Johmann’s brief analysis

My correspondent Kurt Johmann asked me to say something about ‘A Brief Analysis of Christianity’, a section within his book A Soliton and its owned Bions (Awareness and Mind) which subtitle reads ‘These Intelligent Particles are how we Survive Death’.

As to the origins of Christianity, Johmann relies heavily on Joseph Atwill’s 2006 Caesar’s Messiah: The Roman Conspiracy to Invent Jesus. I don’t claim to have read Caesar’s Messiah, but the book has become so popular that Wikipedia has an article about it. In the last couple of years I’ve seen mentions to Atwill’s book in white nationalist forums as if it was a great discovery on the origins of Christianity.

As can be gathered from the book reviewers, Atwill tries to persuade the reader that the New Testament was written under the direction of 1st-century Roman whites. Those who know the new masthead of this site, Evropa Soberana’s essay on Rome and Judea, will find it strange that Atwill would not blame the Jews for creating Christianity. He blames an emperor of the Flavian dynasty.

A Roman fraud written by a Jewish traitor in the emperor’s pay? Really? Are we to believe that the Aryan Romans really cared about the primitive literature of distant Semites enough to go through the trouble of using the Septuagint to elaborate the New Testament, with fake Pauline and non-Pauline epistles, numinous gospel narratives and even a book of revelation that craves for a New Jerusalem right after the emperors destroyed Old Jerusalem? Is this credible taking into account that this John of Patmos was so anti-pagan that in the final book of the Bible he introduced the idea of eternal torment for non-Judeo-Christians in a lake of fire?

As can be seen in the recent entries of this site, our working hypothesis is that the authors of the New Testament were either non-Aryan Judaized gentiles or, like this John of Patmos, Hellenised Jews whose hatred for white Rome was infinite.

Also, Atwill’s assertion that Jesus was a totally a fictional character is only a possibility. I am open to such possibility, as can be seen in this article by Joseph Hoffmann. However, another possibility is that a historical Yeshua existed and a lot of literary fiction was later added onto an original, bare, all too human story that is now lost forever (e.g., what Soberana speculates about the historical Jesus in his essay).

Johmann writes: ‘Although Christianity was originally contrived and constructed [by Romans] to domesticate the recently conquered population of Judea…’ According to our recent quotations of Nietzsche in this blog it looks the other way: Christianity was originally contrived and constructed by Jews to domesticate those who recently had conquered their population of Judea.

In his brief analysis of Christianity’ Johmann also wrote:

Instead of having to accept the reality model of Christianity or of any other religion to have a good afterlife, the reality model presented in this book says that what one consciously believes about the afterlife during one’s physically embodied life has no substantial effect on what one’s afterlife experiences will be, during what will be an afterlife measured in years or many years (not Christianity’s eternity) before one reincarnates, most likely reincarnating as a human again.

Regarding Christianity’s position on sexual matters, Christianity has a long history of being hostile to sex for any purpose other than the production of children. Thus, given this emphasis on having children, Christianity, in general, has a history of being against birth control, abortion, infanticide, and homosexuality. The reason Christianity has these attitudes is because Christianity wants its current believers to have many children…

The first paragraph postulates the existence of reincarnation.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s I was heavily involved in the field of parapsychology and even published my stuff in the journal of the Society for Psychical Research. I am pretty familiar with the literature arguing for evidence of reincarnation, for example the work of Ian Stevenson. With time, after meeting in person the main intellectuals of a sceptic organization, subscribing their journal, and purchasing many books published by Prometheus Books, I became sceptical of such claims, including reincarnation.

In a blog post I cannot narrate the spiritual odyssey from my credulity in such phenomena to my apostasy: I would need a whole autobiographical book recounting my inner experiences from December 1978 to May 1995. Suffice it to say that I am familiar with the work of Sue Blackmore. Sue has written a lot about out-of-body experiences, that Johmann mentions elsewhere in his book. She says such experiences may have a more prosaic, parsimonious explanation than the paranormal one (incidentally, in a Seattle café I sat with Sue and other attendees during one of the sceptical conferences that we all attended).

As to the second paragraph by Johmann cited above, not only Christianity has been hostile to sex for any purpose other than the production of children. Other cultures and religions, even the Nazis, had a history against Aryan birth control, abortion, infanticide, and homosexuality.

This said, I basically agree with the last paragraph against Christianity in Johmann’s text: that prayer is silly because, as Johmann put it, ‘is only “heard” by one’s own unconscious’, and that trying to solve our problems with prayer, begging the god of the Jews to help us, only forfeits our duty of hard, Aryan work in the real world.

Julian, 26

Julian presiding at a conference of Sectarians
(Edward Armitage, 1875)

The next day I received word that Aedesius would see me. I found him lying on a cot, his bearded wife beside him. Aedesius was a small man who had once been fat, but now because of illness and age the skin hung from him in folds. It was hard to believe that this frail old man had once been the pupil of Iamblichos and actually present on that occasion when Iamblichos caused two divine youths to appear from twin pools in the rock at Gadara. Yet despite his fragility, Aedesius was alert and amiable. “Sosipatra tells me that you have a gift for philosophy.”

