Pride and infantilism

(This is a translation from pages 192 to 196 of my last book, From Jesus to Hitler. Some explanatory brackets between unclear passages are added.)

Although my dad and I had more or less the same intelligence, the difference of honour—valour and honesty between father and son—was sidereal. In my soliloquies many times I have called my level of honesty liquid oxygen, in the sense of pure element that does not even want to mix with nitrogen so that the combination is more breathable. I think the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth without dilution or compromise. Perhaps my crude honesty is a flight to the antipodes of my father, so immersed in his placenta. He was the opposite: an extremely dishonest individual, and without any valour to face reality there when it denied his convictions in front of his nose.

Having analysed the family tragedy, with emphasis on my father, can provide the keys to understand the darkest hour of the West. If the white race perishes in the future, and if someone remains clever enough to speculate why it perished, he would get a clue in an unusual field: the first comprehensive analysis a son makes of his parents. My Leaves ended with the lapidary phrase ‘But my father chose evil’. My subsequent texts have been helping me to understand this evil: why dad never grew up.

In my soliloquies, I have sometimes imagined his attitude as having ‘mounted the horse of pride’, but in the end it was always a deep yearning not to grow. That is why he assembled his mind so well with my mother, who wanted to put ‘bricks on our heads’ so that we would not grow up either.

A paradigm of that pride one does not get off of would be, let’s say, what in the previous volume I called ‘the confrontation of drugs’ in which father simply inverted who was to blame [I refer to my mother, who wanted to control us by secretly pouring drugs in our meals]. Well, what Westerners do today is nothing but getting on the horse of pride, although, in their case, not for failing to recognise criminal behaviour in the family, but for refusing to question the narrative about the Second World War. In my blog in English I use a sticky post with links to the essay ‘Rome contra Judea; Judea contra Rome’ and a review of Hellstorm: the antithesis of the haughty horse. Why has the white man failed to see something so obvious?

The brutal response is that they are as childish as the father I referred to in the final words of my Leaves, or as proud as the father who inverted guilt when I confronted him with [my mother’s] drugs. My life was annihilated by my father’s childish pride. Unless they awaken, the white race will be annihilated by their own infantiloid pride. Just as my father must have come to talk with his son as in my dream of the leaves, whites must have approached those who told the truth about Christianity and the Second War. But they have chosen evil.

As we know, my father lived his whole life in self-deception. If there is a word that defines him, it is that: self-deception. Recall how he reversed reality through the aforementioned self-deceits. These were some of the most conspicuous:

• That Mexico had more cultural institutions than the United States.

• The inversion during ‘the confrontation of the crossed arms’ and that my sister, not mom, would cry tears of blood when thinking about her behaviour.

• The final chords of La Santa Furia that glorify miscegenation. Compare that with the Führer’s words in ‘Quoting the royal book’ of my previous volume. From the moral point of view, even more serious reversal of the facts in the plot of La Santa Furia was:

• To have inverted the faults on infanticide: something that the pre-Hispanic Amerindians did without any scruples as Sahagún saw. My father blamed the infanticide on the Spaniard with whom he started his last opus! Blaming the Spaniard for Amerind infanticide was the other side of the coin of blaming my sister and me instead of blaming himself and his wife, as my sister saw so well in ‘the confrontation of the crossed arms’. And finally:

• The cancerous tumour that he suffered, according to him, ‘already became small’ [with no medical proof whatsoever]. In other words, he claimed he was already healthy.

About my brother’s observation that our father was a small child there is something that I have been saying to myself that I had not captured: a postscript to my dream about ‘the little blue and white church’ that I had so much ago, recounted in my previous tome.

I do not want to project my current thoughts back to the times when I had the dream. But a delayed interpretation is that dad was becoming convinced to self-deceive himself in the dream. Convincing himself to do so was the Leitmotiv of his life; I suppose, from his youth. He gave reasons to himself to deceive himself, as what was most comfortable for him in such a modest little church (the placenta or ideological bubble he had gotten himself into).

Paradoxical as it may seem, the infantilism of the little blue church is the other side of the Horse of Pride. I think it’s worth saying that, of the movies I’ve seen, only in Spotlight I was able to see, in a very brief dialogue, a profile that portrays my father.

