Christianity’s Criminal History, 144

 
The fall of Brunhilda and the first peak in the Christianisation of the idea of kingship

(Left, pen drawing from the earliest manuscript of the Chronicle of Fredegar which is believed to depict Eusebius and Jerome, 715 AD.) On the death of Childebert II, he was succeeded by his two sons: Theudebert II (595-612) in Austria, and Theuderic II (595-613) in Burgundy. Brunhilda was the first to rule in the name of her grandchildren, who were still minors, and who only gradually began to intervene in the struggles with the royal house of Neustria after they had reached majority.

In Burgundy, of which she soon became the true ruler, she continued the struggle against Chlothar and, to take revenge on her Austrian enemies, instigated Theuderic against his brother Theudebert of Austria, who, she kept repeating, was not the son of a king but of a market gardener. As late as 600, the two brothers had jointly inflicted a heavy defeat on Chlothar II, who was then only sixteen years old, and had sacked his kingdom, reducing it to a narrow coastal strip around Rouen, Beauvais and Amiens. And still in 602 they had jointly fought the Basques and ‘with God’s help’ had subjected them to tribute.

But afterwards they fought each other fiercely and bloodily. The Chronicle of Fredegar recounts that

never since time immemorial had the Franks or any other people fought so fiercely. Such was the deadliness between the two armies that, where both sides began the battle, the corpses of the dead had no place to lie, but the dead were so crowded together among the other bodies that they stood upright as if they were alive. But Theuderic, with the help of God, defeated Theudebert once more; and the vassals of Theudebert during their flight from Zülpich to Cologne were put to the sword, covering the ground in stretches. On the same day Theuderic came to Cologne and seized all the treasures of Theudebert.

In Cologne, where the Franco-Burgundians entered, Theuderic had his brother tonsured and then cut off his head and annihilated his entire family. ‘Even a very young son of his was grabbed by the foot by order of Theuderic and beaten against a rock, until his brains fell out of his head’, says the Chronicle of Fredegar.

It was the end of one of the innumerable purely Catholic fratricidal wars.

The victor then attempted to seize control of the whole of Gaul and immediately advanced on Neustria. But when he was at the height of his triumph he died unexpectedly, still in his youth, in the year 613. His sons were also killed by Chlothar II of Neustria. But not his godson Merovech, whom Chlothar imprisoned in a monastery, but ‘whom he continued to love with the same affection with which he had taken him from the sacred font of baptism’ (Chronicle of Fredegar).

On the death of Theuderic in Metz, Brunhilda immediately had his eldest son and great-grandson, Sigibert II, who was about ten years old, proclaimed king of Austrasia and Burgundy. But the Austrasian grandees betrayed her. Led by the glorious ancestors of the Carolingians, the two traitors, the steward Pepin of Landen and Arnulf—the future saint and bishop of Metz—, went over to the side of Chlothar II. And after the high treason of the Austrian aristocracy, the queen was also abandoned by the feudal lords of Burgundy under the steward Warnachar. They had decided it beforehand ‘and of course both the bishops and the rest of the great lay lords, according to the contemporary chronicler… resolved not to let a single son of Theuderic escape, but to kill them all and then annihilate Brunhilda and to promote the sovereignty of Chlothar’.

This sealed the queen’s ruin, the exclusion and even the elimination of the Austro-Burgundian branch of the Merovingian dynasty, as well as the triumph of the nobility over the crown.

Brunhilda’s army deserted without resistance. She fled to the Jura and tried to sneak into Burgundy, but at Orbe (in today French Switzerland), by Lake Neuchatel, she was taken prisoner by the Frankish steward and handed over to her nephew.

Chlothar, as God-fearing as he was cruel and thoroughly ecclesiastical-minded, and who as the first Frankish king compared to David, whose ‘piety’ the Chronicle of Fredegar exalts, was a ruler who granted the clergy new rights and abundant donations, guaranteed them freedom of episcopal elections, exempted them from all the burdens of ecclesiastical property, was ‘clement and full of kindness to all’. The queen consort of Chilperic I, Fredegund, subjected her to torture for three days in the year 613. (Note of the Ed.: queen Brunhilda of Austrasia was Fredegund’s sister-in-law.) This happened when Brunhilda was already almost septuagenarian; she then had the soldiers ride her on a camel, and finally tied by her hair, one arm and one foot ‘to the tail of the wildest steed’ and dragged her to death, until ‘her limbs were torn off one after the other’ (Chronicle of Fredegar). Her bones were burned. And her offspring were also eliminated up to her great-grandchildren, with the sole exception of Prince Merovech, Chlothar’s godson.

(Left, Brunhilde is dragged to her death.) But a modern researcher writes: ‘It was precisely under this ruler that, as can be clearly demonstrated, the Christianisation of the idea of the king reached its first peak’ (Anton).