“If a passion can be called a gift.”

“Why not? Passion is a gift of the gods. She also tells me that you plan to go to Ephesus.”

“Only if I cannot study with you.”

“Too late for that.” He sighed. “As you see, I am in poor health. She gives me four more years of this life. But I doubt that I shall last so long. Anyway, Maximus will be more to your taste. He was my student, you know. After Priscus of Athens, he was my best student. Of course Maximus prefers demonstration to argument, mysteries to books. But then there are many ways to truth. And from what Sosipatra tells me, he was born to be your guide. It is clearly destiny.”


Priscus: It was clearly a plot. They were all in on it. Years later, Maximus admitted as much. “I knew all along I was the right teacher for Julian. Naturally, I never dreamed he would be emperor.” He did not dream it; he willed it. “I saw him simply as a soul that I alone could lead to salvation.” Maximus then got Sosipatra and Aedesius to recommend him to Julian, which they did. What an extraordinary crew they were! Except for Aedesius, there was not a philosopher in the lot.

From what I gather, Julian in those days was a highly intelligent youth who might have been “captured” for true philosophy. After all, he enjoyed learning. He was good at debate. Properly educated, he might have been another Porphyry or, taking into account his unfortunate birth, another Marcus Aurelius.

But Maximus got to him first and exploited his one flaw: that craving for the vague and incomprehensible which is essentially Asiatic. It is certainly not Greek, even though we Greeks are in a noticeable intellectual decline. Did you know that thanks to the presence of so many foreign students in Athens, our people no longer speak pure Attic but a sort of argot, imprecise and ugly? Yet despite the barbarism which is slowly extinguishing “the light of the world”, we Athenians still pride ourselves on being able to see things as they are.

Show us a stone and we see a stone, not the universe. But like so many others nowadays, poor Julian wanted to believe that man’s life is profoundly more significant than it is. His sickness was the sickness of our age. We want so much not to be extinguished at the end that we will go to any length to make conjuror tricks for one another simply to obscure the bitter, secret knowledge that it is our fate not to be. If Maximus hadn’t stolen Julian from us, the bishops would have got him. I am sure of that. At heart he was a Christian mystic gone wrong.


Libanius: Christian mystic! Had Priscus any religious sense he might by now have experienced that knowledge of oneness, neither “bitter” nor “secret”, which Plotinus and Porphyry, Julian and I, each in his own way—mystically-arrived at. Or failing that, had he been admitted to the mysteries of Eleusis just fourteen miles from his own house in Athens, he might have understood that since the soul is, there can be no question of its not-being.

But I agree with Priscus about Maximus. I was aware at the time of the magicians’ plot to capture Julian, but since I was forbidden to speak to him I could hardly warn him. Yet they did Julian no lasting harm. He sometimes put too much faith in oracles and magic, but he always had a firm grip of logic and he excelled in philosophic argument. He was hardly a Christian mystic. Yet he was a mystic—something Priscus could never understand.

Published in: on January 28, 2018 at 12:08 pm  Leave a Comment  

Julian, 25

Julian presiding at a conference of Sectarians
(Edward Armitage, 1875)

Julian Augustus

When the dinner was over, Sosipatra presented her sons to us. They were about my age. Two of them grew up to be speculators in grain, and most unsavoury. The third, Anatolius, I heard news of only recently. Some years ago he attached himself to the temple of Serapis at Alexandria. After Bishop George destroyed the temple, Anatolius climbed on to a broken column and now stares continually at the sun. How I envy the purity of such a life! But that night at dinner, the future holy man seemed a very ordinary youth, with a slight stammer.

When the sons had withdrawn, Sosipatra sent for a tripod and incense. “And now you will want to know what the gods advise you to do. Where to go. With whom to study.” She gave me a dazzling smile.

I blurted out, “I want to study here, with you.” But she shook her head, to Ecebolius’ relief. “I know my own future and a prince is no part of it. I wish it were otherwise,” she added softly, and I fell in love with her on the spot, as so many students had done before me.

Sosipatra lit the incense. She shut her eyes. She whispered a prayer. Then in a low voice she implored the Great Goddess to speak to us. Smoke filled the room. All things grew vague and indistinct. My head began to ache. Suddenly in a loud voice not her own, Sosipatra said, “Julian!”

I looked at her closely. Her eyes were half open but only the whites showed: she slept while the spirit possessed her. “You are loved by us beyond any man alive.” That was puzzling. “Us” must mean the gods. But why should they love a Galilean who doubted their existence? Of course I had also begun to question the divinity of the Nazarene, which made me neither Hellenist nor Galilean, neither believer nor atheist. I was suspended somewhere between, waiting for a sign. Could this be it?

“You will rebuild our temples. You will cause the smoke of a thousand sacrifices to rise from a thousand altars. You shall be our servant and all men shall be your servants, as token of our love.”

Ecebolius stirred nervously. “We must not listen to this,” he murmured.