I refer to the words of the most learned scholar on the subject that the team interviewed, Richard Sipe, a former priest who worked to rehabilitate paedophile priests [incidentally, Sipe died last year]. When Sipe spoke by telephone of atrophy ‘at the level of a child of twelve or thirteen’, my mind immediately flew to my father’s character. It is true that, in the movie, Sipe spoke of such atrophy on a sexual level. But I only noticed it when, after buying the DVD, I saw the passage more calmly. My initial impression, when I saw the film for the first time, was that of a generic psychic atrophy: which is exactly what, less than a minute before the quote above, the reporter Sacha Pfeiffer discovers when interviewing Father Ronald Paquin, who had abused children [like Sipe, both are real persons]. Spotlight, winner of the Oscar for best film the same year my father died, hardly puts priests on the screen. One could imagine, from the journalistic notes, that they were monsters. But in Pfeiffer’s interview with Father Paquin, the exact opposite is seen: an extremely affable sixty-year-old man, with a benign face and gestures and very pleasant in personal dealings, but emotionally atrophied as a child or pubertal boy for the way he rationalised his paedophile behaviour before the reporter.

It has been the Roman Curia that climbs the Horse of Pride when they confront it: like promoting Cardinal Bernard Law after the Boston Globe scandal (who, both in real life and in the film, by orders of Rome had been protecting the priests who molested the children). But the candid infantilism of a Paquin is the other side of the coin of pride. Both facets of Jekyll and Hyde have the same purpose: to dissociate what happened.

I cannot say that my father was a victim of sexual abuse by priests in the institutions that my grand-parents put him into. But I guess he was because of the perversions recounted in my previous tome. If any of my readers keeps in mind the brief interview of the reporter with Father Paquin as dramatised by the film, he could look at my father’s affable character: atrophied at the level of a child of twelve or thirteen years of age.

______ 卐 ______

 
A comment for this site

As can be appreciated, this type of tough reflections can only be understood in the context of telling the whole family tragedy.

By the way, even though I use a movie to talk about my father’s character, I was never a victim of sexual abuse (but of something far more serious than sexual abuse!).

The reason why I translated the passage above is obvious to me, but not to my readers.

The white race is dying because the HIV mental virus with which it was infected two thousand years ago, only to this day metastasized into an AIDS that suppresses the racial defences in the psyche of the white man. This HIV, currently already in the phase of AIDS, is transmitted via parental introjects in each generation. That is, to re-develop defences in our immune system, we must break ‘the chain of the introject’ by killing the inner father.

I do not mean physical violence against our biological parents, but to unmask them before the public opinion through accusative writings.

In a previous thread I said that the task of doing this is long and painful, and I talked about the more than a thousand pages that it took me to write it over the decades. But since the ethics of Christian ethno-suicide is transmitted from father to son, a failure to kill the father internally results in a failure to kill the virus that is killing us.

I know that a short translation like the one above will hardly convey the message. To those who wish to read me but cannot do so in Spanish, I would suggest going to the nearest library to obtain a copy of Alice Miller’s Breaking Down the Wall of Silence or other of her books. The problem is that Miller, who was in the Warsaw Ghetto, had a Jewish mother. Alas, she is the only one that has profoundly dealt with the issue of debunking our parents to be able to heal.

For those unwilling to read Miller, they will have to wait for my daunting task of translating my twelve books so that the pro-white man who wishes to eliminate all HIV from his mind may approach the subject from the pen of a non-Jew…

22 Comments

  1. Your race is your father(s).

    Anti-racism is to be against the father(s).

    • @ thordaddy,

      Although you are banned from this site, I am allowing this comment of yours because it illustrates perfectly my point:

      Over the WN forums you always speak of Jesus as ‘the perfect man’ without realising that it’s precisely because you are unable to debunk your biological father that you project a more benign image of him onto Jesus.

      You should really study my piece about ‘God’ that appears on this site and also in my Day of Wrath.

  2. You have researched psychiatry a lot, and also the pederast-priest scandal. I wonder what your views on celibacy/chastity is? Does it cause pedophilia, or the sexual desire of children?