Pope Gregory had miscalculated. It was neither Brunhilda nor the Austrian branch that emerged victorious from these massive atrocities: the victor was the Neustrian Chlothar II, to whom Gregory had sent only a single letter of his 854 letters that have been preserved. In 614 the king convened a national synod in Paris which marked the beginning of the national Frankish Church, independent of Rome for a century.

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 50

There is no shortage of opponents of Marxism. They range from those who condemn all violence and are frightened by the known episodes of ‘class struggle’ in Russia and China, to those who reproach the Communists for their atheism and materialism, to those who own some property and are afraid of losing it if they have to live under the sign of the Sickle and Hammer.

Many oppose it in the name of some political doctrine, usually embodied in a ‘party’, which, if it attacks the ‘subversive’ character of Marxism, is itself no less subversive, and for the same deep reasons. This is the case with the adherents of all democratic parties, whose common denominator is to be found in the belief in the ‘equality in law’ of all men, and hence the principle of universal suffrage, of power emanating from the majority. These people don’t realise that Communism is in its infancy in this very principle, as it was already in Christian anthropocentrism (even if it is a question of the value of human souls in the eyes of a personal God who infinitely loves all men). They don’t realise that it is and can only be so, for the reason that the majority will always be the mass—and increasingly so, in an overpopulated world.

Only those who are faithful to any adequate expression of immemorial Tradition, and in particular to any true religion or to any Weltanschauung capable of serving as a basis for a true religion—any worldview which is ultimately based on the knowledge of the eternal and on the will to make it the principle of the socio-political order—, are fundamentally opposed to Marxism.

Now, disregarding the apparent paradox of such an assertion, twenty-five years after the collapse of the Third German Reich I dare to repeat that the only properly Western doctrine which (after the very old Nordic religions which Christianity persecuted and gradually killed between the 6th and 12th centuries) fulfils this condition is Hitlerism.

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Note of the Editor: Once more, Savitri didn’t know about the apocalypse of whites that also represented, in the 4th and 5th centuries, the violent destruction of the classical world by fanatic Christians. We cannot blame her. Books like this one had not been published! More recently than Savitri’s time, even Mauricio didn’t know about the blackest page of ancient history, as he commented yesterday.

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This is the only Weltanschauung infinitely more than ‘political’ that is clearly ‘against Time’ in accordance with the eternal. It is the only worldview which, in the long run, will triumph both over Marxism and the general chaos to which it will have led the world—and this, no matter how great the material defeat of its followers may have been yesterday, and no matter how hostile millions of men may be about it today. Only a total recovery can succeed a total subversion: a glorious beginning of the cycle at a lamentable end of it.

But our opponents won’t fail to draw everyone’s attention to the eminently ‘anti-traditional’ character of more than one aspect of National Socialism, both during the Kampfzeit, before 1933, and after the seizure of power. If it is ‘subversive’ from the viewpoint of eternal values to preach the ‘class struggle’ with a view to the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’. But wasn’t it equally subversive to rise to power democratically thanks to universal suffrage, by relying on a succession of electoral campaigns (on the protection of young fighters, for the most part as ‘proletarian’ in their behaviour, as the Communists whose attacks they repelled during meetings and whom they overcame in street battles)? Wasn’t it to be so, to keep this power, which came from the people—the masses—and to omit the reestablishment of the old monarchy despite the last and fervent recommendation of Marshal von Hindenburg, President of the Reich?

On the other hand, didn’t several German banks[1] as well as industrial magnates[2] subsidised the NSDAP, thus making the success of the National Socialist Revolution depend, in part, on the power of money and running the risk of making it considered, despite its popular appearance, the supreme defence of the ‘capitalist’ order as it already existed—that is to say, a society extremely distant from the traditional ideal?

Finally, it may be said, how can it be denied that, even after the seizure of power the Third German Reich was far from presenting the appearance of an organism inspired from top to bottom by the vision of the cosmic hierarchy? The famous author Hans Günther himself, apparently disillusioned, wrote to me in 1970 that he had, unfortunately, seen in it ‘an ochlocracy’ rather than the aristocratic regime he had dreamed of. And one cannot categorically reject without discussion this judgement of one of the most prominent theorists of Hitler’s racism before the disaster of 1945. The judgement, while undoubtedly excessive, must, in more than one particular case, certainly express some regrettable reality.

Let’s never forget that we are approaching the end of a cycle, and that the best institutions can therefore only exceptionally have a semblance of the perfection of the past. For everywhere, and the post-war period has amply proved this, there are more and more two-legged mammals and fewer and fewer men in the strongest sense of the word. No doctrine should therefore be judged by what has been accomplished in the visible world in its name.