The voice continued serenely. “The way is dangerous. But we shall protect you, as we have protected you from the hour of your birth. Earthly glory shall be yours. And death when it comes in far Phrygia, by enemy steel, will be a hero’s death, without painful lingering. Then you shall be with us for ever, close to the One from whom all light flows, to whom all light returns. Oh, Julian, dear to us… Evil!” The voice changed entirely. It became harsh. “Foul and profane! We bring you defeat. Despair. The Phrygian death is yours. But the tormented soul is ours for ever, far from light!”

Sosipatra screamed. She began to writhe in her chair; her hands clutched at her throat as though to loosen some invisible bond. Words tumbled disjointedly from her mouth. She was a battleground between warring spirits. But at last the good prevailed, and she became tranquil.

“Ephesus,” she said, and her voice was again soft and caressing. “At Ephesus you will find the door to light. Ecebolius, when you were a child you hid three coins in the garden of your uncle’s house at Sirmium. One was a coin of the reign of Septimus Severus. A gardener dug up the coins and spent them. That coin of Severus is now in Pergamon, in a tavern. Oribasius, your father insists you sell the property but hopes you will not make the same mistake you made last year when you leased the lower meadow to your Syrian neighbour, and he would not pay. Julian, beware the fate of Gallus. Remember… Hilarius!” She stopped. She became herself again. “My head aches,” she said in a tired voice.

We were all quite shaken. I most of all for she had practically said that I would become emperor, which was treason, for no one may consult an oracle about the imperial succession, nor even speculate in private on such matters. Ecebolius had been rightly alarmed.

Sosipatra had no memory of what was said. She listened carefully as we told her what the goddess—and the other—had said. She was intrigued. “Obviously a great future for the most noble Julian.”

“Of course,” said Ecebolius nervously. “As a loyal prince of the imperial house…”

“Of course!” Sosipatra laughed. “We must say no more.” Then she frowned. “I have no idea who the dark spirit was. But it is plain that the goddess was Cybele, and she wants you to honour her since she is the mother of all, and your protectress.”

“It also seems indicated that Julian should avoid Phrygia,” said Oribasius mischievously.

But Sosipatra took this quite seriously. “Yes. Julian will die in Phrygia, gloriously, in battle.” She turned to me. “I don’t understand the reference to your brother. Do you?”

I nodded, unable to speak, my head whirling with dangerous thoughts.

“The rest of it seems plain enough. You are to restore the worship of the true gods.”

“It seems rather late in the day for that.” Ecebolius had found his tongue at last. “And even if it were possible, Julian is a Christian. The imperial house is Christian. This makes him a most unlikely candidate for restoring the old ways.”

“Are you unlikely?” Sosipatra fixed me with her great dark eyes.

I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t know. I must wait for a sign.”

“Perhaps this was the sign. Cybele herself spoke to you.”

“So did something else,” said Ecebolius.

“There is always the Other,” said Sosipatra. “But light transcends all things. As Macrobius wrote, ‘The sun is the mind of the universe.’ And nowhere, not even in the darkest pit of hell, is mind entirely absent.”

“What is at Ephesus?” I asked suddenly.

Sosipatra gave me a long look. Then she said, “Maximus is there. He is waiting for you. He has been waiting for you since the day you were born.”

Ecebolius stirred at this. “I am perfectly sure that Maximus would like nothing better than to instruct the prince, but, unfortunately for him, I was appointed by the Grand Chamberlain to supervise Julian’s studies and I am not at all eager for my pupil to become involved with a notorious magician.”

Sosipatra’s voice was icy. “We think of Maximus as being something more than a ‘notorious magician’. It is true that he can make the gods appear to him, but…”

“Actually appear?” I was fascinated.

“Actors, from the theatre,” muttered Oribasius, “carefully rehearsed, tricks of lighting…”

Sosipatra smiled. “Oribasius! That is unworthy of you! What would your father say to that?”

“I have no idea. You see more of him nowadays than I do.” Sosipatra ignored this. She turned to me. “Maximus is no charlatan. If he were, I would have unmasked him years ago. Of course people question his powers. They should. One must not take anything on blind faith. Yet when he speaks to the gods…”

“He speaks to them, but do they really speak to him? That’s more the point,” said Ecebolius.

“They do. I was present once in Ephesus when a group of atheists questioned him, just as you have.”

“Not to believe in Maximus does not make one an atheist.” Ecebolius was growing irritated.

She continued through him. “Maximus asked us to meet him that night in the temple of Hecate. Now the temple has not been used in years. It is a simple building, containing a bronze statue of the goddess and nothing more, so there was no way for Maximus to… prepare a miracle.” She looked sharply at Oribasius. “When we had all arrived, Maximus turned to the statue and said, ‘Great Goddess, show these unbelievers a sign of your power.’ There was a moment of silence. Then the bronze torches she held in her bronze hands burst into flame.”

“Naphtha,” said Oribasius.

“I must go to Ephesus,” I said.

“But that was not all. The statue smiled at us. The bronze face smiled. Then Hecate laughed. I have never heard such a sound! All heaven seemed to mock us, as we fled from that place.”

