Austrian school

Virtually no racialist knows the trauma model of mental disorders. One of the problems I see in the white nationalist movement is that there are serious blind spots from their POV. Not only do they ignore that psychiatry (which promotes the medical model of mental disorders) is false science. Nor do they know that Keynesian economics taught in universities is another ‘science’ similar to astrology.

The only one who got to talk about these two topics, pseudo-scientific psychiatry and pseudoscientific economics, before YouTube deleted his channel was Stefan Molyneux. And it is a pity that no racialist whose mother tongue is English says what Molyneux knew about the real state of the economy and the true cause of mental disorders (child abuse).

Today’s article on Counter-Currents by Robert Hampton, ‘Are We Really Heading To A Civil War?’ exemplifies blindness as to the state of the American economy.

Like the vast majority of racialists, Hampton doesn’t seem to have the remotest notion that the truly scientific school of economy is the Austrian school, which has been predicting, since Nixon unpegged the dollar from gold, that this would lend itself to abusively print fiat currency ad infinitum to the degree of currency collapse.

Now, Hampton is right that his bourgeois compatriots are not going to rebel. As I have said on this site, the One Ring has corrupted the Aryan psyche, as Richard Wagner saw in his most ambitious work. Hampton is correct in saying that his compatriots are comfortable in what I call ‘happy mode’ and that, in that mode, revolution is unthinkable. But Hampton is unaware that the precious currency of the Americans is going to tank.

Above I mentioned Molyneux whose mother was Jewish and I was sorry that a racialist Gentile did not say the same. The same could be said of Peter Schiff, whose father was Jewish, but among those who explain Austrian economics Schiff is the one who does it best on YouTube, as we see in his most recent podcast.

Those reluctant to listen to him can watch the crash curses of the non-Jews Chris Martenson or Mike Maloney, who say more or less the same as Schiff. In this matter it’s irrelevant who is Gentile or Jew. What matters is that the dollar is short on time, and that once it collapses Americans will transition from happy mode to angry mode.

True, an angry mode among whites is still insufficient for the armed revolution, but the fall of the American empire (no more pro-Israel wars after the dollar loses its purchasing power) will mark the end of the interregnum that began in 1945, when Europe lost the power they held for centuries.

The end of the interregnum doesn’t mean automatic salvation, as Americanised Europeans are as bananas as those who live on this continent. However, the end of American hegemony will start to open a window of opportunity for our cause.

Alberich’s Revenge

For those who liked a featured article I reproduced here under the title “Wagner’s wisdom,” Michael Colhaze has now written another piece on Wagner, but this time about “Barbarians who seem to lack any access to Beauty’s divine joy, and therefore hate it, and thus try to destroy what they can’t have.”

However relevant to understand how these “gay” barbarians of San Francisco want to destroy Aryan beauty, below I omitted most of the images chosen by Colhaze in his recent article at The Occidental Observer:


Let’s assume, just for the fun of it, that they blindfold you, help you up the wide stairs of the San Francisco Opera and lower you carefully into a velvet fauteuil. You hear the murmur of many voices, a squeaking and scraping of instruments being tuned, and a few harsh coughs as mucous residues are brought under control. Then, on a more mechanical note, a different squeaking and scraping as the curtain opens. Silence! Suddenly the tentative moan of wind-instruments, perhaps oboes and bass clarinets. Horns, or possibly tubas, trumpets, bassoons, bass trumpets, trombones, contrabass trombones and contrabass tubas join the gradually accelerating symphony until a ringing crash shatters the ominous tonal procession. As an old Wagner aficionado you have already twigged the conundrum: this is Mime wielding his hammer while forging anew the sword Nothung that was broken. A sword intended for his mighty foster-son Siegfried who must kill Fafner the Dragon and divest him of his most precious treasure, the one Ring of Power. Which, as the nasty dwarf hopes, will thus end up in his own claws and so make him Master of the World! With a deep sigh you lean back, and while the powerful music overwhelms your heart and mind, its visual setting unfolds before your inner eye.

When Mime laments the Forced Drudgery! with a voluminous tenor while doggedly banging his hammer, you can’t take it anymore. You jump to your feet and rip the blindfold from your eyes. And, from your Grand Tier Premium seat, what do you see?

The above! A hideously illuminated scrap-yard with a smashed-up trailer and a stunted street-bum banging his Made in China Wal-Mart mallet onto a piece of rusty iron.