The doctrine is true or false depending on whether or not it is in unison with that direct knowledge of the universal and eternal which only a steadily diminishing minority of sages possesses. It is true—it cannot be repeated often enough—regardless of the victory or defeat of its followers, or so-called followers on the material plane, and regardless of their weaknesses, foolishness, or even crimes. Neither the atrocities of the Holy Inquisition, nor the scandals attached to the name of Pope Alexander VI Borgia, take anything away from the truth of the vision of the ‘intelligible world’ that a Master Eckhart, for example, or some initiated Templar, may have had through Christian symbolism. And the same is true of all doctrines.

We must therefore be careful not to impute to Hitlerism the faults, weaknesses or excesses of people with power, to any degree whatsoever, under the Third Reich or during the period of struggle (Kampfzeit) from 1920 to 1933, and especially the faults or excesses committed against the spirit of the Weltanschauung and the Führer’s dream, as there seemed to be so many. In German society, as it was under the growing influence and effective rule of the Führer during the Kampfzeit and afterwards, we must see only the Führer’s efforts to mould it according to his dream, or to prevent it from evolving against that same dream. We must try to understand what he wanted to do.

Already in the official National Socialist texts addressed to the general public—in the Twenty-five Points, which form the basis of the Party programme; and above all in Mein Kampf where the great philosophical directives of the latter are traced out even more clearly—it is visible that the Movement was directed against the most cherished ideals and the most characteristic customs of the eminently decadent society, which had grown out of the Liberalism of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Lending at interest, financial speculation, and any form of gain alien to a creative endeavour, as well as the exploitation of vice or silliness in a press, literature, cinema or theatre envisaged above all as a means of making a profit, are condemned with the utmost rigour. Moreover, the very principles of modern Western civilisation—the equality of all men and all races in law, the idea that ‘law’ is the expression of the will of the majority, and ‘nation’ the community of those who, whatever their origin, ‘want to live together’; the idea that perpetual peace in abundance, the fruit of man’s ‘victory over nature’ represents the supreme good—are attacked, ridiculed and demolished in a masterly manner.

Natural law, the law of the struggle for life, is recognised and exalted on the human level as on all other levels. And the primordial importance of race and personality—the two pillars of the new faith—is proclaimed on every page. Finally, this new faith, or rather this new conception of life (neue Audassung) for the Führer and the few, is not a question of ‘faith’ but true knowledge. It is characterised as ‘corresponding to the original meaning of things’[3] which says a lot, this ‘original meaning of things’ being none other than that which they take on in the light of Tradition.

We can therefore, without going any further, affirm that everything in the history of the National Socialist Party that doesn’t seem to coincide with the spirit of a struggle ‘against Time’ is a matter of the tactics of the struggle, not its nature or purpose. It was under the pressure of hard necessity, and only after he had failed on 9 November 1923 in his attempt to seize power by force that Adolf Hitler, released from his Landsberg prison but now deprived of all means of action, had recourse—reluctantly to be sure—to the slow and long ‘legal way’, that is to say, to the repeated appeal to the voters and the gradual conquest of a majority in the Reichstag. It is well known that his first move after taking power ‘by democratic means’ was to replace the authority of the many with that of one, namely his own at all levels; in other words, to abolish democracy: to bring the political order into line with the natural order as far as possible.

It was under the pressure of a no less compelling material necessity—that of meeting the enormous expenses involved in the struggle for power in a parliamentary system with its inevitable election campaigns—that he had to accept the help of the Hugenbergs, the Kirkdorfs, the Thyssens, Dr Schacht and later Krupp, as well as of a host of industrialists and bankers.

Without it, he couldn’t have risen to power fast enough to block the road to the most dangerous forces of subversion: the Communists. For money is, more than ever, in a world which it increasingly dominates, the ‘sinews of war’ and politics. Does this mean that the Führer was subservient to money or to those who had given him money during the Kampfzeit? Does it mean that he made any concessions to them after taking power?

Far from it! He allowed them to get rich insofar as, in so doing, they served the national economy effectively and gave the working masses what he had promised them: abundance through work insofar as, subject to his authority, they continued to help the Party, i.e. the state, in peace and war. He kept them in their place and their role—like a king and the merchant ‘caste’ in a traditional society—thus showing both his realism and wisdom.

On the other hand, the (at least partial) ‘ochlocracy’ that has so often been attributed to National Socialism was, in fact, only the inevitable corollary of Adolf Hitler’s obligation to come to power by relying, quite democratically, on the majority of the electorate. It wouldn’t have existed if the putsch of 9 November 1923 had succeeded and had given him free rein to remake Germany according to his immense dream. It wouldn’t have existed because he wouldn’t have needed the collaboration of hundreds of thousands of young people ready to do anything: to strike blows as well as to receive them, to maintain in the vicinity of his massive propaganda meetings, and in the halls themselves, an order constantly threatened by the physical attacks of the most violent and implacable elements of the Communist opposition.