Sosipatra turned to Ecebolius. “He has no choice, you know. At Ephesus his life begins.”

Published in: on January 20, 2018 at 4:23 pm  Comments (9)  

Julian, 24

Julian presiding at a conference of Sectarians
(Edward Armitage, 1875)

In January 350, Ecebolius and I got permission to move on to Pergamon. We made the three-hundred-mile trip in bitter cold. As we rode through the perpetual haze of steam from our own breath, I recall thinking, this must be what it is like to campaign in Germany or Russia: barren countryside, icy roads, a black sky at noon and soldiers behind me, their arms clattering in the stillness. I daydreamed about the military life, which was strange, for in those days I seldom thought of anything except philosophy and religion. I suspect that I was born a soldier and only “made” a philosopher.

At Pergamon, Ecebolius insisted we stay at the palace of the Greek kings, which had been made available to me. But when the prefect of the city (who had most graciously met us at the gate) hinted that I would have to pay for the maintenance of the palace, Ecebolius agreed that we were better off as guests of Oribasius, who had also met us at the gate, pretending not to know me but willing, as a good courtier, to put up the Emperor’s cousin. In those days Oribasius was far richer than I and often lent me money when I was short of cash. We were like brothers.

Oribasius took delight in showing me his city. He knew my interest in temples (though I was not yet consciously a Hellenist), and we spent several days prowling through the deserted temples on the acropolis and across the Selinos River, which divides the city. Even then, I was struck by the sadness of once holy buildings now empty save for spiders and scorpions. Only the temple of Asklepios was kept up, and that was because the Asklepion is the centre of the intellectual life of the city. It is a large enclave containing theatre, library, gymnasium, porticoes, gardens, and of course the circular temple to the god himself. Most of the buildings date from two centuries ago, when architecture was at its most splendid.

The various courtyards are filled with students at every hour of the day. The teachers sit inside the porticoes and talk. Each teacher has his own following. Unfortunately when we came to the portico where Aedesius was usually to be found, we were told that he was ill.

“After all, he’s over seventy,” said a raffish youth, dressed as a New Cynic. “Why don’t you go to Prusias’ lectures? He’s the coming man. Absolutely first-rate. I’ll take you to him.” But Oribasius firmly extricated us from the young man’s clutches. Cursing genially, the admirer of Prusias let us go. We started back to the agora.

“That’s how a lot of students live in Pergamon. For each new pupil they bring to their teacher, they are paid so much a head.” Just behind the old theatre, Oribasius pointed to a small house in a narrow street. “Aedesius lives there.”

I sent one of my guards to ask if the philosopher would receive me. After a long wait, a fat woman with a fine grey beard and spiky moustache came to the door and said firmly, “He can see no one.”

“But when will he be able to?”

“Perhaps never,” she said, and shut the door.

Oribasius laughed. “His wife. She’s not as nice as she looks.”

“But I must meet him.”

“We’ll arrange it somehow. Anyway, tonight I’ve something special for you.”

That something special was the woman philosopher, Sosipatra. She was then in her forties but looked much younger. She was tall and though somewhat heavy, her face was still youthful and handsome.

When we arrived at her house, Sosipatra came straight to me, knowing exactly who I was without being told. “Most noble Julian, welcome to our house. And you too, Ecebolius. Oribasius, your father sends you greetings.”

Oribasius looked alarmed, as well he might: his father had been dead three months. But Sosipatra was serious. “I spoke to him just now. He is well. He stands within the third arc of Helios, at a hundred- and-eighty-degree angle to the light. He advises you to sell the farm in Galatia. Not the one with the cedar grove. The other. With the stone house. Come in, most noble prince. You went to see Aedesius today but his wife turned you away. Nevertheless, my old friend will see you in a few days. He is sick at the moment but he will recover. He has four more years of life. A holy, good man.”

I was quite overwhelmed, as she led me firmly by the hand into a dining-room whose walls were decorated with pictures of the mysteries of Demeter. There were couches for us and a chair for her. Slaves helped us off with our sandals and washed our feet. We then arranged ourselves about the table. All the while, Sosipatra continued to talk in such a melodious voice that even Ecebolius, who did not much like the idea of her, was impressed.

“Do you know the beautiful story of Aedesius and his father? No? It is so characteristic. The father wanted his son to join him in the family business. But first he sent him to school at Athens. When Aedesius returned from school, he told his father that it was now impossible for him to go into business. He preferred to become a philosopher. Furious, his father drove him out of the house, shouting, ‘What good does philosophy do you now?’ To which Aedesius replied, ‘It has taught me to revere my father, even as he drives me from his house.’ From that moment on, Aedesius and his father were friends.”

We were all edified by this story. Sosipatra was indeed a fountain of wisdom, and we were fortunate to drink of her depths.

Priscus: Did you ever meet this monster? I once spent a week with her and her husband at Pergamon. She never stopped talking. Even Aedesius, who was fond of her (I think he was once her lover), thought her ignorant, though he would never have admitted it. He, by the way, was an excellent man. After all, he was my teacher and am I not, after Libanius, the wisest man of our age?

