Ten films I recommend

Hamlet-1948

1. Hamlet (1948) 

2. Sleeping Beauty (1959)

3. Andrei Rublev (1966) 

4. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

5. Planet of the Apes (1968)

6. Death in Venice (1971)

7. Iphigenia (1977)

8. Sense and Sensibility (1995) 

9. Artificial Intelligence (2001)

10. Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Gitone’s magic

by Cesar Tort

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7,600 words (a shorter version of this article: here)



Recently I uploaded in this blog a PDF of a 63,000-word text, The Return of Quetzalcoatl, the fourth book of my Hojas Susurrantes. Only by means of introducing this totally unheard of field for understanding human psychology and history, “Psychohistory,” I can properly respond to Greg Johnson’s views on Greco-Roman homosexuality.

As Julian Jaynes saw in The Breakdown of The Bicameral Mind, Homeric Greeks were, psychologically, vastly different from historical Greeks. Semitic cultures were even more different. In the online edition of my Quetzalcoatl I refrained to reproduce this image for the simple reason that it would have meant retroprojection. In the image we see women, presumably the mothers, trying to rescue their children from a propitiatory child sacrifice to Moloch Baal. But in real life the parents themselves handed over their crying children to the assistants of the priest, hence the inflammatory sentence with which I ended my Quetzalcoatl (“In the final book of this work I’ll go back to my autobiography, and we shall see if after such grim findings mankind has the right to exist”).

In Hollywood such sort of retroprojections are ubiquitous in movies about the historical past. For instance, Australia, a pro-aboriginals film set before the Second World War, had an upset Nicole Kidman telling another white person, “No mother would leave her child!” when in real life, as recounted in my Quetzalcoatl, quite a few Australian abbos not only abandoned some of their babies, but killed and ate them (for scholarly references supporting this claim see my PDF).

Westerners, and incredibly, child abuse researchers included, have not awakened to the fact that there have been very dissimilar “psychoclasses” or ways of childrearing in the world; and that this has had enormous implications for the mental health of a people, primitive or modern. For example, in my Quetzalcoatl I said that Rhea hid Zeus and presented a stone wrapped in strips, which Cronus took as a swaddled baby and ate it. Cronus represents the pre-Homeric Greeks, the archaic Hellas. After the breakdown of the bicameral, or schizoid mind, historical Greeks considered barbarous the practice of child sacrifice, symbolized in Zeus’ successful rebellion against his filicidal father. Though they still practiced the exposure of unwanted babies, the historical Greeks at least stopped sacrificing them in horrible ways: a practice that their neighbors continued. Nonetheless, if films on both Homeric and post-Homeric Greeks were historically accurate, the exposure of babies, which was practiced on a gigantic scale even in Roman times, would be visually depicted.

Recently I saw two films that I had not watched for a long time. In the 1959 Hollywood interpretation of Ben-Hur starring Charlton Heston, Tiberius’ Rome and Jerusalem are idealized far beyond what those cities looked like in the times of Jesus. Think of how, to impress the audience with the grandeur of the Roman circus in a Hollywoodesque Palestine, for the chariot race sequence the director made it look as large as Constantinople’s circus! Conversely, in Fellini’s 1969 Satyricon, freely based on Petronius’ classic, the Roman Empire is oneirically caricaturized to the point that the film’s extreme grotesqueries bear no visual relationship whatsoever to the empire of historical time. Both extreme idealization and oneiric caricature constitute artistic ways to understand the soul of Rome. One may think that an Aristotelian golden mean may lie somewhere between Ben-Hur and Fellini-Satyricon, but not even in HBO’s Rome, a purportedly realistic TV series that claimed paying more attention to historical women, dared to show that such women abandoned their babies who died on the hills, roads and the next day were found under the frozen streets: a custom approved even by Plato and Aristotle.

Growing in a “late infanticidal” culture, to use Lloyd deMause’s term, makes members of that psychoclass greatly different compared to our modern western psychoclass. (One could easily imagine what a shock for the modern mind would represent the spectacle of white babies dying on the streets of Vermont, Bonn or Florence with nobody bothering to rescue them.) So different that I believe that the hostile takeover I do of deMause’s Psychohistory to deliver it to the nationalist community will revolutionize the understanding of history once it is properly digested and understood.

In my Quetzalcoatl I quoted psychohistorian Henry Ebel (no ellipsis added between unquoted sentences):

DeMause’s argument had a breathtaking sweep and grandeur such as we associate with the work of Hegel, Darwin and Marx. Moreover, it seemed to be a valid response and interpretation of a series of gruesome facts that had been consistently understated or suppressed by conventional historians. “The Evolution of Childhood” has proved a morsel too large, too complete, too assertive, and in many ways too grim for the historical profession to digest. Since adult styles and roles, including the academic and professional, are mainly denial-systems erected against those early needs and terrors, the academic consideration of deMause’s argument has been, understandably enough, of less than earthshaking intelligence.