To conquer Germany ‘democratically’ he had to show himself, to be heard, hundreds and hundreds of times to convey to the public his message: part of his message, at least that which would induce the masses to vote for his party. The message was irresistible but it had to be communicated. And that would have been impossible without the wolf pack, the SA[4], who ruled the streets and who, at the risk of their own lives, ensured the Führer’s silence and safety amid his audience.

Adolf Hitler loved his young beasts, madly attached to his person, eager for both violence and adoration, many of whom were former Communists who had been won over to the holy cause by the fascination of his words, his looks, his behaviour and his doctrine in which the son of a proletarian saw something more outrageous, more brutal, and therefore more exalting than Marxism.

He loved them. And he loved the latest of their supreme leaders of the Kampfzeit, under whose orders he himself had once fought in the war: Ernst Röhm, who had returned from Bolivia, from the end of the world, at his call in 1930. He willingly turned a blind eye to his deplorable morals and saw in him only the perfect soldier and genius organiser.

And yet… he resigned himself, despite everything, to having this old comrade killed, or to let him be killed—almost the only man in his entourage who was on a first-name basis with him[5]—as soon as he was convinced that the turbulence of this troop, so faithful though it was, its spirit of independence and especially the growing opposition which was emerging between it and the regular German army could only lead precisely to ochlocracy, if not to civil war; in any case, only to the weakening of Germany.

One could compare this tragic but apparently necessary purge of June 30, 1934 with the most Machiavellian settlements of accounts in history; for example, the execution without trial of Don Ramiro di Lorqua on the orders of Caesar Borgia—with this crucial difference, however: that, while the Duke of Valentino had in mind only power for himself, the Führer aimed infinitely higher. He wanted power to try, in a desperate effort, to reverse the march of Time against itself, in the name of eternal values. There was nothing personal in his struggle at any stage.

And if, despite the fervent desire of Field Marshal and Reich President von Hindenburg, he rejected any idea of restoring the monarchy, it was not out of ambition either. It was because he was aware of the vanity of such a step in terms of values and true hierarchies. The monarchy ‘by divine right’, the only normal one from the traditional point of view[6] had, for centuries already, lost all meaning and justification in Europe.

The Führer knew this. It was not a question of trying to restore a shaky order by reinstalling a parliamentary monarchy presided over (there is no other word) by William II or one of his sons. He wanted to build a new order, or rather to resurrect the oldest order: the ‘original’ order in the strongest and most durable form it could take in this century.

And he knew that, by the choice of those forces of life which, throughout any cycle of time, untiringly oppose the ineluctable current of dissolution, he—the eternal Siegfried, both human and more than human—held both the legitimate power in this visible world and the legitimate authority emanating from beyond: the ‘power of the two Keys’. With him at the top, the pyramid of earthly hierarchies was to gradually resume its natural position, once again depicting in miniature, first in Germany, then throughout Europe and the Aryan world: the invisible Order which the Cosmos depicts in large.

It was in the name of this grandiose vision of ideal correspondences that he rejected, with equal vigour, Marxism: a doctrine of total subversion; Parliamentarism in all its forms, always based on the same superstition of quantity; and ochlocracy, a source of disorder, and therefore of constant instability.

But the traditional character of his wisdom is to be sought even more in the few texts that give us his secret, or at least intimate, talks, his open-hearted confidences in front of a few selected people, than in his writings or speeches addressed to the general public.

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[1] The Deutsche Bank, the Commerz und Privat Bank, the Dresdener Bank, the Deutsche Credit-Gesellschaft, etc.

[2] E. Kirkdorf, Fritz Thyssen, Voegler, Otto-Wolf von Schröder, then Krupp.

[3] ‘…unsere neue Auffassung, die ganz dem Ursinn der Dinge entspricht…’ (Mein Kampf, 1935 edition, page 440).

[4] Sturmabteilungen or Storm Troops.

[5] With some of his other early collaborators, such as Gregor Strasser.

[6] The elective kingship of the ancient Germans, that of the Frankish warrior raised to the flagstaff by his peers, was also ‘of divine right’ if we admit that the ‘divine’ is none other than the pure blood of a noble race.

The North remembers

‘The North Remembers’ is the second season premiere episode of HBO’s fantasy television series Game of Thrones, first aired on April 1, 2012. Since I’m using the series as Rorschach images to project ideas of my own now that I see the series again, I confess that nothing new has come to mind except to reiterate what I’ve said.

(Jack Gleeson as Joffrey Baratheon.) The teenage King Joffrey begins to emerge as the villain of the first few seasons. Acting under his orders the king’s Guard, led by Commander Janos Slynt, tracks down and murders several of the late King Robert Baratheon’s bastard children, including babies under the screams of their mothers.

Still, if we assume a return to the monarchy in the 21st century, even a scoundrel like Joffrey could be infinitely better than any current democratic government. Without checks and balances but under the motto L’État c’est moi, a single king could expel the millions of non-whites from his lands. Under democracy, no current president could do something similar, even if he wanted.