Libanius: Irony?

Priscus: But though Sosipatra was hardly a philosopher, she was a remarkable magician. Even I came close to believing in her spells and predictions. She also had a sense of drama which was most exciting. Julian was completely taken in by her, and I date his fatal attraction to this sort of thing from that dinner party.

Incidentally, a friend of mine once had an affair with Sosipatra. When the act was over, she insisted that he burn incense to her as she lay among the tangled sheets. “For I am Aphrodite, goddess come among men.” He burned the incense but never went to bed with her again.

Maximus also thought that Sosipatra was divine, or at least “inhabited from time to time by the spirit of Aphrodite”. Which made her sound rather like an inn. I always found her tedious. But she was often accurate in her predictions. Lucky guesses? Who knows? If the gods exist, which I doubt, might they not be every bit as boring as Sosipatra?

Libanius: As always, Priscus goes too far. But I rather agree with him about Sosipatra. She did talk too much. But then, who am I to criticize her when one of my oldest friends has just told me to my face that I bore all Antioch?

Published in: on January 7, 2018 at 11:55 am  Comments (1)  

Kriminalgeschichte, 43

Below, abridged translation from the first
volume of Karlheinz Deschner’s Kriminalgeschichte
des Christentums
(Criminal History of Christianity)

A marble bust of Valens

Trembling and gnashing of teeth under the Arian Valens

Valentinian’s brother, Valens (364-378), was the last emperor who officially supported Arianism. He acted against the sects and other deviations, even against the semi-Arians who then, in order to thrive, made a shameful abjuration in Rome.

The Catholics were very harshly persecuted during the last years of the regime of this emperor, which met resistance and made even the exiled be considered martyrs. Among these were the bishops Athanasius of Alexandria, Meletius of Antioch, Pelagius of Laodicea, Eusebius of Samosata, Barses of Edessa and many others. Some Catholics were drowned in Antioch, and there were also martyrs in Constantinople. It is even said that in the year of the Lord 370, Valens sent secret letters to his prefect Modesto, arranging that eighty Catholic bishops and priests be led with deceit aboard a ship, which was burned with all its passengers on the high seas; it is also said that whole hosts of ‘true faith supporters’ were thrown into the Orontes.

‘A persecution has fallen upon us, my venerable brothers, the most bitter of all’, lamented, in 376, Basil, doctor of the Church, in a letter to the bishops of Italy and Gaul (although he personally had not been molested). Houses of prayer were closed, the service of the altars abandoned, the bishops imprisoned under any false pretext, and sent at night to exile and death. ‘It is well known’, continues Basil, ‘although we have preferred to silence it’, the desertion of priests and deacons, the dispersion of the clergy; in a word, ‘the mouth of the believers has been closed, while the blasphemous languages are loose and dare everything’.

Valens was so afraid of witchcraft that he punished it with the death penalty from the first year of his term. For this reason, he continued the persecution begun by Constantine against the followers of black magic, the clairvoyants, the interpreters of dreams, since the winter of 371 and for two years ‘like a beast in the amphitheatre; his fury was so great that he seemed to regret not being able to prolong the martyrdom of his victims after death’ (Amianus).

In the year 368, a senator lost his head because a lady with whom he was in relationships felt the victim of an enchantment. Prosecutor Marino suffered the death penalty because he had procured the hand of a certain Hispanila with magical arts. The coachman Athanasius died burned for exercising the arts of black magic.

Fear spread throughout the East; thousands were detained, tortured, liquidated, including high public officials and wise philosophers. Participants or simple witnesses were burned alive, strangled, beheaded, as in Ephesus, despite being ill, the philosopher Maximus, who had been friend and preceptor of Julian. Their property was confiscated, they were extorted with heavy fines; it was enough a reckless word, or have dared to make a scallop.

The demagoguery burned entire libraries, claiming that they were ‘magic books’. And since the machinery of justice was still too slow for Valens, beheadings and bonfires dispensed with judicial formalities; at the same time, he considered himself a merciful sovereign, like his brother Valentinian, as well as a faithful Christian, a good husband and a chaste man. No one denies that the ‘purity of manners’ prevailed in his court. An executioner who led to the execution of a naked adulteress was also burned alive in punishment for such shamelessness.

Procopius, forty years old and a relative of Julian, rose up in Constantinople, mainly with the support of the pagans. Valens had him beheaded without delay on May 27, 366 AD. Valens ‘lost all sense of the measure’ (Nagí). He persecuted even the women of the insurgents, burned countless books and continued to enrich himself along with his executioners. All this happened in the middle of almost a decade of conflicts with the Persians.

In the year 367, the emperor also began a campaign against the Ostrogoths, who had helped Procopius. The operations ran between peat bogs and swamps, and although a price was placed on the heads of the Goths, the war ended without success in 369. On August 9, 378, in Adrianople, Valens lost the battle and life.