Stunned, you sit down again. And while you do so, the terrible truth dawns on you. Namely that you have been tricked into attending the modern production of a great classical opera.

Now let’s assume you weren’t in such a great mood anyway, because some run in with your Japanese SUV or Siamese tomcat or crooked solicitor had darkened the day already, and all it needed to blow your top was a piece of theatrical hogwash like this. Thus you jump to your feet again and, with all the power your lungs can muster, begin to curse the heathen hogs to kingdom come.

Which, for a while at least, has the desired effects. The orchestra stops playing. Harp, trombone and first violin allow for a sip from the pocket flask while the conductor opts for a line. Mime drops his hammer and pops another upper. The audience is in turmoil. Some people stand and stare. Others use the opportunity and rip off programs when nobody looks. Old Rebecca Greenberg-Traurig, granny to some of the House’s foremost sponsors, goes down with the vapours. David Dunn Bauer, a celebrated art critic and rabbi, recognizes you as sincerely heterosexual and therefore, amongst other deviations, terroristically inclined. The House’s General Director, David Gockley, widely derided in certain circles as one of the major innovators in American opera, appears on stage while frantically hissing into his diamond-studded I-pod. Francesca Zambello, the production’s legendary artistic director, rolls into the main isle and yells insults at you that would make a harbour trollop blush. From your elevated position you glare down at her heavily powdered pizza-face and hurl your French fauteuil at it. But the damn thing misses by half a yard and only flattens her recently wed wife, Faith Gay (sic).

Finally the door is kicked down and all the world’s cops jump on you, and you are blissfully saved from watching the rest of the outrage.

Well, too bad really! Because by refusing so callously to consider the SFO’s magnificent production of Richard Wagner’s Ring des Nibelung, you’ve missed one the season’s cultural highlights. Just read what the assorted press had to say of the old semitophobe’s most acclaimed oeuvre:

Wagner’s Siegfried a Stunning Smasher, informs Opera Warhorses, which is most likely the most consummate praise ever.

Zambello’s “decaying American landscape” and “world ravaged by greed and neglect”—on Michael Yeargan’s sets with piles of garbage, polluted water and smoke-belching chimneys”—is OK, we are categorically assured by Janos Gereben in The Examiner.

Francesca Zambello, the first American woman to direct Wagner’s macho four-opera epic, was loudly cheered (if also booed by a handful), writes Mark Swed in the Los Angeles Times.

A Siegfried of unparalleled physicality and imagination. Director Francesca Zambello and her forces have created a five-hour opera that plays like a two-hour action flick, enthuses Michael J. Vaughan in The Opera Critic.

And more of the same. But to get a real in-depth impression of the grandiose event, let us look at what one of the more subtle and thoughtful art critics has to say in his international journal for the arts where we are treated prominently to his curriculum vitae:

David Dunn Bauer is a rabbi, stage director, critic, and educator. He is an alumnus of Yale University, Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, and Pacific School of Religion, in addition to having studied with Nadia Boulanger in 1976 and at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange in 2010 and 2011. Based in San Francisco, he coordinates the Jewish Queer Sexual Ethics Project at the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry and is the Bay Area Director of Programming for Nehirim, the leading national provider of community programming for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender (GLBT) Jews, partners, and allies. He writes regularly on issues of Torah, sexuality, Queer culture and community, and the arts.

Truly impressive credentials, you will agree, and particularly appropriate to give the stunning, smashing SFO production its proper due. In addition, Mr. Bauer’s journal styles itself The Berkshire Review, a somewhat misleading label since it clearly tries to give the impression that its editor is in some way akin to bygone critical genii like George Bernard Shaw who commanded the ethical and aesthetic clout to understand what the whole incredible Ring was really all about.

Here follows a brief compression of Rabbi Dunn Bauer’s critical acclaim:

Francesca Zambello forged something new and wondrous from Wagner’s tremendous and often toxic masterwork. I want to proclaim the true innovative triumph of the whole endeavour, the way in which Zambello told a worthy and contemporary feminist story through Wagner’s Romantic score, his heroes and heroines. While the sung (German) text remained unaltered, SFO’s (American) supertitles never referred to “the Rhine” (do you remember the Rhine?), only a nameless “river” and, as has become more and more the custom, often provided a slang and ironic commentary that bent the meaning of the original words.