Once we integrate Psychohistory to our view of history, it is easy to notice that when Greg Johnson talks of Greco-Roman homosexuality he does it as if it was similar to the mores of today’s world: consenting sex between adults. But if Jaynes and deMause are right, the peoples of the classical world inhabited an altogether distinct psychic universe, especially before Solon. So different that sometimes I even wonder if Francis Parker Yockey has a valid point when he wrote that the Italian Renaissance is sold as a link between two cultures that, according to him, have nothing in common.

A splendid example of such discontinuity is what André Gide called normal pederasty, the ancients’ infatuation for adolescents. Keep in mind that Gide did not condemn such customs. On the contrary, he considered his Corydon, published in 1924 and which received widespread condemnation, his most important work. However, since I can only understand the geist of a culture through the visual arts, before quoting Gide let me convey visually what “homo”-sexuality signified for the classical world through a couple of scenes of the movie Satyricon:

Cinematic experiences aside, what are scholars saying about what I call pseudo-homosexuality: pederasty (which must never be confused with pedophilia)? In the introduction to On Homosexuality: Lysis, Phaedrus, and Symposium, published by Prometheus Books, Eugene O’Connor wrote (again, no ellipsis added):

Benjamin Jowett’s introduction to his translation of Plato’s Symposium expresses prevalent Victorian, Edwardian, and even later attitudes, particularly in England and America, toward Greek homosexuality. Some excerpts from the introduction will illustrate this “clash of cultures.” Since Jowett’s day much has been done to counter and correct this willful distortion of ancient sexuality. We may now consult, for example, the more sober appraisals of K.J. Dover, Greek Homosexuality (1978), and Saara Lilja, Homosexuality in Republican and Augustan Rome (1983) to help us redress the oversights of earlier scholarship.

The composition of [Plato's] Symposium owes much to the Greek tradition of “banquet literature,” often a collection of informal discussions (in prose or verse) on various topics, including the power of love and the delights of young men and boys. Indeed, a whole body of homoerotic literature grew up around the themes of male beauty and how one ought to woo and win a boy.

The customary social pattern was this: a boy in his teens or, at any rate, a younger man (called an eromenos, or “beloved”) was sought out by an older male (called an erastes or “lover”), who might be already married. Women in classical Athens were kept in virtual seclusion from everyone but their immediate families and their domestic activities were relegated to certain “female” parts of the house. As a consequence, boys and young men—partly by virtue of their being seen, whether in the gymnasium, in the streets, or at a sacrifice (as in the Lysis)—became natural love-objects.

Strict rules of conduct bound both parties: adult males could face prosecution for seducing free-born youths, while Athenian boys and young men could be censured for soliciting sexual favors for money. That would make them in effect equal to courtesans, who were hired companions and lacked citizen status.

This erastes-eromenos (lover-beloved) relationship, although it was sexual and in many ways comparable to typical, male-female relations, with the man assuming the dominant role, was meant ideally to be an educative one. The older man instilled in the younger—in essence, “made him pregnant with”—a respect for the requisite masculine virtues of courage and honor.

Socrates in the Phaedrus describes how the soul of the pederast (literally, “a lover of youths”) who is blessed with philosophy will grow wings after a certain cycle of reincarnations. In recent centuries, the word “pederast” has come to be viewed with opprobrium, fit only to describe child molesters. But in ancient Greece the word carried no such negative connotation, and was employed in a very different context.

Surrounded as he often was by the brightest young men of Athens, Socrates jokingly compared himself, in Xenophon’s Symposium, to a pander or procurer. These are witty, humorous characterizations of Socrates to be sure; yet, in the end, Socrates was the best erastes of all; the loving adult male teacher who sought to lead his aristocratic eromenoi (male beloveds) on the road to virtue.

I have read Xenophon’s Symposium and on chapter VIII it does look like Socrates and others had intense crushes with the eromenoi.

In his Corydon Gide shares the Platonic view that what he calls “normal pederasty” (to distinguish it from child molestation) is a propitious state of the mind to shed light on truth and beauty. In the last pages of his slim book Gide concludes: “I believe that such a lover will jealously watch over him, protect him, and himself exalted, purified by this love, will guide him toward those radiant heights which are not reached without love.” In the very final page Gide adds that “From thirteen to twenty-two (to take the age suggested by La Bruyere) is for the Greeks the age of loving friendship, of shared exaltation, of the noblest emulation,” and that only after this age the youth “wants to be a man”: marrying a woman.

