked nymphs and athletes in every public square and crossroads.”

 —Greg Johnson

Were the Greeks blond and blue-eyed?

greek_blonds

This piece has been chosen for my collection in The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour. It has been slightly modified and presently can be read as a PDF within the book, ready for printing in your home for a comfortable reading.

Die Götzen-Dämmerung, 2

Gotzen-Dammerung-cover

Plato goes further. He says with an innocence possible only for a Greek, not a “Christian,” that there would be no Platonic philosophy at all if there were not such beautiful youths in Athens: it is only their sight that transposes the philosopher’s soul into an erotic trance, leaving it no peace until it lowers the seed of all exalted things into such beautiful soil.

Another queer saint! One does not trust one’s ears, even if one should trust Plato. At least one guesses that they philosophized differently in Athens, especially in public. Nothing is less Greek than the conceptual web-spinning of a hermit—amor intellectualis dei [intellectual love of God] after the fashion of Spinoza. Philosophy after the fashion of Plato might rather be defined as an erotic contest, as a further development and turning inward of the ancient agonistic gymnastics and of its presuppositions... What ultimately grew out of this philosophic eroticism of Plato?

A new art form of the Greek agon: dialectics. Finally, I recall—against Schopenhauer and in honor of Plato—that the whole higher culture and literature of classical France too grew on the soil of sexual interest. Everywhere in it one may look for the amatory, the senses, the sexual contest, “the woman”—one will never look in vain…

Sparta – XII

This specific chapter of Sparta and its Law has been moved: here.

If you want to read the book Sparta and its Law from the beginning, click: here.

A postscript to my prolegomena

Further to what I said yesterday.

A deeper response to the questions raised by Stubbs would imply reminding my readers that, at the end of his Critique of Practical Reason, Kant said that there are two universes: the empirical universe and the subjective universe. Karl Popper comments that he who doesn’t believe in the second universe would do well to think about his own death—it is so obvious that a whole universe dies when a human being dies!

What I find nauseating in today’s academia is that it is an institution that denies the existence of this second universe. One could imagine what would happen if a student of psychology or psychiatry tried to write a lyric essay about why Nietzsche lost his mind, like the one that Stefan Zweig wrote and I have been excerpting for WDH. (And wait for the next chapters where Zweig’s story reaches its climax…)

A proper response to Stubbs would require an absolute break from the epistemological error, a category error, so ubiquitous in the academia. That is to say, we must approach such questions as if they were questions for our inner worlds.

The best way to respond to Stubbs, following what I have said about psychoclasses, is imagining that few whites have touched the black monolith of the film 2001. Those who have touched it—and here we are talking of the “second” universe that the current paradigm barely acknowledges—know that the most divine creature on Earth, the nymph, must be preserved at all costs.

This is not the sphere of objective science. Since we are talking of the ideals of our souls, let me confess that I became a white nationalist in 2009 when I lived in the Spanish island Gran Canaria, near Africa. The big unemployment that started in 2008 affected me and, without a job and completely broke, I spent a great deal of time in the internet. When I learned that a demographic winter was affecting all of the white population on planet Earth I was watching a Harry Potter film featuring a blondest female teenager. I remember that I told to myself something to the effect that, henceforward, I would defend the race with all of my teeth and claws.

However, to understand this universe I would have to tell the (tragic) story of the nymph Catalina: a pure white rose who happened to live around my home’s corner decades ago, who looked like the girl in that Parrish painting. But I won’t talk about the tragedy (something of it is recounted in Hojas Susurrantes). Suffice it to say that since then my mind has been devoted to her beauty and, by transference, it is now devoted to protect all genotype & phenotype that resembles hers…

Once we are talking from our own emergent universe (emergent compared to the Neanderthals who have not touched the monolith), Stubb’s questions are easily answered if one only dares to speak out what lies within our psyches:

So let me think of some fundamental questions that need to be answered: Why does it matter if the White race exists, if the rest of the humans are happy?

Speaks my inner universe: Because the rest of humans are like Neanderthals compared to Cro-Magnon whites. Here in Mexico I suffer real nightmares imagining the fate of the poor animals if whites go completely extinct (Amerinds are incapable of feeling the empathy I feel for our biological cousins).

Why does it matter if the White race continues to exist if I personally live my life out in comfort?

Speaks my inner universe: Because only pigs think like that. (Remember the first film of the Potter series, when Hagrid used magic to sprout a pig’s tail from Dudley’s fat bottom for gulping down Harry’s birthday cake.) We have a compromise with God’s creation even when a personal God does not exist.

Why should I be concerned with the White race if it only recently evolved from our ape-like ancestors, knowing that change is a part of the universe?

Speaks my inner universe: Because our mission is that we, not others, touch again the black monolith after four million years that one of our ancestors touched it.

Why should I be concerned with the existence of the White race if every White person is mortal, and preserving each one is futile?

Speaks my inner universe: It is a pity that no one has read The Yearling that I had been excerpting recently. I wanted to say something profound in the context of child abuse but that is a subject that does not interest WDH readers. Let me hint to what I thought after reading it.

To my mind the moral of the novel is not the moment when the father coerced his son to shoot Flag, but the very last page of Marjorie’s masterpiece. Suddenly Jody woke up at midnight and found himself exclaiming “Flag!” when his pet was already gone.

moment of eternity

The poet Octavio Paz once said that we are mortals, yes: but those “portions of eternity,” as a boy playing with his yearling, are the sense of the universe. The empirical (now I am talking of the external) universe was created precisely to give birth to these simple subjective moments: figments that depict our souls like no other moments in the universe’s horizon of events.

Why should I be concerned with preserving the White race if all White people who live will suffer, some horribly, and none would suffer if they were wiped out?

Speaks my inner universe: The boy suffered horribly when his father obliged him to murder Flag, yes. But the moment of eternity, as depicted in Wyeth’s illustration, had to be lived. It will probably leave a mark if another incarnation of the universe takes place…

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