We have seen, then, how that formidable empire was ruled by the first Christian majesties: Constantine, his sons, and the emperors Jovian, Valentinian I, Valens. Did they behave in a more benign, more humanitarian, more peaceful way than their predecessors, or Julian the Apostate?

Along with the constant massacres inside the empire, at the borders, in enemy territory, the eternal clerical quarrels intervened. The internal politics of the 4th century was determined by the struggle between the two main confessions, the Arians and the Orthodox. At the crucial point was Athanasius of Alexandria, the most prominent bishop straddling between Constantine and Valens and one of the most nefarious of all times, whose imprint would be noted in the days to come.

Kriminalgeschichte, 23

Editor’s Note: The book of Porphyry, of which the Christians destroyed all the copies and only fragments remain, is worth more than the opus of all Christian theologians together.

Yesterday I sent a message to Joseph Hoffmann, author of Porphyry’s ‘Against the Christians’: The Literary Remains. I asked him if he is willing to republish it in Lulu, as it is out-of-print (I own the copy I purchased in 1994).

Porphyry, a detail of the Tree of
, 1535, Sucevița Monastery.


______ 卐 ______


Below, abridged translation from the first volume of Karlheinz
Deschner’s Kriminalgeschichte des Christentums

(Criminal History of Christianity)

Celsus and Porphyry: the first adversaries of Christianity

Before looking more closely at these new Christian majesties, let us look briefly at two of the first great adversaries of Christianity in antiquity.

Soon the pagans knew how to spot the weak points in the argument of the holy fathers and refute them, when not leading them ad absurdum.

While it is true that the first Christian emperors ordered the destruction of the anti-Christian works of these philosophers, it is possible to reconstruct them in part by cutting off the treatises of their own adversaries. Celsus’ work in particular is derived from a response of eight books written by Origen about 248. The most influential theologian of the early days of Christendom evidently took a lot of work in refuting Celsus, which is all the more difficult because in many passages he was forced to confess the rationale of his adversary.

In spite of being one of the most honest Christians that can be mentioned, and in spite of his own protests of integrity, in many cases Origen had to resort to subterfuges, to the omission of important points, and accuses Celsus of the same practices. Celsus was an author certainly not free of bias but more faithful to the reality of the facts. Origen reiterates his qualification of him as a first-class fool, although having bothered to write an extended replica ‘would rather prove the opposite’ as Geffcken says.

The True Word (Alethés Logos) of Celsus, originating from the end of the 2nd century, is the first diatribe against Christianity that we know. As a work of someone who was a Platonic philosopher, the style is elegant for the most part, nuanced and skilful, sometimes ironic, and not completely devoid of a will to conciliation. The author is well versed in the Old Testament, the Gospels, and also in the internal history of the Christian communities. Little we know of his figure, but as can be deduced from his work he was certainly not a vulgar character.

Celsus clearly distinguished the most precarious points of Christian doctrine, for example the mixing of Jewish elements with Stoicism, Platonism, and even Egyptian and Persian mystical beliefs and cults. He says that ‘all this was best expressed among the Greeks… and without so much haughtiness or pretension to have been announced by God or the Son of God in person’.

Celsus mocks the vanity of the Jews and the Christians, their pretensions of being the chosen people: ‘God is above all, and after God we are created by him and like him in everything; the rest, the earth, the water, the air and the stars is all ours, since it was created for us and therefore must be put to our service’. To counter this, Celsus compares ‘the thinness of Jews and Christians’ with ‘a flock of bats, or an anthill, or a pond full of croaking frogs or earthworms’, stating that man does not carry as much advantage to the animal and that he is only a fragment of the cosmos.

From there, Celsus is forced to ask why the Lord descended among us. ‘Did he need to know about the state of affairs among men? If God knows everything, he should already have been aware, and yet he did nothing to remedy such situations before’. Why precisely then, and why should only a tiny part of humanity be saved, condemning others ‘to the fire of extermination’?

With all reason from the point of view of the history of religions, Celsus argues that the figure of Christ is not so exceptional compared to Hercules, Asclepius, Dionysus and many others who performed wonders and helped others.

Or do you think that what is said of these others are fables and must pass as such, whereas you have given a better version of the same comedy, or more plausible, as he exclaimed before he died on the cross, and the earthquake and the sudden darkness?

Before Jesus there were divinities that died and resurrected, legendary or historical, just as there are testimonies of the miracles that worked, along with many other ‘prodigies’ and ‘games of skill that conjurers achieve’. ‘And they are able to do such things, shall we take them for the Sons of God?’ Although, of course, ‘those who wish to be deceived are always ready to believe in apparitions such as the ones of Jesus’.

Celsus repeatedly emphasises that Christians are among the most uncultured and most likely to believe in prodigies, that their doctrine only convinces ‘the most simple people’ since it is ‘simple and lacks scientific character’. In contrast to educated people, says Celsus, Christians avoid them, knowing that they are not fooled. They prefer to address the ignorant to tell them ‘great wonders’ and make them believe that

parents and teachers should not be heeded, but listened only to them. That the former only say nonsense and foolishness and that only Christians have the key of the things and that they know how to make happy the creatures that follow them… And they insinuate that, if they want, they can abandon their parents and teachers.