But not only I need visuals to properly understand a culture. Narrative is fundamental too as a way to get into the unfathomed deeps of a bygone world. Below, a tale recounted by an old poet, Eumolpus in the first long novel that Western literature knows, Petronius’ Satyricon:

“When I went to Asia,” Eumolpus began, “as a paid officer in the Quaestor’s suite, I lodged with a family at Pergamus. I found my quarters very pleasant, first on account of the convenience and elegance of the apartments, and still more so because of the beauty of my host’s son. I devised the following method to prevent the master of the house entertaining any suspicions of me as a seducer. Whenever the conversation at table turned on the seduction of handsome boys, I showed such extreme indignation and protested with such an air of austerity and offended dignity against the violence done to my ears by filthy talk of the sort, that I came to be regarded, especially by the mother, as one of the greatest of moralists and philosophers. Before long I was allowed to take the lad to the gymnasium; it was I that directed his studies, I that guided his conduct, and guarded against any possible debaucher of his person being admitted to the house.

“It happened on one occasion that we were sleeping in the dining-hall, the school having closed early as it was a holiday, and our amusements having rendered us too lazy to retire to our sleeping-chambers. Somewhere about midnight I noticed that the lad was awake; so whispering soft and low, I murmured a timid prayer in these words, ‘Lady Venus, if I may kiss this boy, so that he know it not, tomorrow I will present him with a pair of doves.’ Hearing the price offered for the gratification, the boy set up a snore. So approaching him, where he lay still making pretense to be asleep, I stole two or three flying kisses. Satisfied with this beginning, I rose betimes next morning, and discharged my vow by bringing the eager lad a choice and costly pair of doves.

“The following night, the same opportunity occurring, I changed my petition, ‘If I may pass a naughty hand over this boy, and he not feel it, I will present him for his complaisance with a brace of the best fighting cocks ever seen.’ At this promise the child came nestling up to me of his own accord and was actually afraid, I think, lest I might drop asleep again. I soon quieted his uneasiness on this point, and amply satisfied my longings, short of the supreme bliss, on every part of his beautiful body. Then when daylight came, I made him happy with the gift I had promised him.

“As soon as the third night left me free to try again, I rose as before, and creeping up to the rascal, who was lying awake expecting me, whispered at his ear, ‘If only, ye Immortal Gods, I may win of this sleeping darling full and happy satisfaction of my love, for such bliss I will tomorrow present the lad with an Asturian of the Macedonian strain [a horse], the best to be had for money, but always on the condition he shall not feel my violence.’ Never did the stripling sleep more sound. So first I handled his plump and snowy bosoms, then kissed him on the mouth, and finally concentrated all my ardors in one supreme delight. Next morning he sat still in his room, expecting my present as usual. Well! you know as well as I do, it is a much easier matter to buy doves and fighting cocks than an Asturian; besides which, I was afraid so valuable a present might rouse suspicion as to the real motives of my liberality. After walking about for an hour or so, I returned to the house, and gave the boy a kiss—and nothing else. He looked about inquiringly, then threw his arms round my neck, and ‘Please, sir!’ he said, ‘where is my Asturian?’

“‘It is hard,’ I replied, ‘to get one fine enough. You will have to wait a few days for me to fulfill my vow.’

“The boy had wits enough to see through my answer, and his resentment was betrayed by the angry look that crossed his face.

“Although by this breach of faith I had closed against myself the door of access so carefully contrived, I returned once more to the attack. For, after allowing a few days to elapse, one night when similar circumstances had created just another opportunity for us as before, I began, the moment I heard the father snoring, to beg and pray the boy to be friends with me again —that is, to let me give him pleasure for pleasure, adding all the arguments my burning concupiscence could suggest. But he was positively angry and refused to say one word beyond, ‘Go to sleep, or I will tell my father.’ But there is never an obstacle so difficult audacity will not vanquish it. He was still repeating, ‘I will wake my father,’ when I slipped into his bed and took my pleasure of him in spite of his half-hearted resistance. However, he found a certain pleasure in my naughty ways, for after a long string of complaints about my having cheated and cajoled him and made him the laughing-stock of his school-fellows, to whom he had boasted of his rich friend, he whispered, ‘Still I won’t be so unkind as you; if you like, do it again.’

“So forgetting all our differences, I was reconciled to the dear lad once more, and after utilizing his kind permission, I slipped off to sleep in his arms. But the stripling was not satisfied with only one repetition, all ripe for love as he was and just at the time of life for passive enjoyment. So he woke me up from my slumbers, and, ‘Anything you’d like, eh?’ said he. Nor was I, so far, indisposed to accept his offer. So working him the best ever I could, to the accompaniment of much panting and perspiration, I gave him what he wanted, and then dropped asleep again, worn out with pleasure. Less than an hour had passed before he started pinching me and asking, ‘Eh! why are we not at work?’ Hereupon, sick to death of being so often disturbed, I flew into a regular rage, and retorted his own words upon him; ‘Go to sleep,’ I cried, ‘or I’ll tell your father!’”