Published in: on March 6, 2021 at 1:14 am  Comments Off on The North remembers  

The Kingsroad

‘The Kingsroad’ is the second episode of the first season of the HBO medieval fantasy television series Game of Thrones, first aired on April 24, 2011.

We see the first bad message of this episode when Jon Snow says goodbye and gives a real rapier to the little girl Arya, while she packs her clothes on the eve of the Starks’ fateful trip to King’s Landing. Thus the masculinisation of a little girl is promoted by one of the central characters, perhaps the most beloved, of all seasons: Jon Snow. If those who caused the darkest hour in the West, the United States, the United Kingdom, and the Soviet Union had lost the war, our world wouldn’t be turned upside down. A scene like this would never have been filmed.

Since this rapier is very light, so light that a little girl can wield it, in the real world she would never have had a chance to compete, in real combat, with the heavy swords wielded by men. Not only is Arya, as we said in ‘Winter is coming’, the most mishandled character of all Game of Thrones seasons, but the white fans who didn’t rebel against these insults to reason and good judgment are complicit in what the Jews of Hollywood, HBO or Netflix do.

Hugging Jon Snow in goodbye, and with her little legs dangling in the air due to her stature, right at this moment—hugging her half-brother—Arya names her small rapier Needle, as knights used to baptise their swords. Instead of needles for her embroidery and knitting classes the girl prefers a needle that is a weapon.

Interestingly, in this 2011 episode Jon Snow kisses Bran when the latter is in a coma. Jamie Lannister had pushed him out of the Winterfell tower when Bran caught Jaime committing incest with his sister Cercei, the queen. (Jon wouldn’t see Bran again until the last season, in 2019, and also greets him with a kiss on the forehead; although by that season Bran has undergone a psychic transformation to become the three-eyed raven.)

The farewell of Robb Stark and Jon Snow is very manly: very dry but affectionate. If the white man suffered enough during the coming convergence of catastrophes, in a century we would develop once again the gravitas of the Middle Ages.

One of my favourite scenes from the show is seen in this episode, when King Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark eat lunch on a placid afternoon during the long journey from Winterfell to King’s Landing. They both speak frankly, as real men spoke. The visuals of that scene, with a variety of fruits on an outdoor table in the beautiful countryside, are quite good. If it bothers me to see masculinised women I’m even more fed up with feminised men and can’t stand the sight of them. That’s why a contemporary series that at least sometimes shows real men set in a fantastic medieval period is worth watching.

The final scenes gave the episode the title. Away from the gaze of adults, the teenage prince Geoffrey, who will inherit the Iron Throne, grossly abuses his power over the commoners. He falsely accuses Arya and her pet, one of the young wolves of the Starks, and the son of a blacksmith. But as repulsive as the future king Geoffrey is in four seasons of this series of eight seasons, democracy is infinitely worse. As Harold Covington said when he lived, democracy is a system designed not to change.

Let’s imagine for a moment that monarchy persisted in our days. Imagine that, in the West, it occurred to one of the many kings of the western nations to reverse the migration of non-whites with the absolute powers that the monarchical system grants him. (This is the opposite of how the Deep State ruled the US during Trump’s presidency.) This hypothetical king, although as repulsive in his personal life as Geoffrey, could potentially produce a chain reaction if the will of other kings was also conquered to expel Moors and Jews à la 1492 in Spain (in the present, blacks and Asians would also be expelled).

And here we come to why I am so disgusted by white nationalism, which unlike the late Covington lacks a revolutionary ideology. None of the leading figures that I know of places democracy on the dock. Who of these Americans rejects democracy? In the last two elections many of them even voted or advised their visitors on who to vote for.

In one of his podcasts William Pierce hit the nail on the head by inquiring why Jews like democracy so much: because they can control the electorate if they control the media. But the leading figures of white nationalism have cucked about something so obvious. And worst of all is that these white nationalists, by validating democracy, indirectly validate Jewry behind the media.

I would suggest that my visitors no longer enter the sites of these pretenders, nor read their books whether published by Arktos or Counter-Currents. If I want to learn German it is to read the original texts of a political system that was even better than monarchy. The rest, including what is written in the forums of the racialised right, is like an American dog that returns to its vomit.

Published in: on February 23, 2021 at 3:23 pm  Comments (1)  

Empathy

Only the overman will be able to develop empathy at the level of what in my books I call the priest, or rather ruler, of the four words. But without going so far, the philosophical problem of who should govern arose from the times of Plato.

In popular culture that has reached the masses, only fiction writer George R.R. Martin apparently has dealt with the problem of this philosopher-king. The viewership for the finale of Game of Thrones, ‘The Iron Throne’, included 13.6 million people who watched the episode on HBO at 9 p.m. Sunday about a year ago, making it the most-watched telecast in the network’s history. But of all these millions of normies only one understood Martin’s philosophy: the vlogger who correctly predicted who would be crowned in the finale.