A century after Celsus, Porphyry took over the literary struggle against the new religion. Born about 233 and probably in Tyre (Phoenicia), from 263 Porphyry settled in Rome, where he lived for decades and became known as one of the main followers of Plotinus.

Of the fifteen books of Porphyry’s Adversus Christianos (Against the Christians), fruit of a convalescence in Sicily, today only some quotations and extracts are preserved. The work itself was a victim of the decrees of Christian princes, Constantine I and then, by 448, the emperors Theodosius II and Valentinian III who ordered the first purge of books in the interest of the Church.

Unfortunately, the conserved references of the work do not give as complete an idea as in the case of Celsus. We may suppose that Porphyry knew The True Word; some arguments are repeated almost verbatim, which is quite logical. As to the coming of Christ Porphyry asks, for example, ‘Why was it necessary to wait for a recent time, allowing so many people to be damned?’

Porphyry seems more systematic than Celsus, more erudite; he excels as a historian and philologist, as well as in the knowledge of the Christian Scriptures. He masters the details more thoroughly and criticises the Old Testament and the Gospels severely; discovers contradictions, which makes him a forerunner of the rationalistic criticism of the Bible. He also denies the divinity of Jesus: ‘Even if there were some among the Greeks so obtuse as to believe that the gods actually reside in the images they have of them, none would be so great as to admit that the divinity could enter the womb of virgin Mary, to become a foetus and be wrapped in diapers after childbirth’.

Porphyry also criticises Peter, and above all Paul: a character who seems to him (as to many others to date) remarkably disagreeable. He judges him ordinary, obscurantist and demagogue. He even claims that Paul, being poor, preached to get money from wealthy ladies, and that this was the purpose of his many journeys. Even St Jerome noticed the accusation that the Christian communities were run by women and that the favour of the ladies decided who could access the dignity of the priesthood.

Porphyry also censures the doctrine of salvation, Christian eschatology, the sacraments, baptism and communion. The central theme of his criticism is, in fact, the irrationality of the beliefs and, although he does not spare expletives, Paulsen could write in 1949:

Porphyry’s work was such a boast of erudition, refined intellectualism, and a capacity for understanding the religious fact, that it has never been surpassed before or since by any other writer. It anticipates all the modern criticism of the Bible, to the point that many times the current researcher, while reading it, can only nod quietly to this or that passage.

The theologian Harnack writes that ‘Porphyry has not yet been refuted’, ‘almost all his arguments, in principle, are valid’.

On Paul Kurtz

kurtzIt is true that I have praised Paul Kurtz, who died in 2012 and I used to call a “mentor” for his work debunking precisely the pseudosciences that made me lost many years of my life. The photo in the Wikipedia article on him (also at the left) was uploaded by me after I requested it directly to Kurtz.

Alas, after he died I discovered this video where in the last five minutes Kurtz said that “America is a universal culture” and, mentioning the immigration fauna in the US, he added the phrase, “We are part of the planetary community.”

Kurtz then agreed with the interviewer that “the genetic makeup of the human race is all one” and, incredibly for someone who made a career defending real science against pseudosciences, he added: “There are no separate races. We are all part of one human family.”

The interviewer defined Kurtz as the “father of American secular humanism.” On a 2013 Occidental Observer thread a commenter opined about the “secular humanists”:

The new atheists are pure scum. Yes, despite their adolescent hatred of Christianity, their morality is a hundred percent Christian; anti-racism, egalitarianism, brotherhood of humanity, etc. Pathetic. I have far more respect for the average Christian than I have for those soulless, deadened worshippers of “reason” and “logic.”

I could not resist the temptation of naming Kurtz “scum” in that thread, in spite of the fact that Jews and Christians are presently on the same page here. This happened just after I discovered the above-linked video, where Kurtz stated also that WASPs have no exclusive claim to North America, and mentioned the Inuit as a group that, according to him, settled there before whites. Go figure! Before I became Jew-wise once I even harbored the thought of dedicating my autobiographical book to this guy…

Looking directly at the camera by the end of the interview, Kurtz concluded that “the First Principle in planetary ethics is that we ought to treat every person on planet Earth as equal,” after which he mentioned the races and the ethnic groups.

Well, well… I am still grateful that Kurtz’s writings, his magazines Skeptical Inquirer and Free Inquiry, and the organization of skeptics he founded has helped a lot of people who, like me in the past, went astray in parapsychological cults. But when I met him personally in 1989 and 1994—in the 1994 Seattle conference of skeptics I also met Carl Sagan and shacked hands with him—I ignored that both Kurtz and Sagan had Jewish ancestry.

Fucking the Red Woman


I have a very obscure past. After I left my parents’ home for horrendous, soul-destroying abuse, I fell in a sort of New Age cult which promised me to develop paranormal powers. Even after I quit the cult the internal damage was done and I spent the most precious springs of my life in a futile search of power through a “psi-development system,” as I used to say in my twenties. (I use the term “psi” in the sense of the purported paranormal abilities studied by parapsychology.)