“Enlivened by this discourse,” continues Encolpius, the narrator of Satyricon, “I now began to question my companion…” (for an introduction to this most classic novel, see my recent entry in another of my blogs). However, the erastes-eromenos relationship was not always as hilariously picaresque as Petronius depicts it. In my previous response to Johnson, when I added the image of a terracotta statuette of Zeus carrying off Ganymede, I included no references. Here I’ll add a couple of them. In the academic work that O’Connor mentioned above, Greek Homosexuality, K.J. Dover writes:

Ephoros, writing in the mid-fourth century, gives a remarkable account (F149) of ritualised homosexual rape in Crete. The erastes gave notice of his intention, and the family and friends of the eromenos did not attempt to hide the boy away, for that would have been admission that he was not worthy of the honour offered him by the erastes. If they believed that the erastes was unworthy, they prevented the rape by force; otherwise they put a good-humoured and half-hearted resistance, which ended with the erastes carrying off the eromenos to a hide-out for two months. At the end of that period the two of them returned to the city (the eromenos was known, during the relationship, as parastatheis, ‘posted beside…’ or ‘brought over to the side of…’) and the erastes gave the eromenos expensive presents, including clothing which would thereafter testify to the achievement of the eromenos in being chosen; he was kleinos, ‘celebrated’, thanks to his philetor, ‘lover’. [p. 189]

John Boswell, a homosexual professor at Yale University who died at forty-seven of complications from AIDS, specialized in the relationship between homosexuality and Christianity. Boswell abstains to mention the word “rape” which Dover unabashedly used in his treatise published by Harvard University. But in Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe Boswell describes in less academic, and more colorful, language the legal arrangements regarding such abductions:

Apart from the abduction aspect, this practice has all the elements of European marriage tradition: witness, gifts, religious sacrifice, a public banquet, a chalice, a ritual change of clothing for one partner, a change of status for both, even a honeymoon.

The abduction is less remarkable, by the standards of the times, that it seems. The ruler of the gods, Zeus, mandated a permanent relationship with a beautiful Trojan prince, Ganymede, after abducting him and carrying him off to heaven; they were the most famous same-sex couple of the ancient world, familiar to all its educated residents. Zeus even gave Ganymede’s father a gift—the equivalent of a dower or “morning gift”. The inhabitants of Chalcis honored what they believed to be the very spot of Ganymede’s abduction, called Harpagion (“Place of Abduction”). Moreover, as late as Boccaccio (Decameron, Day 5, Tale 1) an abduction marriage that takes place seems to find its most natural home in Crete.

Heterosexual abduction marriage was also extremely common in the ancient world—especially in the neighboring state of Sparta, with which Crete shared its constitution and much of its social organization, where it was the normal mode of heterosexual marriage. It remained frequent well into modern times, and even under Christian influence men who abducted women were often only constrained to marry them, and not punished in any other way. In a society where women were regarded as property and their sexuality their major asset, by the time an abducted woman was returned most of her value was gone, and the more public attention was focused on the matter the less likely it was she would ever find a husband. And in a moral universe where the abduction of Helen (and of the Sabine women) provided the foundation myths of the greatest contemporary political entities, such an act was as likely to seem heroic as disreputable. The Erotic Discourses attributed to Plutarch begin with stories of abduction for love, both heterosexual and homosexual. [pp. 91-93]

This last sentence about the foundation myths of both the ancient Hellas and Rome is absolutely central to understand their moral universe. However, Boswell omits to say that Zeus would be considered a bisexual god with strong heterosexual preferences—Hera and many other consorts—according to current standards, in no way a “gay” god.

Furthermore, unlike the same-sex unions of today, the erastes-eromenos relationship wasn’t meant to be permanent. The continuance of an erotic relationship was disapproved. In dramatic contrast to contemporary “gay marriages,” romantic relationships between adult coevals were disrespected. In fact, the former eromenos might well become an erastes himself with a younger youth when he got older. Boswell, who strove to use classic scholarship to support the so-called “gay marriage” of our times, overstates his case in other passages of Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe. What struck me the most of his study was that on page 66 he misled the readers by claiming that the Satyricon protagonists, Encolpius and Gitone, are simply a same-sex couple. I have read a couple of translations of the hilarious Satyricon and it is all too clear that Boswell omitted two fundamental facts: Gitone’s age, an underage teen for today’s standards, and another lover of Gitone, Ascyltus (who also appears in my embedded clip).