Below is a transcript of Yezen’s ‘Why Bran Stark will be King’ video, which was uploaded twenty days before the finale. Compared to Yezen, all the fans of the famous series who keep commenting on YouTube seem Neanderthals to me. Not only did they fail to predict who would be the king: they were angered by the finale because they don’t understand why only someone with sovereign empathy must rule.

For those who have already seen the above-linked video and are interested in a transcript, let me say that the emphasis of the red words is mine. Yezen said:
 

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First off, I want to say how much I appreciate all of the support this channel has been getting in the past couple weeks, so today I’m gonna try to drive everyone away by giving one of my more controversial predictions. In the end of Game of Thrones, the person who will sit in the Iron Throne and rule Westeros is… Bran Stark.

Yup. King Bran the Broken. The Bird Kid, First of our POV’s, Lord of the Awkward Stare, and Producer of the Memes, because ‘Chaos is a ladder’. And Bran is the best at climbing. Also, he’s the best at sitting… [LOL!]

Okay, but really, without getting into Children of the Forest conspiracies, or a convoluted lecture on the line of succession for Harrenhal, let me explain why it’ll be Bran. And before I get a million comments reminding me that he’s not Bran anymore—I get it, he’s not totally Bran. But it’s also not that simple. The actor Isaac Hempstead Wright has confirmed that there is some Bran ‘left over’ in the Three-eyed Raven, so it’s a complicated entity.

Anyways, hang in there. Here it goes.

Tommen: ‘It means I’ll become King’.

Tywin: ‘Yes, you will become King. What kind of King do you think you’ll be?’

Tommen: ‘A good King?’

Tywin: ‘Huh. I think so as well. You’ve got the right temperament for it. But what makes a good king, hmm? What is a good King’s single most important quality?’

In many ways, Game of Thrones was intended as a response to The Lord of the Rings. Bran is Frodo. Aegon is Aragorn. Arya is Aeowyn. The Night King is Sauron. Sam is Sam, and Sean Bean dies.

And George R.R. Martin’s equivalent for the titular Ring of Power has always been the Iron Throne. Like the One Ring, the Iron Throne is the central object of absolute power, around which the narrative revolves. Though not inherently evil like the Ring, the Iron Throne is isolating; it brings men to war, and tends to destroy those who hold or pursue it. And, at the end of The Lord of the Rings, the ring is cast into the fire that forged it, and destroyed forever, ridding the world of its corruption, and restoring moral order.

So why can’t we expect the same from Game of Thrones? Why can’t the Iron Throne simply be destroyed in the dragon-fire that forged it, thereby ending the evil of war?

Tommen: ‘Holiness?’

Tywin: ‘Hmm’.

Well, the answer lies in the differences between how Tolkien and Martin depict good and evil in relation to power.

In Tolkien’s world, good and evil are distinct, and the Ring represents power in a strictly evil sense. All power that is just or lawful is considered to be separate from the corruption of the Ring.

Yet, in Martin’s world, morality is ambiguous, and exists in shades of gray. The Iron Throne has no inherent moral alignment, and represents the power for both good and evil. Though there is certainly symbolism to destroying it; whether there’s a spiky metal chair or not, people will still seek power. And the Seven Kingdoms can still be conquered, and will still be ruled. Melting the Iron Throne isn’t a real solution. Power must pass to someone.

Of course, the obvious candidate would be King Aegon—Jon Snow Targaryen. After all, he is modelled after Aragorn, who is the King that returns. And in the season 8 opener, we already see Davos suggesting the possibility of Jon and Daenerys getting married, binding their alliance and forming a dream-team power couple to rule Westeros better and fairer than ever before.

Davos: ‘What if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honourable man?’

Yet, as is typical of this story, the fact that someone has predicted this outcome in dialogue, implies that it’s unlikely to come to pass. The Northerners seem outright opposed to Targaryen rule, and whether or not Daenerys can accept joint rule with Jon, the story will not give us an ending exactly as Davos suggested.

And, to be totally frank, there is no way Martin created the feminist icon that is Daenerys Targaryen just to force her to give up her life ambition to her husband, whether it’s by bending the knee or by dying.

While the Lord of the Rings ends with Aragorn ruling, Aragorn is never charged with the Ring. Rather, just as Tolkien begins his story with the Ring passing to Frodo, Martin’s will end when the Throne passes to Bran.

Tommen: ‘Justice?’

Tywin: ‘Hmm. A good King must be just’.

After the catastrophe of the ending, House Targaryen as well as most of the other Great Houses, will be brought to ruin. And in the wake of that ruin, the Seven Kingdoms will need to restructure its leadership. And so, the Wolves [the Starks] will have their time.

Bran ‘I’m-not-Bran’ Stark, will be the enigmatic, apathetic Fisher King.