    Luther said that nuns would kill their bastard offspring and throw them in a lake. This is what occurred in Tuam. An ex-jesuit said that this occurred in Spain in a Jack Chick comic as well. The nuns would have children by priests, starve them to death, and then discard their bodies like so much trash. This is what Semitism does to the mind. It is like a contracted spiritual psychopathy.

    • No: I am no expert on pederast-priest scandal, but yes: celibacy is behind these perversions.

      But these strugglings with the inner demon of lust occurred since the times of Saint Anthony, and precisely, precisely because of the vow to celibacy!

  3. The white race is finished because the Nordic blood will soon perish. It did not happen overnight though. Hitler was the last chance.

    Yeshua survives 2 millennia, Natsoc is killed like instantly. If only it were the other way around. History has been a tragedy for Aryans.

    • If the white race is finished it’s because not even white nationalists want to give up their Jewish drug of Xtianity: they’re addicted to it, even secular WNsts (in the form of respecting non-white life and the ‘sanctity’ of human life, which is what I’m trying to debunk).

      • I think White Nationalists never mattered. The Waffen SS were the core of White Race’s greatness. The Holy War against Bolshevism draw all great men of Europe to Hitler’s side. They lost and were reduced to silence after the war.

        White Nationalists are confused imbeciles who can’t renounce the cross amd embrace the swastika. If you can’t do such a simple thing you are not worth wasting anyone’s life. They will not change the course of time. I do not say History because there is no History at this point anymore, only a Blackout.

      • ‘White Nationalists are confused imbeciles who can’t renounce the cross amd embrace the swastika.’

        Lol!

        This is such a quotable quote that I’ll use it now to separate my latest two entries!

  4. Adolf Hitler says in his 29 April 1945 Testament the following:

    “Centuries may pass, but out of the ruins of our cities and monuments of art there will arise anew the hatred for the people who alone are ultimately responsible: International Jewry and its helpers!”

    Many a time he has been a prophet. But I think he’s wrong here – consider it heresy if you want. Centuries after 1945 there will be no white man on Earth anymore.

    • Of course, but he’s right that ‘International Jewry and its helpers’ (my emphasis) are the problem.

      WNsts see Jews, they’re blind about their helpers.

  5. Cesar, what is your opinion of upbringing of my 2-year old son, who sometimes behaves like sissy. It makes my blood boil and I find it often hard to control myself in such occasions. When I do not, I often shout, sometimes hit him or just walk away and leave him alone. I find such situations really hard to endure. What should I do?

    • Father,

      It ‘s impossible to give advice without knowing the details.

      But even without the proper info, I would not say that a 2-year old can be sissy. (I am an old dog and don’t remember any 2-year old behaving ‘sissy’ in my times.)

      Shouting does not sound like the right behavior. Even the toughest Aryans of all time, the Spartans, allowed the mothers to nurture kids until they reached their 7th year. I wouldn’t worry about his behavior now. But are there other influences at home beside you?

      As I said, I’d need lots of info to see what’s the problem.

      • Perhaps sissy is not the correct word. It usually happens during usual daily stuff: changing clothes and shoes, eating, performing some action which is new to him. He starts to moan, gives up the task and starts to play around, or makes some nonsensical actions counter to the purpose of current task. But it is the moaning which boils my veins the most. I assume he imitates some of this behavior from his mates in kindergarten.

        What would be the best action for me to take? Perhaps abandon the task and just ignore him and retry later? What if the situation does not allow this, should I just do the stuff instead of him?

  6. To “kill the inner father.”

    When I started hating my father, I began to mature at a much faster rate. I still had the mind of a teenager in my mid-twenties. It was difficult to get that fucking ‘brick’ off my head.

    We have similar moulds, CT. This post was eye-opening.

    I will consider writing an autobiography in the following years, but only for myself.

    • If you do that, keep in mind that I did not heal until the exasperating (and painful) task of reviewing the syntax lots of times in proof-readings.

      It’s incredible how even brutally-honest autobiographers avoid the pain by rapidly writing the core of our biographies’ pain. But healing only comes when you fully digest it: something far more profound than mere diaries. Solzhenitsyn has some passages about ‘eating a mountain of pain’ in his Archipelago. I suggest you read that chapter before embarking on your autobio.