Classic pederasty did not resemble at all what currently is called the “gay movement.” The causes of pederasty are to be found not only what O’Connor said above: women being kept in seclusion and men transferring their affections to younger boys. More serious was something that neither O’Connor nor Dover or Boswell dared to say. Infanticidal Greece and Rome produced a surplus of males as a result of the exposure of babies, especially baby girls. As I said in my Quetzalcoatl, it was not until 374 AD that the emperor Valentinian I, a Christian, mandated to rear all children. Again, what “gay” apologists like Boswell fail to understand is that that was a psychoclass distinct from our own, since for modern westerners it is unthinkable to expose baby girls. However, in my own version of Psychohistory, my educated guess is that the Athenians should have treated the children well enough to allow the explosion of arts, philosophies and policies that we have inherited.



Alice Miller’s Breaking Down the Wall of Silence and, more comprehensibly, my own Hojas Susurrantes, introduce a category that potentially could revolutionize our understanding of ourselves. There exist hells at home where, psychically, children suffer far more than the adult experience in concentration camps: experiences far more destructive for the mind and the soul of the abused child than what the common prisoner suffers. However, without assimilating our central message, what I am about to say will neither be appreciated nor understood.

There must be legitimate cases of pederasty: those that help the abused teenager escape the homes of schizophrenogenic parents: something that totally and absolutely escaped deMause’s approach to Psychohistory.

Some clinicians say that abused adolescents often dream a window of escape from their homes. For a long time, but this is the first time that I commit myself to writing it down, I have harbored the idea that, thanks to that window of escape, mental health grew exponentially in Ancient Greece. After all, Greek pederasty was the exact opposite of the Christian incarnation of it as performed in secrecy by the priests and, until recent times, without any warning provided to the unsuspecting kid. Conversely, in the Greek and Latin world the “lovers of youths” were out in the open, in the Palestra, Gymnasium or even in homely tutorship with parents, friends and acquaintances warning the budding boy about the satyrs, or older males of dubious reputation—something that never happened in Christendom.

I have said that without grasping the concept of schizophrenogenic parents the point I am trying to make will be incomprehensible. To complicate things further, in our culture blaming parents for the mental disorders of their children is such a heresy that a whole profession, biological psychiatry, has been created to conceal the work of genuine researchers of mental disorders (see my article “Unfalsifiability in psychiatry and licit drugging of white children”). But apparently it was not such a taboo in Pericles’ Athens. I think of Euripides’ plays Iphigenia and Electra, the former magnificently taken to the silver screen by Greek director Michael Cacoyannis and the latter a play I watched translated in a theatre representation. Succinctly, Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter Iphigenia and his wife Clytemnestra drove another of her daughters, Electra, mad: perfect examples of what in my book I call soul-murderers, parents who schizophrenize or kill their children. If the modern mind could break the taboo that the ancient tragedians started to break before their suicidal Peloponnesian War, under this new perspective of the human mind could we use Gide’s phrase “defense of pederasty” in a sense that Gide never imagined? Analogously, in Sparta, the Lykourgos code forbid sexual relations between erastes and eromenos. Could this be related to the sterility of science and the arts in the virile Sparta compared to its twin sister, Athens? And more importantly, could it be possible that, centuries later, the abolition of the erastes-eromenos institution by Christian emperors resulted in a psychogenic regression at the beginning of the Dark Ages (to understand this question properly one must first grasp the psychohistorical concept of “psychoclass”)?

At present, the trauma model of mental disorders (i.e., no bullshit about blaming the child’s brain for the parents’ deeds as is done in the medical model) is not accepted either by the academia or the general culture. But given the basics of developmental psychology and attachment theory, perhaps only those who followed Gide’s words—“such a lover will jealously watch over him, protect him”—would be able to open a genuine affective window, conferring the victim the ability to escape not only the schizophrenogenic parent but the non-schizogenic, though neurotic and engulfing mother as well and helping him to develop a sound mind.

But could it be possible that in real life sustaining an abused teenager until he reaches maturity could only happen in a world where poetry and sculpture manifested a predilection for adolescent bodies? Gide claims that bucolic poetry started to sound phony when the poet loved the pastor no more. Even Nietzsche, who abhorred Plato, wrote in How To Philosophize With a Hammer that Plato “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.”

This said, I hasten to add that it is not possible to turn the clock back to the sexual mores of Greece and Rome. I believe that Yockey was right: cultures, like men, have souls and die. The simply fact is that the infanticidal psychoclass does not exist in the West anymore, and hence there is no actual lack of women for a legitimate transference of Eros towards the creatures that resemble the fair sex the most: the ephebes. In other words, what gay apologists like Boswell try to do, using classical scholarship to support the LGBT movement, is nonsense. It reminds me those silly Mexicans who, after centuries that the sacrificial institution was abolished, try to imitate the Aztec custom by means of using sugar skulls instead of the real decapitated skulls used as trophies in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica, believing that they are “rescuing a tradition.” We should never forget that facts of importance in history occur twice: the first time as tragedy, the second as farce. This may be applied to both the incorrigible indigenistas and the apologists of gay marriage among grown-up coevals in the contemporary world.