Sansa ‘I-learned-a-great-deal-from-her’ Stark, will leave Winterfell and govern the Seven Kingdoms through Bran, just as Cersei once governed on behalf of Tommen.

And Lady Arya ‘don’t-call-me-that’ Stark, will inherit the North and rule as the Warrior-Lady of Winterfell.

Essentially, Bran, Sansa and Arya, will be the Stark version of Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya. Just without the dragons or the incest.

In the books, this is set up pretty early on by Ned Stark, who after Robert’s rebellion, inherits the life and position meant for his elder brother, who had died during the rebellion. This is also set up pretty well by Littlefinger, whose life goal is: ‘…a picture of me, on the Iron Throne, and you [Sansa] by my side’.

In the end, this vision will sort of come true. It just won’t be Littlefinger on the throne. But that’s all the time I’ll spend on evidence, because whether I’m right or wrong, there’s only about a month until we see this play out.

Tommen: ‘What about strength?’

Tywin: ‘Hmm, strength…’

On a fundamental level, Game of Thrones is an exploration of power, and different characters coming to power convey different messages about what it takes to rise up in the world.

The rise of Daenerys emphasises strength and justice and ambition.

Jon champions honour and righteousness.

Someone like Littlefinger, deception and opportunism.

While Cersei emphasizes ruthlessness and vanity.

Meanwhile, King Brandon would convey a more mysterious meaning that, although strength, lineage, deception and ruthlessness each play a part, all of them are bound up by FATE.

Not in a divine sense, but in the sense that, regardless of our flaws or virtues, the universe is chaotic and beyond our control. What may be in one place in time a virtue, is in another a flaw. And whoever rises to power is, to some extent, a consequence of being in the right place at the right time. Just as the Targaryens, Baratheons and Lannisters had their time, the Starks will have theirs, and so the throne will pass to Bran.

Tywin: ‘So, we have a man who starves himself to death, a man who lets his own brother murder him, and a man who thinks that winning and ruling are the same thing. What do they all lack?’

This ending would serve as a strange marriage of idealism and cynicism. In many ways, Bran begins the story as the most powerless character, lacking even basic bodily autonomy. And as fate would have it, Bran ends up the most powerful. Yet that power comes at the cost of isolating Bran from his own humanity, and never gives him the thing that he really wanted.

Arya: ‘He wants to be Knight of the King’s Guard. He can’t be one now, can he?’

Ned: ‘No’.

The story which built itself on the tragedy of the Starks will end in their triumph. But despite that triumph, the Starks never really get back the home or the innocence they once had. Yes, there’s the physical place [of a home], but never the feeling of having a complete family. Never the trust, innocence, or joy of childhood. In the deepest sense, what is lost in war, is never truly reclaimed in war.

And look, I know you probably still don’t buy it, or you still think it’s gonna be Jon, and you really might be right about that, but hear me out just a little longer, because there is a glimmer of idealism to this ending.

Though many will die, and the wheel might not break, Bran just might make a good king after all. Despite having lost so much of himself to the Three-eyed Raven, Bran, perhaps more than any other character, has grasped one of the most essential lessons of the story, which is the importance of EMPATHY.

Tommen: ‘Wisdom?’

Tywin: ‘Yes!’

Tommen: ‘Wisdom is what makes a good king’.

Tywin: ‘Yes, but what is wisdom, hmm?’

Despite their history, Bran is able to look at Jaime Lannister, the man who once shattered his life, and to see good in him, to see Jaime as a man who was protecting the people he loved. And to not only forgive him, but to protect him. This simple act of understanding demonstrates what the war-torn kingdoms of Westeros have been so lacking: not strength, or cunning, or even honour, but real wisdom.

For a world that’s been so damaged by people’s inability to see from one another’s perspective, maybe a broken boy is the right ruler to heal a broken kingdom.

Maybe not the one you want, certainly not the one we’d expect, but the one the ending needs. After years of war and hatred, I think maybe the Kingdoms of Westeros will get the little bit of understanding that they deserve. And that is an encouraging thought. [Music]

Bran: ‘Theon’,

Theon: ‘…’

Bran: ‘You’re a good man. Thank you’.

But okay, despite what I said earlier, don’t leave, stick around. If I’m wrong, which I probably am, you can come back later and leave a comment to tell me.

So you better subscribe just so you don’t forget. In the meantime, there is more to come. So, until next time. Peace.

Published in: on June 4, 2020 at 12:01 am  Comments (1)  
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Anti-Galilean quote

The Jewish decline is always gradual, never direct and never obvious. Only those who are selected by them to spread the initial disease are directly indoctrinated and bred into the poison itself. Those were the early Christian fathers. All of them were liberal lunatics. I wrote an entire article on it. Europeans switched their European Aryan spirituality and tried to represent it through Christ. As long as there existed an authority figure besides Christ, namely the King, it worked for the Europeans. Once the King as a leader was destroyed and Democracy introduced—the European spirit…

Axe of Perun (truncated comment due to censorship)

Published in: on August 6, 2018 at 4:02 pm  Comments (1)  
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Uncle Adolf’s table talk, 8

the-real-hitler
 
Saturday, 26th July 1941, night
 
Notice that when the institution of monarchy has been abolished in a country—see France and Yugoslavia today!— thenceforward the institution is given over to ridicule, and can never again assert itself.

I am tempted to believe that the same thing will happen with the Church. Both are institutions that naturally developed in the direction of ceremonial and solemnity. But all that apparatus no longer means anything when the power that lay beneath it has disappeared.

Published in: on October 18, 2015 at 9:52 am  Comments Off on Uncle Adolf’s table talk, 8  

Liberalism, 5

Era of enlightenment

The development of liberalism continued throughout the 18th century with the burgeoning Enlightenment ideals of the era. This was a period of profound intellectual vitality that questioned old traditions and influenced several European monarchies throughout the 18th century. In contrast to England, the French experience in the 18th century was characterized by the perpetuation of feudal payments and rights and absolutism. Ideas that challenged the status quo were often harshly repressed. Most of the philosophes of the French Enlightenment were progressive in the liberal sense and advocated the reform of the French system of government along more constitutional and liberal lines.

Montesquieu

Baron de Montesquieu wrote a series of highly influential works in the early 18th century, including Persian Letters (1717) and The Spirit of the Laws (1748). The latter exerted tremendous influence, both inside and outside of France.

Montesquieu pleaded in favor of a constitutional system of government, the preservation of civil liberties and the law, and the idea that political institutions ought to reflect the social and geographical aspects of each community. In particular, he argued that political liberty required the separation of the powers of government.

Building on John Locke’s Second Treatise of Government, he advocated that the executive, legislative, and judicial functions of government should be assigned to different bodies. He also emphasized the importance of a robust due process in law, including the right to a fair trial, the presumption of innocence and proportionality in the severity of punishment.

Another important figure of the French Enlightenment was Voltaire. Initially believing in the constructive role an enlightened monarch could play in improving the welfare of the people, he eventually came to a new conclusion: “It is up to us to cultivate our garden”. His most polemical and ferocious attacks on intolerance and religious persecutions began to appear a few years later. Despite much persecution, Voltaire remained a courageous polemicist who indefatigably fought for civil rights—the right to a fair trial and freedom of religion—and who denounced the hypocrisies and injustices of the Ancien Régime.

Published in: on September 3, 2015 at 2:15 pm  Comments Off on Liberalism, 5  

Liberalism, 3

History of liberalism

Beginnings

The Agreement of the People (1647) [photograph: here] was a manifesto for political change, proposed by the Levellers during the English Civil War. It called for freedom of religion, frequent convening of Parliament and equality under the law.

Isolated strands of liberal thought that had existed in Western philosophy since the Ancient Greeks began to coalesce at the time of the English Civil War. Disputes between the Parliament and King Charles I over political supremacy sparked a massive civil war in the 1640s, which culminated in Charles’ execution and the establishment of a Republic. In particular, the Levellers, a radical political movement of the period, published their manifesto Agreement of the People which advocated popular sovereignty, an extended voting suffrage, religious tolerance and equality before the law.

Many of the liberal concepts of Locke were foreshadowed in the radical ideas that were freely aired at the time. Algernon Sidney was second only to John Locke in his influence on liberal political thought in eighteenth-century Britain. He believed that absolute monarchy was a great political evil, and his major work, Discourses Concerning Government, argued that the subjects of the monarch were entitled by right to share in the government through advice and counsel.

locke

These ideas were first drawn together and systematized as a distinct ideology, by the English philosopher John Locke, generally regarded as the father of modern liberalism. Locke developed the then radical notion that government acquires consent from the governed which has to be constantly present for a government to remain legitimate. His influential Two Treatises (1690), the foundational text of liberal ideology, outlined his major ideas. His insistence that lawful government did not have a supernatural basis was a sharp break with then-dominant theories of governance. Locke also defined the concept of the separation of church and state. Based on the social contract principle, Locke argued that there was a natural right to the liberty of conscience, which he argued must therefore remain protected from any government authority. He also formulated a general defense for religious toleration in his Letters Concerning Toleration.

Locke was influenced by the liberal ideas of John Milton, who was a staunch advocate of freedom in all its forms. Milton argued for disestablishment as the only effective way of achieving broad toleration. In his Areopagitica, Milton provided one of the first arguments for the importance of freedom of speech: “the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties”.

Published in: on September 2, 2015 at 11:17 pm  Comments Off on Liberalism, 3  

Liberalism, 2

Imperium Eagle

This piece has been moved
to a single entry: here.