      If you do it you’ll cry a lot, believe me. But it’s the royal path to heal…

  7. On the topic of illicit drugging, did you know that Hitler was surreptitiously drugged by his mischling physician? In Hitler’s case, the quack was exposed by Dr. Karl Brandt whom Hitler sentenced to death! I’m glad you discovered the drugs and broke free.

    • I ignored the Hitler story. But no: my sister only told me what my mother used to do after a quarter of a century! (She’s the sister who died a few years ago, and I dedicate a whole book of my 12 books analysing her tragic life.)

  8. i like andrew holleran’s book, Grief. he weaves a fugue between the protagonists grieving his state in life, precipitated by his mother’s death. the protagonist spent many years as his invalid mother’s caregiver. (a convenient distraction that worked avoidance of growing up?) so did mary todd lincoln never grow up. after her [asshole] husband’s death, she continued grieving her state in life, stuck; never growing up.

    holleran’s protagonist is me. as his protagonist walked the streets of washington d.c., avoiding deeper than cursory social engagements in his new context, so i walked the streets of ventura, ca for six months, driving mostly by avoidance in facing life, and the requirement that i grow up beyond my stuckness. that was 2012. i’ve done lots of reading. discovered by chance c.t.’s set in ventura, and still i look forward daily to reading it. the arrary of subjects and broadened my horizons. however, i remain socially and sexually disengaged.

    mostly, my abuser was my deep rigid xtian beliefs. they were the primary cause of my arrested development. and now at 68 years, it’s too late. i’m too old. and too worn down.

    holloeran’s protagonist returned home after his stint away from home in washington d.c. no new rebirth for him over the course of the tale. implying his re-birth engagement in life depends some on serendipity. luck. so does mine. and incidentally, mary todd lincoln slowly faded away in life, never growing up. living in various hotel rooms all her life. and even at one point, he son conmitted her to an asylum in hopes of prodding her “recovery.” a failure.

    c.t.’s studies on xtianty played well in removing that deeply tap rooted malware from my imagination. paleothinking. what a friend we have in jesus. yahweh, my loving papa god. and reflexing answering my Default Mode Network with the simple phrase, “utter nonsense” was an active successful defense.

    so i consider life worth living for having recognized and dumped xtian malware responsible for my arrested development and wrecking my life. alas, i will likely die w/o ever growing up.

    ps,
    do i cry? only when the subject of my mother’s death comes up in a conversation. strange hold being her final caregiver still has on my psyche.

    • Thanks for sharing a piece of your inner life.

  9. On point article, C.T.

    It’s a general topic which has been on my mind nonstop over the past few months. My biological father is a cowardly, effeminate, cuckservative, male feminist (or some gay, utterly humiliating crap) Boomer who is domineered by my mother & who seems to hate men/masculinity with a passion.

    He & my mother have tried to thoroughly condition me to be just like him, & I have steadfastly rebelled against them since my hellish adolescent years. My father is perhaps my greatest *anti role model.*

    I have succeeded in growing up to be unlike him to the best of my own ability. I believe I have come to consciously understand how & why my father is who & what he (((is))) as I’ve grown up.

    He himself is a victim of the same patterns I myself have suffered; he was born into a gynocentric abomination of a household wherein there was simply little (if any) genuine healthy masculine energy. He had a passive well meaning beta-ized male father who just did not understand women, at all, from my impression.

    My grandfather wasn’t a sissy effeminate soyboy; he was locked in a Catholic cathedral overnight when he was in kindergarten for calling a nun a “nigger” back in the 1920’s (or whenever that was). He openly hated niggers for his entire life (& the rest of my gynocentric family all ganged up on him attacking him whenever he said something along those lines).

    He got into trouble pretty often growing up, so I understand. He was 16 when FDR sacrificed thousands of Americans at Pearl Harbor to drag us into WWII; and he tricked or blackmailed my great grandfather to allow him to join the US Navy (he fought the Japs), from what I understand.

    He admitted to me before he died he knew that FDR had had prior knowledge of the Japs’ intention to do Zero Day/Tora Tora Tora! He absolutely hated what America had become at the time of his death, and didn’t attempt to hide it. He was more of a “father” to me than my father, and I am grateful for having had him as an influence, in spite of his many shortcomings.

    He married a spiteful bitch who one could easily label as having been “mentally ill.” If you have ever watched the HBO show, “The Sopranos,” just think of Tony’s mother, Lydia Soprano. My grandmother was EEIRILY similar to her.

    Thanks to my red-pill knowledge, I can surmise she was most likely disgusted by my grandfather’s apparent tendency to take her literally at her verbal word; and especially for the fact he allowed her to walk all over him. She was always begging him to put his foot down and probably wanted for him to slap the shit out of her (women are all masochists, “50 Shades..” outsold the “holy” biyble, after all!).

    They met after the disaster that was WWII ended, and quickly got married. A match made in Hell/Lake of Fire itself. Together, they had many daughters and two sons, one of whom later became an open degenerate homosexual abomination. In their “family, in which the Patriarch was forced to work multiple jobs the duration of their childhood amidst severe financial hardship, the females ruled the roost.

    My father was not first born so he had domineering older sisters; and I have spent quite a lot of time imagining what a hell it must have been, considering my spiteful, impossible to please cunt grandmother had mellowed out substantially by the time I was a child (& she was still so fucking nasty to my grandfather, the way she spoke to him makes me cringe remembering it..to her, he was the least significant man alive who could do no thing “right,” all he did was made sarcastic remarks back to her, but you could tell he was defeated insofar as how he felt about himself).

    His parents were neglectful and abusive to him. Shockingly, he grew up to be just like them, per his own individual characteristics & behavioral patterns as a parent.

    Unlike them, he became very successful, professionally & financially at least. He used their dismissive verbal/mental abuse as a sort of inner motivating mental “fuel” to “prove them (his parents) ‘wrong'” (about him); however, by doing so, through his capitulation to then, he became them, on a most basic level, imo.

    Neither of his parents taught him to stand up for himself, nor did they instill any sort of masculine virtues into his character.

    My father was a nerd growing up, and I guarantee he was mercilessly picked on as well. I am guessing about how he handled it (by capitulating without any attempt to stand up for himself whatsoever), but I am pretty certain I have the basic gist of it. I think he was probably such a meek little wimp he probably confided his being “bullied” to his older sister/s and sought for them to “protect” him.

    Shockingly (cuz no one could have predicted it), my father married a woman quite similar to his own mother. I am his first born and only son. Like him, I was born into a gyno centric abomination of a household wherein the women absolutely dominated.

    Whatever my mother & sisters *verbally claimed* they felt/wanted may as well have been gospel as far as he was concerned and he used the entirety of his influence/power as my father to force me to tow the line.

    During my first few years of life, I can still vividly recall he & I having had some-thing *resembling* a friendly, traditional Western father-son relationship, similar to what I had seen (& desperately wanted) depicted in the oldie cartoons & films I watched growing up. He was a busy af professional, but he had made time on a regular basis to be involved in my upbringing in small yet meaningful ways.

    For example, he taught me how to ride a bicycle with training wheels on, and he awoke early one morning before work to be there my first attempt to ride a bike without the training wheels attached (it was a success!).

    However, our relationship profoundly and irrevocably changed when my first younger sister began walking & talking. I understand the notion of (modern/cucked) Western men having a “soft spot” for their “sweet & precious” little “innocent” (lol) daughters wherein they act like White Knights; but, my father took such a sentiment into the realm of the bizarre.

    On a regular basis, my first sister picked fights with me growing up. She was aggressive! I would be minding my own business playing with a toy or whatever; and, many times she barged in, ran up to me without asking me if she could join me & tried grabbing whatever it was I was holding to take it from me by force, often hitting/biting me in the process. I defended myself by pushing her away and sometimes by hitting her as well.

    After defending myself, she would just dart out of the area where the altercation had just taken place, and if my father was home, she went straight to him with the tears (which she didn’t have until after she my space).

    Moments later, my father announced his presence to me by slamming a door open so hard I thought it must have been destroyed, and I soon saw him. His face would be as red as a clown’s nose, and there were no lights on behind his eyes. He was in a blind rage.

    He looked at me with pure hatred, as though I am an inhuman bloodthirsty beast or vampire who must be destroyed. He didn’t stop to ask me what had happened or why my sister was crying. He charged up to me, physically hit or yanked me to throw me, and sent me to my room alone for punishment. He then gave my sister whatever toy she had attempted to take from me by force without having even asked me.

    Every time, I delusionally attempted to speak with him after my “time out” punishment had ended, after he had seemingly calmed down, usually as he would be watching his television (subconscious mind) PROGRAMMING. He was simply not interested in hearing what I had to say, ever.

    He was cold and entirely dismissive. He didn’t pay attention, acted like I was making a big deal out of absolutely nothing; and he often made an aloof lecturing comment to me about how I “must be ‘nicer’ to my poor terrorized/brutalized/something/idk little sister.”

    There were times I seriously believed he might throw me out of the house/family by putting me up for adoption or simply by throwing me out onto the streets, because this basic pattern happened on a regular basis during my childhood.

    Once my sister saw she could use my father as a way to hurt me, for whatever “reasons” of her own, with no difficulty whatsoever, she did so often.

    Anyway, at the core of the “Fair Race’s Darkest Hour” lies a crisis of masculinity. Our women are a reflection of ourselves, as far as I am concerned. From what I have gathered, it seems a major (but still minor, compared to the Christianity virus having succeeded 2000 yrs ago) thing that went “wrong” regarding Western men took place a few hundred years ago during the “enlightenment.”..

    Rites of Passage were ditched as a sacred social tradition passed down from generation to generation by Western Man sometime during the Enlightenment, per what I have gathered. I haven’t done in depth research about the history of this issue, but I have done quite a bit of reading about the nature of “Masculinity” itself.

    There are a couple of books I highly recommend reading in this vein (if only to expose yourself to the ideas & concepts rather than hoping to discover an actionable blueprint so as to “masculinize” yourself moreso than you are at present, or something):

    1) “King, Warrior, Magician, & Lover: Rediscovering Male Archetypes..” written by two Jungian psychologists & published in the early 1990’s, as I recall.

    And then there’s 2) “Iron John: A Book About Men,” by Robert Bly.

    I’ll also mention one more book that has a lot of invaluable wisdom in it but also has quite a bit of what I want to call “New Age” crap as well. Still definitely worth reading though..

    3) “The Way of the Superior Man,” by David Deida. Lots of advice in there about interacting with modern women that is from a pragmatic but capitulated masculine mindset that seeks to adapt to feminist social norms rather than counter them. There’s also a lot of other knowledge I feel is valuable to be gained by reading that book though.

    According to the first book I listed, us men simply cannot mature into true masculine Men without Rites of Passages. Whatever the truth of that, us European men must embrace genuine masculinity and do it quickly, among many other things!

    Hail Victory!

    • He didn’t stop to ask me what had happened or why my sister was crying… Once my sister saw she could use my father as a way to hurt me, for whatever “reasons” of her own, with no difficulty whatsoever, she did so often.

      Just what happened to me, but just replace ‘sister’ with ‘mother’ and you get the picture.

      The truly astronomic level of stupidity and mental illness and deference toward the judgment of a female is something more than alarming in many males. Similarly, as I said above in the post, the deference of most whites to the narratives of Jews is more than alarming.

      Most whites are like my late father.

      All the destructive power that Jews have it’s because Whites bestowed it to them.

      All the destructive power my mother had it’s because my father bestowed it to her.

      The problem lies in us, and the cure is starting to shame even feminized WNsts with quotable quotes such as the one a commenter uttered yesterday.

  10. @psychelonb,

    men simply cannot mature into true masculine Men without Rites of Passages. somehow i took it as a youngster that a secondary education degree would provide my right of passage. my dad always preached such. it did not.

    i’ve felt invalidated — not up to the task of surviving on my own efforts — all my life. because of no Rite of Passage? perhaps why the the fantasy book Into the Wild exerts a distant pull on my psyche.

    thx for your insights.


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