For this Jewish Wagnerian who feels profound discomfort with Wagnerian anti-Semitism, I was deeply relieved at how thoroughly Zambello’s production eschewed the racist stereotypes implicit in the text and score. The prime Nibelungs, Alberich and Mime, were not by nature ugly or evil, more troubled and embittered. The Valhallan Gods were not lofty in manner or motivation. Neither the Volsung Twins, Siegmund and Sieglinde, nor their love-child Siegfried shone with gilded character against the dark horde of their moral inferiors. The ethical playing field was rendered strikingly even for a game played among deities and dwarves, goddesses of wisdom, demigod heroes, and scheming murderers.

As if to mete out a further measure of Borscht-Belt retribution for repugnant Aryan sins past, Zambello introduced an unprecedented amount of shtick into this portentous musical mythology. There were enough precisely timed elements of low comedy and enough laugh-provoking prop gags (beer bottles, butt kicks to God, telephones, televisions, remote controls, croquet mallets, and lap dances) to fill a revival of Gianni Schicci. In a rough tally, we find that Zambello transported the Ring out of the Rhine to the American River; brought the gods down (and the gnomes up) to a very humane plane; spiked Teutonic mead with vaudeville borscht; enriched the quality of women’s experience and agency beyond the stale limits of conventional heroine-ism; and erased the ethnic caricatures of the most offensively anti-Semitic work of dramatic art to hold an enduring place on the world stage.

And here a few visual highlights of the incredible extravaganza. The comments are lifted from Mr. Dunn Bauer’s unabridged critical piece. [images omitted]

Which seems to be a persiflage of Conrad’s “The horror! The horror!” and is therefore a perfect epitome of the entire hideous and miserable travesty.

Mr. Dunn Bauer, himself in danger to be labelled an ethnic caricature, and a damn queer one at that, has correctly identified Alberich as one of his own tribe. Though imperatives of loyalty forbid him to enlarge on the matter, he surely understands that the nasty dwarf is alive and well and wields the one Ring of Power to his heart’s content. What better therefore to divert attention to Siegfried’s heirs and crush a baby Nibelung for sport, an elegant simile clearly inspired by Elie Wiesel’s masterwork Night wherein the famed Nobelist and crackpot saw with his very own eyes how lorry-loads of small babies were hurled into a gigantic furnace?

Seen in this context, it is of course small wonder that a vengeful schmuck like Mr. Dunn Bauer rejoices about the mountains of shtick that disfigure Wagner’s incomparable magnum opus like plague spots a beautiful Rhinemaiden. Yet what seems odd is that he never mentions the generous sponsors who made this Twenty Five Million Dollar Enterprise possible. Because they are easy to make out. Just look at SFO’s official website and you will find, among small fry like La Boulange who occasionally doles out a free espresso, the usual suspects, namely a few international investment corporations who obviously laid out most of the aforementioned millions.

Just as in other great houses where there are frantic and vain attempts to destroy Wagner’s glorious legacy by presenting it as a theatrical garbage heap. Which gives us once again a clear idea about this particular type of barbarian who seem to lack any access to Beauty’s divine joy, and therefore hate it, and thus try to destroy what they can’t have.

As for those who are firmly grounded in Christian-humanist ethics and aesthetics, the smutty antics of the San Francisco Opera can’t be anything but the convulsions of an utterly diseased counter-culture that will slide back into the gutter once its sponsors have been divested of the one Ring of Power. Which, according to the developments in Greece and elsewhere, will happen rather sooner than later.

It is the Ring, stupid!

“The struggle against international finance and loan capital has become the most important point in the National Socialist programme.” —Hitler


Since I became racially conscious, finding out the basic etiology of Western malaise has been a torture to my mind. “Paleologic” nationalists, those who believe what they want to believe independently of evidence, attribute every catastrophe to the Jews: even the French Revolution, the American Civil War and 9/11. Paleologicism is a regressive mode of mentation analogous to the cognitive processes of present-day schizoids, whose thinking is often identical to the magical thinking of primitive men (cf. my psychohistorical explanation of paleologic thought vs. Aristotelian thought here).

I believe that the Jewish Problem should be addressed and solved first, especially by reclaiming the American media and Hollywood that have been hijacked by the Jews. However, in my previous entry and elsewhere I have also said that the story of New Spain demonstrates that, while the Catholics were extremely tough on Jews and Judaizers, they were tolerant of the natives with Pope Paul III recognizing in 1537 that Amerindians had souls and declared them fit to receive the sacraments, including marriage to the Spaniards.

Behold eight minutes of a 1973 film about how, before my great-great grandfather moved to Mexico City from Catalonia, Jews were handled in the town where I was born. Keep in mind that the viceroyalty of New Spain lasted three whole centuries. Incidentally, the actor that plays the role of the Grand Inquisitor, now deceased, lived a few blocks from my home (in the clip some Amerindian faces appear: blasphemers to be punished for sure, but not killed). It is a pity that the Inquisitor’s discourse has no English subtitles because it gives the picture of the zeitgeist in New Spain: keeping this land free from “heretics” and those who follow “the dead law of Moses.” After the Inquisitor’s impassioned speech the other Dominican said:

“We welcome this Auto de fe for punishment of some and an example to all. It punishes offenses against religion and morality. These Judaizers [crypto-Jews] will be delivered to the justice of the secular arm, to which we ask forgiveness and compassion.”

Then the man richly dressed in a yellow suit, the representative of the secular arm noted the prisoners’ various offenses against morality and public order. In New Spain the Jews always got special treatment. The non-Jews would be punished with:

“flogging, banishment, galleys, imprisonment or confiscation of property. And the relapsed Judaizers present and absent are condemned to be burned in flames of fire, until they become ashes and nothing remains of them in the memory of this land.”

Alas, following their Pope’s bull, unlike the Anglo-Saxons the Spanish conquerors married the local Indians, with time producing the Untermensch stock that depresses me every day I have to leave my home. But the lesson for nationalists is that we cannot blame the Jews for the colossal miscegenation that occurred in this part of North America and even in Central and South America.



Amerindians washing gold for the Spanish conquerors


Whom or what should we blame instead? In the specific case of New Spain, I would blame both the lust for gold—or to put it poetically: the One Ring which in Richard Wagner’s Rheingold symbolizes capitalism—and universal Christian values: where the value of white ethnicity is considered irrelevant. The fact that the One Ring is presently wielded by the Jew doesn’t erase that in the recent past the white people wielded it. In Wagner’s opera there’s a curse: “Whosoever holds the Ring, by the Ring they shall be enslaved,” and even the hero of his monumental Tetralogy, Siegfried, dies as a result of holding it.

Did capitalism chew Norman Rockwell’s America and spit out Obama’s? Today Greg Johnson published “Brooks Adams on the Romans” of which I’ll quote only three excerpts:

In chapter 1, “The Romans,” Adams illustrates how capitalism ruined Rome.

Rome was never really a people, never a nation. It was merely a system, a machine. From the very beginning, Rome populated itself by opening its gates to refugees from other cities. The Roman machine liquidated this founding stock [the farmers] and replenished itself with foreign blood until it became too weak to assimilate new peoples.

In ancient Rome, as in modern America, the economic system and its imperatives are treated as absolute and fixed, whereas the people are treated as liquid and fungible.

As the case of the Spanish Empire we can hardly blame the Jews for what happened to the Roman Empire. Johnson also published today “The Romans,” the mentioned chapter of Adams’ book originally published in 1895 on how the “One Ring” (capitalism) ruined Rome. I’ve read it and it reminded me Harold Covington’s eloquent speeches of “Iron Man” versus “Economic Man,” but Adam’s chapter is hard to understand for those unfamiliar with political economy. I’ll only quote a couple of sentences. At the beginning of his chapter Adams claims that, “on the disparity between these two types of men [farmers and usurers], the fate of all subsequent civilization has hinged.” And at the end of his chapter Adams concludes:

By the year 400 [A.D. Roman] disintegration was far advanced; the Empire was crumbling, not because it was corrupt or degenerate, but because the most martial and energetic race the world had ever seen had been so thoroughly exterminated by men of the economic type of mind…

Johnson also published “Brooks Adams’ The Law of Civilization & Decay” by Anthony Ludovici who says that Adam’s picture is one-sided. Ludovici calls our attention to Otto Sieck’s thesis that negative character changes are brought about by miscegenation. As to a connection between miscegenation and mercantilism Ludovici writes: “I confess I can see no such connexion. But it may exist.” He concludes:

It is here, it seems to me, that Brooks Adams’ work is defective. Nowhere does he give sufficient attention in the influence of stock changes and stock deterioration or modification, through random breeding with peoples who may or may not influence an original type adversely. He refers to the exhaustion of the energy of a race, which occurs under the pressure of economic competition; but is this the only way in which a race may be devitalized?

I’d like to respond to Ludovici. At least in the case of New Spain, always ruled by pure whites and which at its peak was more prosperous than her neighbor, the United States, the crossbreeding of the races allowed to the lower classes was an epiphenomenon of the lust for Aztec gold (and lust for silver at the southern side of the Spanish empire in the Americas). Thus I venture to say that, since whosoever holds the One Ring—whether Roman, Spaniard, American or Jew—shall be enslaved by capitalism, defeating the present wielders of it won’t be enough.

When we create the ethno-state we will have a unique opportunity to destroy the Ring itself.

Wagner’s wisdom

One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them
One Ring to bring them all and
in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

This piece, that originally appeared on The Occidental Observer (here), is reproduced below minus a couple of sentences mentioning the 9/11 attacks:


Lords of the Ring

by Michael Colhaze

Many moons ago and for a few years only, I wore my locks long and sported colourful garb and roamed the psychedelic haunts of Paris, London or Amsterdam, usually holding a joint in one hand while employing the other to underline with languid gestures my latest concept of how to bring instant peace and love to the world. As for my fellow freaks and hippies, most subsisted on very little, at least money-wise, but nearly all had pets, the latter named frequently after a brand of heroes much en vogue during those innocent times. For cats, Galadriel stood high on the agenda, also Arwen and Legolas. In Amsterdam my next-door neighbour, a middle-aged lady with henna-dyed hair, flowing dresses and tinkling bells around one fat ankle, owned a huge tomcat called Gollum. When he was one day run over by a lorry, she came and cried bitterly into my lap. I did my best to comfort her, though secretly rejoiced because the cunning bastard, nomen est omen, used to be a veritable bane for the local sparrows and blackbirds, and long since had I weighed means of abandoning him in a far-away place without coming under suspicion. As for dogs, I remember a Frodo, Bilbo and Pippin, also one Boromir, him a mighty Leonberger and the gentlest fellow I’ve ever met.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Which gives you an idea of how much Tolkien’s arrant epos was on our mind during those happy years. Wherever you came, you found in the bookshelves from cardboard boxes or orange crates at least one copy, usually a weighty paperback falling apart from much use. Walls were hung with coloured maps of Middle Earth, and Gandalf was a household name for anything from an Underground publication to a short-lived artistic society. Depending on fantasy and imagination, and perhaps also on the daily cannabis consume, an inordinate number of people identified with a member of the Fellowship, or wished fervently for the return of the King, or would have retired into the Shire without looking back even once.

On the other hand there were some, myself included, who had enjoyed the book but found it somewhat lacking in psychological depth. It was, after all, a monumental canvas painted largely in black and white, with protagonists either amazingly valiant, handsome and noble or the absolute opposite, namely unspeakably ugly and wicked. Which made the tale rather predictable and deprived it of the complex emotional touch that otherwise would have found a way into the heart. Still, Tolkien’s power of imagination cannot and will not be denied, and for his excuse it must be said that he relied much on the High Germanic saga like Edda or the Nibelungen, and that those were on the whole magnificent exemplifications of the eternal battle between Good and Evil. A battle where tads of intellectual embroidery might have seemed misplaced.

Yet under the heroic plainness hid an aspect that intrigued me and many of my friends considerably, namely the deeper meaning behind the fantasy. Because, as we all agreed, there had to be one since the tale was simply too carefully thought out to be without one. Never mind that the ghastly Sauron, title figure and main protagonist aiming to enslave the world and mankind particularly, didn’t turn up personally during the proceedings. But his presence is overwhelmingly felt, and he had to have an equivalent within the recent history of man, and as such a name that made sense.

First in line was of course Adolf Hitler, temporal saviour of a betrayed, ruined and starving Germany robbed naked by the Versailles victors, but for the rest and according to the New York Times the biggest blackguard ever to set foot on our sacred earth. Next came good old Joe Stalin, mass murderer par excellence supported by a closely knit clan of henchmen as described and defined by the great Solzhenitsyn in his Gulag and Two Hundred Years Together. Then the fabulous Chairman Mao, who most likely holds the Guinness record for accumulated corpses worldwide. And finally the inventors of the nuke, embodied by one Robert Oppenheimer who paid, just like that abominable fraud Freud, with lung cancer and a slow and painful death for his sins.

But try as you might, none of the above really made sense. One reason was of course that Tolkien had begun The Lord of the Rings already in the mid-thirties, long before those villains blossomed medially into full bloom.

As to the ring itself, what kind of power did it exactly wield? It was, this we know, potent enough to enslave the lesser ones, but not all-powerful. Because long ago Isildur King of Gondor, in a desperate attempt to stem the advance of the Orcs, had offered battle to Sauron their chieftain. And in a one-to-one succeeded with God’s help to cut off the latter’s hand which bore the ring. A feat that routed the Dark One and his hosts, at least for a while and until he tried another grab at the hideous thing.

My understanding of Tolkien’s political leanings is scant. He himself has, as far as I know, refused to give any clues. But there are hints. It is rumoured that he considered General Franco rather emphatically as the saviour of Catholic Spain, a view much at odds with contemporaries like that heartless hunter, boozer and scribbler Hemingway and his liberal chums. One of Tolkien’s close friends, the writer and poet Roy Campbell, had witnessed the atrocities committed by Marxist death squads against priests and nuns in Córdoba and described them in vivid detail. What makes him interesting in this context is that he also contributed articles to The European, a fascist gazette run by Lady Diana Mosley, wife of Sir Oswald and, as James Lees-Milne described her, “the nearest thing to Botticelli’s Venus as I have ever seen.” Ezra Pound, among others, was a fellow contributor to The European.

The latter should have rung a bell, but didn’t. Nearly twenty years had to pass before bits and pieces fell into place, at least within my much limited perception. One was an exhibition, the other a production of Wagner’s Ring.

The exhibition was staged in Frankfurt by one of the more affluent art establishments, meaning that decent Fizz, snacks with French pâté and a few interesting people could be expected on the eve of its grand opening. Which was the reason, some curiosity apart, why an old friend took me there. Both of us have no truck with Modern art and knew the artist only vaguely by name. Lucien Freud it was, grandson of you-know-who, and his hams about as uplifting as a dead rat under the sink. As we stood in front of one [painting], an uncouth male nude reclining on a smutty bedstead with legs spread wide open while scratching reddish genitals dangling above a cavernous anus, my friend cast a look around and said: “Grand Orc of the Crap Arts! Never had any sense of beauty, and never will!”

A remark that transported me immediately into a more sunny and innocent past, but also made me decline any comment. Because this was after all Germany, a country ruled by politically correct criminals that long since have booted the freedom of expression as laid down in the constitution, and who slap you for years on end into the cooler if you dare to insist on it.

Damned be the Ring I forged with a Curse!
Though the Gold gave me unlimited Might
Now its Sorcery has brought me Ruin!

The Rhinegold, 3rd Scene

About a week later I saw, and heard, Richard Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung. I have no intention, and lack the intellectual acumen, to give this masterwork its proper due. George Bernhard Shaw, in his essay The Perfect Wagnerite, has summed it up like this: “Only those of a wider consciousness can follow it breathlessly, seeing in it the tragedy of human history and the whole horror of the dilemma from which the world is shrinking today.”

Dilemma? Horror? Shaw did not enter into detail as to the above, but the composer himself was more forthcoming.

You ask me about Jewry. I felt a long-repressed hatred for them, and this hatred is as necessary to my nature as gall is to blood. An opportunity arose when their damnable scribbling annoyed me most, and so I broke forth at last. It seems to have made a tremendous impression, and that pleases me for I really wanted only to frighten them in this manner. Because it is certain that not our princes, but the bankers and Philistines are nowadays our masters… [Correspondence between Wagner and Liszt, Vol. I, p.145, 18/4/1851]

He did however not intend, as stated very clearly elsewhere, to blame the whole tribe, just as you and I wouldn’t consider every Italian automatically a member of the Cosa Nostra.

Richard Wagner

As to the tremendous impression, this is how it commences. Namely at the very bottom of Germany’s mighty river Rhine. There a trove of gold lays embedded in a reef, glinting and gleaming mysteriously in the sunlight that filters through the timeless waves. Beautiful mermaids guard it on orders of their father, enjoying its dazzling radiance, cajoling and wriggling their lovely bodies in the bright reflection. Until one Alberich crawls out of the deep, a stunted Nibelung and Son of the Night who beholds the maids with greedy eyes. When he tries to seduce them, they only laugh, pull his beard and taunt him. Enraged, he asks about the significance of the gold. Carelessly they tell him that unlimited Power to rule the World is in store for the one who will forge a Ring out of the precious metal. But, they also warn him, this feat is only possible if he renounces forever the Power of Love. It takes Alberich only a moment to make up his mind.

The World as heirloom would I gain!
And if I cannot have Love
Might I not cunningly extort Lust?
The Light will I extinguish for you
The Gold will I tear from the reef
And forge the avenging Ring!
Let the Waves be my witness:
Forever have I cursed love!

He rips the gold from the rocks and forges the Ring to rule the World with cunning and brute force—and of course without Love.

“My Ring and Wagner’s were round, but there the resemblance ceases!” scoffed Tolkien rather maliciously after his book had been published in the mid-fifties. Which is so transparent a denial that it seems almost laughable. Shaw’s aforementioned essay The Perfect Wagnerite, nearly of book-length, much acclaimed and widely read, must have been known in detail to Tolkien as well. Because his Ring and Wagner’s are identical in theme and essence, twins in fact if only in a different quality of clothing. Meaning that the former, compared to Wagner’s peerless magnum opus, is over-large and very entertaining, but not really a masterpiece of literature in the classical sense. Interesting might be that Tolkien uses words like Mordor or Sauron, clearly derived from the German Mord, or murder, and Sau, or sow. Though his claim that his own name derived from the German tollkuehn, meaning extremely foolhardy, seems unlikely since it doesn’t exist as a family name.

As to the deeper meaning in both cases, it is important to know that the one Ring of Power has no magical potentials as we understand them. It cannot destroy enemy armies simply by an order of its bearer. It cannot make you fly. It cannot stop the flow of time. It can’t even prevent you from getting wet if it rains. It can make you invisible, true, but that is just an illusion. And you’d still get wet in any case. So what is it really?

It really is only GOLD! And isn’t that enough to rule the world?

For many of those who had witnessed the last decades of the great European Empires, a reign of peace and general improvement that ended abruptly and horribly with World War One, the era afterwards must have seemed like the proverbial devaluation of all values. Because the bankers and Philistines, already so powerful in Wagner’s times, had by now metastasized out of all proportion. Germany, down on its knees, was hardest hit. During the ill-fated and debt-ridden Weimar Republic the country’s capital, Berlin, boasted 115 banking institutions of which 112 were Jewish-owned. The same ratio was true for innumerable cabarets and brothels where girls and boys as young as ten years old sold their famished bodies to the new caste of money acrobats. As to the banks, they used the country’s catastrophic finances to their advantage and tricked and forced the starving population out of their assets, be it shares, shops, houses, farmland, factories or newspapers, until half of Germany was in the hands of a very few. The same happened, though much less drastically, in much of the Western World and resulted finally in the cataclysmic Black Friday. An exercise, as the Orc-faced Robert Fuld of formerly Lehman Bros. has informed us so brazenly, where we ruin a national economy and pick up the bits and pieces for a song.

Now it must be remembered that in those years public opinion was on the whole far less brainwashed than today. No Holocaust had yet been invented to slap down undesirable critics, no worldwide Media Mafia could tell you convincingly that a crock of shit is a pot of gold. Thus in many of the national and international gazettes, accounts of thefts, crimes and injustices abounded, backed up with caricatures of the cruel and greedy Jew.

Accounts that surely have been observed and considered by Tolkien as well. Therefore it seems highly plausible that the Ring he began to forge in his mind during the early Thirties wasn’t so very different from the one Wagner had invented a hundred years earlier. Particularly if we remember a rather interesting detail, namely that indeed one Aragorn strode out of the wild and re-forged the sword that was broken. A man not of royal descent, it is true, but some kind of Mahdi or Sent-One, as Carl Gustav Jung has called him. Very powerful, a great orator, fearless too, and immediately setting to work and succeeding, almost overnight, to break the Ring’s terrible stranglehold. A feat he brought about by throwing worthless paper money out of the window and replacing it with barter based on real goods and honest work.

Well, we know what became of him and his folks, and how dearly they paid for an attempt that endangered the supremacy of Sauron’s banking institutions worldwide. The latter regrouped, giving his Ring full play, and Germany’s ancient cities and their innocent inhabitants, millions of them, perished in a Firestorm of unimaginable magnitude and barbarity. A sad moment in our great Christian European history, you will agree, and its final curtain fittingly drawn by one of its greatest conductors, Herbert von Karajan, who performed on the eve of Berlin’s destruction the Ring’s last episode, Twilight of the Gods.

As for the Sent-One, there comes a day when he will be assessed more objectively and not just demonised out of all proportion. Some of the most hideous accusations levelled against him might crumble like a house of cards in a cloud of dust about as big as the [WTC collapse]. Which could result in two schools of thought, namely one where he remains indeed a villain, and another that pronounces him the most tragic character that ever walked the earth. Him and his people. As for myself, I still have to make up my mind.

As for Tolkien, nearly twenty years went by between the Ring’s first written page and its publication. A time span that radically changed the face of the world, including the book market. Which ended up, to a large part and small wonder, in Sauron’s hands as well. Thus it doesn’t come as a surprise if Sauron’s chronicler got somewhat mum and choose to refute any familiarity, let alone indebtedness, with and to his German forbear. And so removed any ideological obstacles and cleared the way for a tremendous literary success.

A success most certainly deserved, with the one little setback that we will never know what kind of Secret Fire the old wizard Gandalf the Grey has been serving, and which he so mightily evoked when he smote the Bridge of Khazad-Dùm from under the Balrog’s fiery feet. The latter an intriguing name, particularly if you keep in mind that Baal is the Canaanite god of fertility who demanded human sacrifices, and Rog the Hindi word for malady.

As for the rest of the world, the question is of course of how far the Lords of the Ring have succeeded to enslave us. Logically speaking, and seeing their immeasurable wealth and nearly unlimited influence, they should have long since consolidated the realm. Which seems indeed the case in most Western countries where presidents, prime ministers and chancellors are their obedient marionettes. Ring Wraiths, Tolkien has called them fittingly. Men and women like you and me, but empty-eyed. Outer shells of their former selves who command us to abandon our morals and artistic heritance, fight proxy wars for their masters, pay any amount of money into their purse, and generally order us to be at their service whenever it pleases them.

Yet something went badly wrong.

To begin with, the Shadows have been torn from the Land of Mordor, a mysterious region shrouded in deep secrecy for hundreds of years, but now glaringly illuminated. So much so that its schemes and crimes are every day more clearly observed and understood, be it the corruption of politicians, the doling out of jobs to foreign countries, the true intent behind globalism, the giant thefts, the resulting economical upheavals, the unspeakable atrocities in the occupied territories, the bungled assassinations, to name but a few.

Next come the Ring Wraiths, perhaps Tolkien’s finest invention. Enablers, Paul Gottfried has called them, and deems them worse than their criminal masters. Men and women who once possessed Christian souls and knew about the Power of Love, but sold both for thirty pieces of gold to forge their own insignificant rings. Trinkets that serve for a few brief years to ride the crest of power until a new contender wins the upper hand and sends them packing. Which is usually sweetened with honours and compliments to ease the approaching twilight years, a time when the ghosts and corpses of the past begin to whisper in the dark and the hour of reckoning draws close, slowly but inevitably.

Today this kind of sugar-coating can have a sour aftertaste, due to an unforeseen invention called the Internet which markedly diminished the control of the Media Mafia and its sniffing, lying, cajoling, mudslinging lackeys. That is why the Bushes and Blairs of this world have become lepers instead of paragons, with motions underway to hold them responsible for their crimes, including the death of countless women and children and that of many fine soldiers whose intentionally poor equipment has prolonged the conflict to this day.

Finally the Dark Lords themselves.

Those who have already entered the twilight years, like the one on top of this little essay [George Soros – I have omitted the images of the original article], watch with silent horror how the mountains of gold are seeping like water through their fingers, leaving them empty-handed and with nothing to bargain on Judgement Day. As for the others, still springy and enterprising, it is said they are preparing for the ultimate Armageddon with their nukes, viruses, bacteria, cheque books, connections and what not. And perhaps they do, because they see that the world has tired of them, of their lies and extortions. But if they do, they’ll have to fight themselves for a change and not let others do the dirty work. Which will result, as a kind of divine retaliation and since they are so few, in the final destruction of the Ring and the utter defeat of its forgers.

Because once, long ago, when tempted by a hoard of gold deep in the River Rhine, they made the wrong choice and…

forever cursed

the Power of Love.