In our times the erastes-eromenos institution could only be restored as a substitute of the abusive parent, but not for the healthier families. Psychogenically—this term understood in the sense of the evolution of the psyche and society—, Europe in the eighteenth-century England was more integrated than the Europe where Greek and Latin were the official languages. In the modern West the exposure of babies had been abandoned and Christianity prohibited the most destructive aspects of the Dionysian excesses in the classical world, like those parades with gigantic phalluses where even the virtuous, married women celebrated on the streets.

But let me respond in advance a few issues that the readers of this article may take with my views:

Tough Question #1: If you claim that heterosexuality is healthier than homosexuality and at the same time promote the YouTube clip of this cute adolescent, Gitone, how would you deal with a Gitonesque son of yours?

In the coming ethnostate, citizenship will be gradated. If my “Gitonesque” son had homosexual preferences I would not reprimand him severely in his teens or even early twenties. But by his middle and late twenties the laws of the Republic would gradually make a dent in his mind. By his thirties, he had to be heterosexually married to a woman of breeding age for the couple obtaining an A- or B-class citizenship. Deterrents such as laws that permit no claiming of any inheritance in cases of overt, permanent homosexual behavior, but getting a D-class citizenship instead, would be more than enough. I disagree with Harold Covington’s idea of using psychiatry to repress overt, permanent homosexual behavior in the coming Republic, and my second book of Hojas Susurrantes demonstrates beyond reasonable doubt that psychiatry is a fraudulent profession. (But never mind Uncle Harold. On The Day we will use a public rope for bringing the wildest, rainbow boys to justice!)

And speaking of the coming ethno-state, if the demographic winter caused by a feminism run amok gets really nasty—and I mean finding us in the necessity of raiding the enemy country, Amerikwa, to abduct Sabine women in order to found families—, as a desperate measure we may also will have to resort to the massive cloning of the reluctant nymphs and nymphets. On the other hand, the cloning of the most beautiful ephebos, such as Gitone, at an industrial scale makes me nervous, as I will try to explain in the following paragraphs.

It is true that in Arthur C. Clarke’s first novella, Against the Fall of Night—my favorite among Clarke’s novels—, in seemingly two ageless cities shielded from the worldwide desert, Lys and Diaspar in the year 10 billion AD, the impression the reader gets is that in those isolated oasis only whites existed: beautiful females and androgynous males. Non-whites and almost all of today’s species, plant and animal, had become extinct. Like Diaspar, in Maxfield Parrish’s 1913 murals of The Florentine Fete, The Garden of Opportunity, with handsome youths walking in an Arcadian location for heterosexual courtship, males are depicted almost as feminine as the young women (the apparently inexplicable images for this blog look better in my other blog in English, Fallen Leaves).

I am most curious about what happened to Max Born, the actor who played Gitone in the Fellini film. (I do confess that, when I saw the movie at seventeen, I found his looks rather stunning.) If Born is still with us (he would be sixty years old!) I wouldn’t mind having his genes for ages frozen for the creation of a couple of ephebes in a Diaspar-like Utopia. However, as I see it, it is the distant future what we also see in The Garden of Opportunity: a time when, after a thousand-year imperial Reich, the problem of competition between the ethnic groups had been resolved in favor of the only race that inherited the Earth. Only then could it be permissible, according to my standards, to clone ephebes.

Back to the real world. With millions of non-whites with high IQs, especially hostile Jews, in no way can we afford ultimate dolls like a young Born massively cloned. That would be historically premature. What we need are ruthless soldiers imbued with Roman severitas and, furthermore, as Guillaume Faye has eloquently stated, above all we need hypermorality: the Nietzschean ethics of difficult times.

What motivated me to write this article was not only what Johnson said about homosexuality, but also the (degenerate to my mind) music and movie tastes of the broader nationalist community. My forte is not writing, but a peculiar understanding of visual arts and music. So much so that, as to the seventh art is concerned, I consider myself as talented as Alfonso Cuarón, the director of The Prisoner of Azkaban and Children of Men (Cuarón and I were born about the same time in the same town).

I share some of Johnson’s anti-Christian sentiments, even when he said in one of his Counter-Currents threads that he will never include bullshit about a dead Jew on a stick, which I guess offended a Christian friend who stopped commenting at that site. But Johnson is no “total autobiographer.” In contrast, in Hojas Susurrantes I recount an unimaginable tragedy that befell on my family that cannot be conveyed in few words. Elsewhere I confessed just the tip of the iceberg of that tragedy: that at seventeen I constantly had themes from Mozart’s Requiem stuck in my head in an abusive school. This was an earworm synchronized with the religious metamorphosis that was taking place in my mind, the change from the stage of perceiving God as the loving dad of my St. Francis to the vindictive God of The Day: my abusive, introjected Father. Once my religious agonies were over, I could listen Requiems no more and not even other sacred music. (Only in this sense I can empathize with those who turned over to the dark side of pop, frivolous or hedonistic music.) But now that the fear of eternal damnation as an internal persecutor, or Dementor to use the symbol of the soulless creatures in The Prisoner of Azkaban, is gone, which psychological trick can I use to like sacred music again?

I have discovered a way. However, to convey my most intimate subjectivity I’ll have to indulge a little in a thought experiment.


Let’s imagine for a moment that I was not abused at home and that presently I am a famed film director like Cuarón. Let’s suppose that, being fairly well off, after Jared Taylor’s conferences were sabotaged in the previous two years I would invite him and all conference participants, both speakers and non-speakers, to my large mansion somewhere in the Northwest coast of the United States to celebrate the yearly conference.

When entering the property, way before the conference reserved for the ballroom, I prepared the participants a little surprise. The incomers are now seeing in an outdoor, circular place slightly above the ground meant to accommodate leisure activities, two singers, a male soprano and a male contralto interpreting Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater.

Visualize the background with a string orchestra and imagine that the soprano is… none other than Gitone! Every time that the adolescent soprano reaches the highest notes he lifts his eyes toward the heavens. His song is full of mannerisms typical of those actors in intimate contact with God, but in the middle of a purely pagan environment with the color of his eyes of a more intense blue than the sky-blue above him and the line of the sea behind both singers, in sharp contrast to Gitone’s dark hair and nude feet touching directly the solid flagstone at the middle of the mansion’s garden (listen to my 6-minute selection of Pergolesi’s music here).

That would be Gitone’s magic. He has thus inspired me to revisit sacred music after the soul-murdering tragedy that destroyed my family and that occurred when I had exactly his age.

Forget the academic content of the conferences that are now taking place indoors, in the ballroom. During the 37 minutes that last the twelve sections of the Stabat, still at the mansion’s outdoors even the most conservative attendants, after gluing their gaze onto the soprano for more than half an hour, start harboring truly unchristian, Dionysian thoughts. Eros is the universe’s dialectic force, and the visual experience to the sound of religious music moves them all, even the non-white nationalists present, to rediscover an elemental thumos to fight for a race so pristinely white as the alabastrine skin of the ephebe.

But then, a nationalist liberal could ask me the…

Tough Question #2: Chechar: Aren’t you ashamed that beside this subliminal fantasy of yours in one of your recent threads you homophobically ranted about “genocidal rage” against homos like you?

I am not a homo for the simple reason that I’d find repugnant any contact with a masculine face, and its body. And no: I am not ashamed for what I said in that thread at all.

Precisely because they try to imitate them, queers represent a blasphemous insult to the nymphs and the ephebes: the holy spirit of life according to my philosophy. Faggots are like massive bears with the heart of a butterfly. Comparing Gitone with any of them is like comparing a vulgar, Felliniesque, fat harlot with Botticelli’s Venus at the top of this blog.

I feel the so-called gay movement as if an Australopithecus africanus, after touching the black monolith of 2001: A Space Odyssey, has a glimpse of the mysterium tremendum of the universe. Alas, unlike the film this ape immediately fancies himself as the astronaut Dave Bowman ready for the second leap forward in the path to Overman. Or even worse: he believes that he now wears a white miniskirt like the one that Ascyltus threw over Gitone in the embedded clip, and he further believes that the other apes will now consider this still primitive, apeish missing link as if he was a consecrated soprano of the future worth to listen and contemplate. Nowadays, it does not occur to these Australopithecuses that a huge, four-and-a-half million leap forward is necessary for that specific dream become true, or that presently only the androgynous ephebes, premature embryos of a yet not verified future, have the right of homosexuality.

But perhaps it would be the most conservative nationalist the one who asks me the filthiest question of all…

Tough Question #3: Why are you promoting this sort of homoerotism with that video and photo of a boy, you pervert?

With this sort of question you are projecting onto me your own perversions: what I call the Sin against the Holy Ghost—an unforgivable sin that, a few years ago, moved me to completely severe ties with my former colleagues on child abuse studies. Contrary to your projections, my point of view about “homosexuality,” if it may be called so (I don’t have homo friends but I doubt that they fancy Gitone), is innocuous. It has nothing to do with either a traditionalist condemnation of the behavior and much less with the so-called LGTB movement. I am located light years apart from both.

To find an ephebe is like searching a needle in dozens of haystacks. According to my own definition, an ephebe is a leptosomatic (see Gitone’s chest in the above pic) adolescent of such androgynous beauty as to make him undistinguishable from a nymph: a beauty that evaporates when he reaches manhood (either in Plato or Xenophon I read how a Greek mocked another who was still attached to a lad who already had beards). This esthetic bar is, purposely, unrealistically high. So high actually that Italian filmmakers—androgynous beauty seems to be an alien concept for American directors—have had enormous difficulties in the casting process to find genuine ehpebes.

Luchino Visconti’s search of Tadzio for his Death in Venice was so agonizing that he had to travel out of his native Italy through several countries until he found Bjorn Andersen in Sweden. Similarly, by pure chance an assistant of Fellini discovered Max Born, who eventually played the character of Gitone in the mentioned Satyricon, in London’s Chelsea living as a local hippy. My concept of “ephebe” is such an obvious veiled homage to women that in the 1979 film Ernesto, where a handsome adolescent male is seduced by an androgynous ephebe, the director Salvatore Samperi did not bother to do any agonizing casting outside Italy. He simply chose a girl, Lara Wendel, to play both the roles of the ephebe Ilio and his twin sister Rachele (I was very much surprised to discover this after thirty years of watching the film).

But my hypothetical, nasty interlocutor would interrupt me to rudely ask again: Don’t go off in tangents. Stick to the point: Why are you promoting this homoerotism with images of underagers and your little “Gedankenexperiment”?

Mark my words, punk: Because I want to destroy the self-christened “gay movement” with the same vehemence that I want to destroy the “feminist movement” —and the degenerate music and film industry that has been, spiritually, interwoven in the creation of both.

Have you heard the Hegelian word Aufheben my bigoted friend? The street man moves in comfort category zones such as the hetero thesis and its homo antithesis. I believe that’s naïve. The verb Aufheben translated to English means to sublate: the suppression and assimilation of both, the previous thesis and antithesis. This is the apparently contradictory implication of preserving and changing an ethos just as, by means of aufhebenizing my previous phobia of sacred music when mixing it with the most profane love, I have just created a new, non-Christian entity where sacred music might be, again, fully appreciated albeit in a thoroughly pagan milieu. While Hegel used that verb in his philosophy of history, this is my proposed myth:

Mature, aufhebenized hetero nationalists may try to destroy the homo antithesis not by combating it directly, but by assimilating its luminous side and by turning homosexuality into almost heterosexuality through the contemplation of beauty among those rarest specimens that look like a mixture between humans, and angels. This is exactly what I pretended to do with my Quetzalcoatl, or Prolegomena For a Psychohistory of The Future that will only be fully developed in the ethnostate: destroying Christianity by means of aufhebenizing it, by assimilating its central, unconscious message and transforming it into a secular science.

Psychohistory explains what conventional historians can’t. For example, many years ago my father challenged me with a question: What galvanized the first Christians to the point of choosing martyrdom? The answer is: the overcoming of the infanticidal psychoclass. Christianity’s unconscious message is that when we murder or crucify our innocent child, we murder or crucify God. Alas, presently Christianity, and a traitorous secular Christianity catalyzed by the Jews, have metamorphosed the symbolic empathy toward the crucified Son into a deranged altruism for a New Jesus: the dispossessed races, to the point that whites now face extinction.

Michael O’Meara said that only a myth would galvanize the white race. But I believe he is wrong in believing that Christianity, now a Red Giant star soon to become a white dwarf, will play a role in its creation. In The Philosophy of Beauty Roger Scruton states that beauty can be another name for religion. Only the divine physiognomies that we, the mortals, cannot reach may drag the human soul into the asymptotic axis of the spiritual with actually never reaching the infinite. Ultimate aesthetic catharsis must be sought in the inner assimilation of the distant figure of Beatrice (for me, that is the “ephebe” that stunned me thirty years ago but that, in real life, the actor turned out to be an actress). The same can be said of a consecrated director seeking for Tadzio in several countries in order to capture his beauty for eternity, but not for sleeping with him. That would not only have meant the corruption of the fourteen year-old archangel, but making a fool of oneself like the German professor gazing at Tadzio from afar with black drops of hair-ink mixed with sweat running through a ridiculous made-up face under the sun of a Venetian beach. For unfathomable laws of the universe, unlike Zeus we cannot possess Ganymede and have a happy life after that. Even if we were as young and handsome as Encolpius, Xenophon warns us that such level of passion would drive us totally mad. And let’s not forget the Phaedrus’ comparing the fondness of an erastes for his eromenos to the fondness of wolves for lambs. Moreover, according to my own definition, with only a handful of ephebes in the world, when our object of forbidden love leaves us for the arms of another erastes, even the blond Encolpius ends up contemplating the knife…

I imagine modifying the Northwest Republic tricolor flag by means of placing the colors horizontally and adding the full image of the Garden of Opportunity in its middle. Not because in our search for the inexplicable superiority of the Venusinian we males should try to imitate Gitone or Tadzio, which is impossible. But because only the unreachable archetype of the eternal feminine will lead the white race to the Absolute.

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