Presently I not only disbelieve the existence of such abilities. After reading tons of skeptical literature debunking the claims of the paranormal, I have become one of the staunchest skeptics of religion and the paranormal in the pro-white blogosphere.

Notwithstanding such obscure origins, I still can enjoy cinematic experiences on how to “develop psi” as, say, Yoda teaching Luke Skywalker how to levitate a small ship in The Empire Strikes Back. More recently I enjoyed watching even darker “magic” as a powerful scene in Game of Thrones featuring Lady Melisandre: the priestess of fire who, always dressed in dark red, is in service of the phlegmatic Stannis Baratheon.

Stannis is the character of these series who, by right after his brother died, can claim the throne of the kingdom usurped by Geoffrey. In season two Lady Melisandre promises Stannis a son. Stannis has sex with Lady Melisandre on a table, scattering the war models onto the floor. Davos Seaworth (the “Onion Knight”), Stannis’ most loyal hand, vehemently dislikes black magic and always calls Melisandre “the Red Woman.”

In a later scene, Davos enters a cave in the cliff with a pregnant Lady Melisandre. Stannis had ordered him to watch an occult ritual. Davos, alone with the witch, says that it is strange that her Lord of Light asks her to work in the shadows. She counters that shadows cannot live in the dark and are servants of the light. He finds their way barred and says that the bars are new. Melisandre says that their passage cannot be barred and opens her robe. She appears nude and heavily pregnant and Davos calls on the seven gods for protection. Melisandre tells him that there is only one God and that He only protects those who serve him. Davos’ lantern glows with increasing intensity startling him as Melisandre takes off all her clothes. He backs along the wall of the cave as Melisandre lies down on her robe. Laying down on the cave’s floor she begins to moan to give birth and something shifts under the skin of her belly.


Her moans and gasps intensify as Davos looks on. A shadowy, black demon’s hands grip Melisandre’s legs while the dark figure pulls itself free of her womb. It stands before her for an instant before passing between the bars. Davos watches in horror. (As soon as detected, YouTube deletes most illegal clips of Game of Thrones but someone video-recorded the above scene directly on his TV screen with no electronic fingerprint to be detected: here.)

The smoky demon infiltrates Renly’s camp and assassinates Renly (like others, Renly, Stannis’ younger brother, illegally claimed a right to the throne). Thanks to such powerful sorcery Stannis regains control of the majority of his army that his homosexual brother Renly used to command. Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth are in the tent with Renly when the smoky, unkillable creature stabbed Renly right into his heart. (YouTube clip: here. Later in the same season Catelyn is not sure what she saw, but Brienne is sure that the phantasmagorical creature resembled Stannis.)


Davos is so disturbed by what he saw in the cave that he convinces Stannis not to bring Lady Melisandre along when their fleet and army attack King’s Landing to reclaim the throne. Davos wants a clean victory with no involvement of black sorcery at all.

Leaving these fantastic HBO series aside, this “one handy demon per fuck” to assassinate your enemies, even your brother if he misbehaves, reminds me my extremely recurrent fantasy of disturbing the whole anti-white System by means of killing a single human per day.

I confess that, after becoming racially conscious, I’ve indulged in a little fantasy before watching Game of Thrones, especially when trying to get some sleep. Psi or black magic probably don’t exist, but if they existed behold my list for targeted assassinations through ungraspable smokeys:

All heads of states in the West, starting with Chimpanzee

All moguls that own the mainstream media

All headmasters of Western universities

The Pope and all of his Cardinals

All protestant leaders

VIPs of the J tribe

The last point includes the millionaire sponsors of all Europhobic groups that promote anti-racism in their endeavors to exterminate “the best of the goyim.”

In season three of Game of the Thrones Stannis asks Lady Melisandre to make him another “son” to slay Joffrey, the monstrous king—monstrous in soul; physically he’s very young and good-looking—who had ordered the beheading of Ned Stark, thus usurping Stannis’ throne.

The witch refuses explaining that creating still other shadow-creatures may kill him. She needs to use Stannis’ own life-essence to fuel the entities, but this hugely drains him. (In the books more than one smoky demon is created inside Melisandre, and Davos notices that Stannis looks ten years older than before the Battle of Blackwater.) The use of assassins conjured from the witch’s womb is thus limited: the creation taxes the creator to the point of death.

So according to the traditional tales of black magic I would die. But I would gladly give my life to see at least some justice performed out of my above list.

Just curious: Knowing that you would also die in such an effort, would you fuck the Red Woman, the “mother of demons” as Davos once called her in impotent fury? If so, who would you add to your own black list?


Give up Christianity.

Transvaluate all Christian values in your heart.

Only real hate will save the white race from extinction…

The cult that I left

Mrs Eddy

Mary Baker Eddy

This piece was chosen for my collection of the 2014 edition of Day of Wrath, and I discarded it for the 2017 edition of the same book. However, it can still be read as a PDF: pages that I stole from the now unavailable edition of Day of Wrath: