Reflections of an Aryan woman, 29

Sometimes, even if his soul is less complex, that is to say, in this case, less divided against itself, the agent who senses, or even knows, what the inevitable course of events will be, will decide—and this, without any need for him to ‘deliberate’—in favour of the most useless action from the practical point of view. Teia, the last king of the Ostrogoths in Italy, knew that it was now impossible for his people to remain masters of the peninsula. This did not prevent him from launching himself without the slightest hesitation into the fight against Byzantium and finding a death worthy of him at the famous ‘Battle of Vesuvius’ in 563. He is credited with the historical words which, even if he didn’t say them, capture his attitude: ‘It is not a question of leaving or not leaving Italy; it is a question of leaving it with or without honour’. Words of a lord… words of a man ‘against time’, i.e. defeated in advance on the material plane.

One can say that to the extent that what the Sanskrit Scriptures call the Dark Ages unfold, and as a cycle of time draws to a close, more and more lords—both in the biological and psychological sense of the word—are men ‘against Time’, defeated in advance on the material plane. They don’t feel any less ‘free’ in their spontaneous choice of the practically useless act.

The impression of freedom is thus not at all related to hesitation and ‘deliberation’ before a decision. It has to do with the agent’s ability to imagine a future different from the one that will result from his act—the one that he would like to see result from it, if possible—and with the illusion that he is the source and principle of this act—whereas he is only the instrument of realisation of possibilities destined, in our world of time, to pass from the virtual to the actual, because they already exist, in the state of actualities, in the ‘eternal present’.

In other words, this impression of freedom is linked both to the agent’s thinking and his ignorance. For the man who acts in time, true freedom consists of the absence of external or internal constraint (i.e. from the deep contradictions of his ‘I’), and the total authorship of the ‘I’ concerning the decision and the act. Ignorance of this future—which sometimes partly follows from the act, but which cannot follow fully in the case of a practically useless act—may help some men to act. Was it not said that the foreknowledge of the fate that awaited their civilisation had broken the spirit of the leaders of 16th-century America, both Aztec and Inca, that they were unable to resist the Spaniards as quickly and as vigorously as they might have done, had they never known of the prophecies of destruction? It can give the illusion of an absence of constraint—a knowledge of the absence of the constraint of Destiny— and thus allow the blossoming of hope, which is a force of action.
 

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Editor’s Note: Once again, Savitri is assuming that precognition exists. Since I am more familiar with the 16th texts about the Conquest than her, and since for some years I read sceptical literature about the paranormal, I see things differently.

I don’t remember the source and I’m not going to dig for the moment into the literature I read when writing the section on pre-Columbian Amerindians for Day of Wrath, but I seem to remember that what the Amerinds began to say after the Conquest is that everything was prophesied. That is to say: it was not a real prophecy but vaticinium ex eventu: a psychological trick to better cope, based on the Mesoamerican worldview, with the trauma of the Conquest.

I mention this because it seems vital to me to question the existence of the extrasensory powers that came into vogue right after Savitri wrote her book. For the Westerner to regain his sanity, he cannot afford the slightest cognitive distortion of reality. This is why on this site we have been insisting so much on debunking the claims of the conspiracy theorists. Saving the Aryan race from extinction involves declaring war on all cognitive distortion, which includes blaming the Jews for everything. (Kevin MacDonald does generally a good job but there are quite a few racialists who, in their comment threads, blame Jewry for things they didn’t orchestrate. These guys would do well to read MacDonald’s trilogy, especially his first book, before keep seeing kikes under every stone.)

The same can be said of the American racialists who want to save their race but at the same time believe in the Hereafter, the existence of the god of the Jews and other paranoias. Savitri continues:

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But, as I said earlier, the Strong don’t need this help to do what the sense of honour dictates, which is always the consciousness of loyalty to a Leader, or an idea, or both, and the duty that this implies. Even in the full knowledge that the future escapes them, that their beloved truth will henceforth remain under a bushel and that, indefinitely, they will decide for action, useless certainly but honourable; for beautiful action, daughter of all that is most permanent, more fundamental in their lordly selves: an action for which they will be rigorously responsible and that they will never regret, because it is ‘them’.

They can, of course, imagine a future different from the one they only envisage with horror or disgust, and to which their whole attitude opposes them. But they cannot imagine themselves acting differently. In them, there is neither idle ‘deliberation’ nor choice, but a reaction of their whole being in the face of the elementary alternative: to be oneself, or to deny oneself; internal necessity—exactly like the sage ‘above Time’ when he acts.

The only difference is that, for those who do not yet ‘see’ the future from the point of view of the eternal, this internal need doesn’t necessarily merge with that which governs the visible and invisible cosmos, and the Being itself, beyond its manifestations. It can, by accident, merge with it. But it also can represent only the fidelity of action to the ‘ego’ of the agent, sages being rare, and a great character not always—alas!—being put in service of a true idea, an eternal cause.

This is enough to make the agent absolutely responsible. For one is responsible for everything with which one feels solidarity: initially for his action, insofar as it expresses his true ‘self’, and then for the actions of all those with whom one is bound by a common faith. So much the worse for the man who gives his energy to a doctrine that moves him away from the eternal instead of bringing him closer! No value of the individual as such, no nobility of character can make a false idea true and a cause centred on false ideas or half-truths objectively justifiable.

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 28

‘But if’, I am told, ‘in the view of the man above Time, the future is ‘given’ in the same way as the past, what becomes of the notions of freedom and responsibility? If a wise man can see, centuries in advance, how long a civilising doctrine is destined to retain its credit with one or more peoples, what is the use of militating ‘for’ or ‘against’ anything?

I believe that there are, in response to this, a few remarks to be made. Firstly, it should be pointed out that all action—in the sense that we understand it when we speak of ‘struggle’ and ‘activists’, or when we have in mind the gestures of everyday life—is intimately linked to the notion of time (of time at the very least, if not moreover of space). We should then note that the philosophical concepts of freedom and responsibility only make sense in connection with an action, direct or indirect—actual or possible, or even materially impossible to direct or modify on behalf of whoever conceives it, as is for example the case of any action thought of in retrospect—but always with an action, which could or should have been thought of. Finally, it must be understood that, as a consequence of this, these notions no longer have any meaning when, from the temporal state, one rises to that of consciousness outside time.

For those who are placed in the ‘eternal present’, i.e. outside of time, there is no question of freedom or responsibility, but only of being and non-being; of possibility and absurdity. The world that we see and feel, that others have seen and felt or will see and feel—a set of indefinite possibilities that have taken or will take shape—is simply what it is and, given that the intimate nature of each limited (individual) existence cannot be anything else. The consciousness above Time ‘sees’ it, but does not take part of it, even though it sometimes descends into it as a clairvoyant instrument of necessary action.

The beings that cannot think, because they are deprived of the word, thus of the general idea, nevertheless act and are not responsible. They behave according to their nature, and could not behave differently. And ‘to be free’, for them, consists simply in not being thwarted in the manifestation of their spontaneity in the exercise of their functions by some external force: not to be locked up between four walls or the bars of a cage; not to wear a harness or muzzle; not to be tied up, or deprived of water or food, or access to individuals of the same species and the opposite sex, and in the case of plants not to be deprived of water, soil and light, and not to be diverted in their growth by any obstacle.

It may be added that most humans are, although they can speak, neither freer nor more responsible than the humblest of beasts, or even of plants. Exactly like the rest of living, they do what their instincts, their appetites, and the demands of the moment urge them to do, and this, insofar as external obstacles and constraints allow. At most, many of them believe themselves to be responsible, having heard it repeated that this is ‘the nature of man’, and they feel, among the fridge, the washing machine and the television set—well as in the factories and offices where they spend eight hours a day under the blinding neon light—that they are less captive than the unfortunate tigers in the Zoological Garden. This only tends to show that the tigers are healthier in body and mind than they are, since they are aware of their captivity, and suffer from it.

Freedom[1] and responsibility are to be sought in different degrees between these extreme planes which are either active in time without thought, or consciousness outside of time without action, or accompanied by a completely detached, impersonal action, accomplished per an objective need. In other words, in an absolute sense, no one is ‘free’, if ‘freedom’ means the power to direct the future as one pleases.

The future is all oriented, since few wise men know it in advance, or rather who apprehend it as a ‘present’. But it is undeniable that the man of goodwill who lives and thinks in time has the impression of choosing between two or more possibilities; that he has the impression that the future, at least in its immediate course (and also in its distant course if it is a question of a decision of obvious historical significance) depends partly and sometimes entirely on him. This is, no doubt, only an impression. But it is an impression of such tenacity that it is impossible to ignore it, psychologically speaking. It forms so much a part of the experience of every man who must act in time, that it persists, even if that man is informed in advance (either by an invincible intuition, or by the evidence of one fact after another, or by some prophecy to which he gives credence) of what the future will be despite his action.
 

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Editor’s Note:

When Savitri wrote her book the criticisms of purported precognitions had not been popularised.

As I already said a couple of years ago, when I lived in Marin County, in 1985 I had the opportunity to realise that the foundations of the ‘science’ I was studying were shaky. In a bookstore I saw that they sold the recently published A Skeptic’s Handbook of Parapsychology. Decades have passed since that night and I still remember the image of James Randi on the dustcover.

But as an immigrant who still had to get a job in the US for elemental survival, I thought I couldn’t afford it. If I had obtained a copy, years of my life would have been spared from my quixotic project of trying to develop psi and become a Bran before Martin wrote his novel!

(Left, the signature of the book’s editor on the first page when he visited Mexico City and I was, finally, able to purchase it at a reasonable price for my modest income.) The difference between the priest and the priestess, is that the priest already had the opportunity to read books like this one because he was born half a century after the priestess…
 

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[1] We are talking here, of course, about freedom in the sense that this word is generally understood, not about ‘freedom’ in the metaphysical sense in which René Guénon understands it, for example.

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 15

Kant and friends on table

Is there such a thing as objectivity in the field of values? [Editor’s note: formally known as ‘axiology’]. To this question I answer yes. There is something independent of the ‘taste’ of each art critic, which makes a masterpiece of painting, sculpture or poetry a masterpiece for all time. Behind every perfect creation—and not only in the field of art proper—there are secret correspondences, a whole network of ‘proportions’ which themselves ‘recall’ unknown but prescient cosmic equivalences. It is these elements that link the work to the eternal—in other words, that give it its objective value.

On the other hand, there is no universal scale of preferences. Even if one could penetrate the mystery of the structure of eternal creations, which are human only in name because the author has effaced himself before the Force (the ancients would have said: ‘the God’), who for a moment possessed him, and acted through it and by it—if one could, say, explain in clear sentences like those of mathematicians, why such creations are eternal, one could never force everyone to prefer the eternal to the temporary; to find a work which reflects something of the harmony of the cosmos, more pleasant, more satisfying than another, which reflects anything.

There is good and bad taste. And there are moral consciences that are more or less similar to those of a man with an objective scale of values. But there is no more universal consciousness than there is universal taste. There is no such thing, and there can be no such thing, for the simple reason that the aspirations of men are different, once they have passed the level of the most elementary needs. (And even these needs are more or less pressing, depending on the individual. Some people find life bearable, even beautiful, without comforts, pleasures or affections, the lack of which would make other people frankly unhappy.)

Different aspirations mean different preferences. Different preferences mean different reactions to the same events, different decisions in the face of the same dilemmas, and therefore different ways of organising lives that might otherwise have been similar. Never forget the diversity of human beings, even within the same race, let alone from one race to another. How can people who are so different from each other have ‘the same rights and the same duties’?

There is no more universal duty than there is universal consciousness. Or, if we absolutely want to find a formula that is true for all, we must say that the duty of every man—indeed, of every living being—is to be to the end, in his visible or secret manifestations, what he is in his deepest nature; to never betray himself.

But deep natures differ. Hence, despite everything, the diversity of duties, as well as of rights, and the inevitable conflict, on the level of facts, between those who have opposite duties. The Bhagawad-Gîta says: ‘Focus on fulfilling your duty (svadharma). The duty of another involves (for you) many dangers’.

And what, in practice, will decide the outcome of the conflict between people with opposing duties? Force. I can only think of it. If I don’t have it, I have to put up with the presence in the world of institutions that I consider criminal, given my own scale of values. I can hate them. I cannot remove them with the stroke of a pen, as I would if I had the power. And even those who have power can not—insofar as they need the collaboration of some men, if not of a majority, precisely to maintain the position they have conquered. But I shall speak to you later about force, the condition of any visible and sudden change, that is to say of any victorious revolution, on the material plane.

I will first tell you a few words about the fathers of ‘universal consciousness’ and the idea that derives from it: the idea of a ‘duty’ that would be the same for all. I will recall the names of only a few of them who, in fields other than morality, are distinguished by some preeminence: by the firmness of their thought or the beauty of their prose.

First, there is Immanuel Kant, to whom we must be infinitely grateful for having drawn the line between scientific knowledge and metaphysical speculation; between what we know, or what we can know, and what we can only speak about arbitrarily, knowing nothing about it, or not at all, the direct vision we have of it is incommunicable. The whole part of Kant’s work that deals with the subordination of thought to the categories of space and time, and with the impossibility of going beyond the sphere of ‘phenomena’ with our conceptual intelligence, is of exemplary solidity.

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Editor’s Note: Infinitely grateful? Exemplary solidity? Lol! As we saw in my previous post, ‘On Shelob’s lair’, on this issue Savitri errs. But she continues:

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The recipes given by the thinker to help every man discover ‘the duty’, which he believes to be the same for all, are less worthy of credence, precisely because they do not fall within the scope of what, according to Kant’s deductions, makes up the essence of the scientific mind.

We are here in the realm of values—not of ‘facts’, not of ‘phenomena’. The only ‘fact’ that could be noted in this connection is the diversity of value scales. And Kant takes no account of this. He believes he bases his notion of ‘duty’ on that of ‘reason’. And since reason is ‘universal’, the laws of discursive thought being so—two and two make four for the last of the Negroes, as well as for one of us—it seems that duty must be too.

Kant does not realise, as his values seem indisputable to him, that it is not ‘reason’ at all, but his austere Christian upbringing—pietistic, to be more precise—which dictated them to him; that he owes them, not to his ability to draw conclusions from given premises—an ability which he shares with all sane men, and perhaps with the higher animals—but to his spontaneous submission to the influence of the moral environment in which he was brought up. He forgets—and how many have forgotten before and after him, and still do!—that reason is powerless to set ends; to establish orders of preference; that, in the domain of values, its role is limited to highlighting the logical—or practical—link between a given end and the means that lead to its realisation.

Reason can tell an individual what his ‘duty’ will be in a specific circumstance if, for example, he loves all men, or better still, all living beings. Reason cannot force him to love them, if he doesn’t feel attracted to them. It can suggest to him what to do, or not do, if he wants to contribute to ‘world peace’. It cannot force him to want peace. And if he does not want it, if he finds it demoralising or simply boring, it will suggest to him, with equal logic, an entirely different course of action—just as it will direct the intelligent misanthrope to an entirely different course of action from that which it would command the philanthropist. It will always command each of those who think, the action that corresponds to the promotion of what he really loves, and deeply wants. How could it inspire duties, identical in content, to individuals who love different, even incompatible ideals, and who each want the revolution that their ideal implies? Or to individuals who love only people, and to others who love only ideas?

‘Always act’, says Kant, ‘as if the principle of your action could be set up as a universal law’.

How can this ‘rule’ be applied both to the conduct of one who, loving only his family and friends, far from sacrificing them to any idea whatsoever, will feel that it is ‘his duty’ to protect them at all costs, and that of the militant who, loving only a cause which goes beyond him, considers that it would be ‘his duty’, if necessary, to sacrifice him and his recent collaborators (as soon as he feels them weakening in terms of orthodoxy and becoming dangerous), and a fortiori his family, alien to the holy ideology, as soon as he sees one of its members, whoever he may be, making a pact with the hostile forces?

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Editor’s note: Remember Savitri’s words in my Friday’s post: ‘During the war, my mother—although 75 years old in 1940, 80 in 1945—joined the resistance movement in France. I did not know it naturally. There was no communication between Calcutta and Europe. She told me in 1946, when I visited her, and said also that if I had been present in France in 1944 and had actively worked against the resistance (as I then surely would have), she would have handed me over to the resistance’.
 

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And what about the rule: ‘Always act in such a way that you take the human person as an end, never as a means’? In other words: ‘Never use a man’. And why not?—especially if, by using him, I am working in the interest of a Cause that is much greater than him, for example, the cause of Life, or the human elite (the elite of every living species) or simply that of a particular people, if this one has a more than human historical mission?

Man unscrupulously exploits the animal and the tree in favour of what he believes to be his own interest. And Kant apparently finds no fault with this. Why should we not exploit man—the ‘human person’ whose so-called ‘value’ we have been hearing about more than ever for the past quarter-century—in the interest of Life itself? What prevents us from doing so, if we do not have—like Immanuel Kant and so many others; like most people born and raised in a Christian (or Islamic, or Jewish, or simply ‘secular’) civilisation—a scale of values centred around the sacrosanct two-legged mammal?

Of myself, if I love ‘all men’, I won’t use any of them; I won’t take any of them ‘as a means’, for an end which is not him. You don’t exploit what you really love. This is a psychological law.

But no ‘reason’ can force me to ‘love all men’—any more than it can force most men to love all animals. Kant’s ‘reason’ ordered him not to exploit any human being, not because this is a universal commandment, but because he loved all men, like the good Christian he was. I, who do not love them all, do not feel that this ‘duty’ concerns me. It is not my duty. I refuse to submit to it. And if a man who finds the exploitation of animals and trees—and what exploitation!—quite natural, dares to come and preach me about ‘respect for the human person’, I would brutally send him to mind his own business.

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Editor’s Note: This is more than fundamental. If there is something that my work From Jesus to Hitler teaches, it is that we must stop loving the vast majority of humans to save the nymphs of the sidebar and the animals under the human yoke.

Published in: on September 23, 2021 at 12:58 pm  Comments Off on Reflections of an Aryan woman, 15  

On Shelob’s lair

Or: Kant’s trap

In the modern world, Immanuel Kant has been the poet’s greatest enemy, the enemy of clear, concise and transparent prose (my style).

Kant initiated the dark movement of classical German idealism, from which perhaps only the German nationalist pronouncements of Fichte are salvageable. While German music and literature were luminous (think of Beethoven and Goethe), German philosophy was tremendously obscurantist: and a thin tail of that cobweb even reached its way about how Mein Kampf was elaborated.

David Irving is correct that he never read Mein Kampf because, as an exact historian of the Third Reich, he didn’t want a text dipped into feather pens other than Hitler’s to contaminate his true biography (which is why Irving recommends reading daily each of the after-dinner talks of Uncle Adolf: these are uncontaminated). Mein Kamp is a PR book written for a people who, influenced by their philosophers’ style, had already betrayed the lyrical way of writing. For the same reason I don’t recommend The Gulag Archipelago, but the excellent abbreviation made by an Englishman, with the permission of the Russian author, that reads like an entertaining novel. I sincerely believe that an abridged edition of Mein Kampf should be tried, trying to keep only the passages that Hitler dictated.

But even in Hitler’s Table Talk I see a couple of disagreements with our Führer. One of them was a short sentence in which he expressed himself about the genius of Kant. As John Martínez said more than eight years ago on this site:

In another post you mentioned the fact that not a single one of the supposedly greatest philosophers ever said something about the importance of race to the establishment of a great civilisation like ours. That is to say, these guys have devoted millions of man-hours [Shelob’s trap] to discussing every single subject under the sun—except for what is perhaps the most important of them all from the point of view of our civilisation: the fact that it is a White civilisation and that these discussions are not taking place in Africa, Asia or what have you.

As Nietzsche scoffed at using an English word, Kant is ‘Cant’: his prose was empty and insincere, and he shouldn’t have hypnotised the Germans. The only proponent of the German Enlightenment worth rescuing was Hermann Samuel Reimarus, who initiated the discipline of analysing the New Testament that recently culminated in Richard Carrier’s book. The rest was hot air.

 
Matthew Stewart

In my home library I have many books from the publisher Prometheus Books, which taught me to distrust the pseudosciences of the paranormal and even early Christianity (for example, the book that collects the surviving fragments of the 4th-century book that the philosopher Porphyry wrote against Christians, was published by Prometheus). Stewart’s first book was also published by Prometheus, The Truth About Everything. He believes that we have lost sight of what philosophy was in its original conception, and wrote that iconoclastic pamphlet to poke fun at academic philosophy.

In the chapter on Kant, Stewart asserts that this German philosopher was no Copernicus. On the contrary: his ‘metaphysics’ is one of the possible manifestations of a philosophical trend. Regardless of Kant’s influence, because of the apotheosis that was applied to him after his death, his name, says Stewart, is only a point of convergence of a plethora of beliefs based on the mistakes of Descartes.

Since, like Descartes, in those times the aim of the philosophers whose parents were Christians had been the reconciliation between science and religion, Kant divided the world into two absolutely disconnected worlds. Using my language, the celebrated philosopher of the kingdom of Prussia was just another guy who didn’t know how to shake off his parental introjects. The Kantian dream of ‘perpetual peace’ reminds me of the pictures of the lion laying with the lamb of the Jehovah’s Witnesses who ring the doorbell of my house.

It said that Prometheus Books warned me against pseudosciences. In one of the Martin Gardner books that I own, this hilarious writer informs us that crank scientists love to develop new vocabularies and mystifying language (imagine the hundreds of neologisms that L. Ron Hubbard created for Scientology).

A feature of Kant’s work is its vast technical vocabulary and abominable prose. Stewart tells us that if one translates Kant’s newspeak into oldspeak (the same is possible with Hubbard’s neologisms) it is possible to begin to see behind the smokescreen and mirrors of the three Kantian ‘critiques’.

For example, a priori / a posteriori are Latin words that simply mean ‘before’ and ‘after’ in a logical rather than temporal sense. But those who are not alert to the crank sciences will believe that there is something very profound when Kant speaks to us, say, about the ‘transcendental unity of apperception’, or of the ‘transcendental ego’ (the latter reminds me of Hubbard’s ‘operative thetan’!). Even with the word ‘pure’ in his Critique of Pure Reason, Kant means ‘uncontaminated by experience’.

According to Stewart, this repertoire of concepts seems to be sophistry and illusion, adding that Kant succumbs to the medieval error of turning a tedious logic into a radical ontological falsehood (How many angels can fit on the head of a pin?). Stewart also claims that Kant confines the science of the world to projections and shadows, mere appearances, and all this to save religion. The Categorical Imperative is the Kantian machine for the Moral Law (read: the education that little Immanuel received as a child in a religiously abusive home) based on ‘reason’ (and, to boot, we must take into account the cryptic definition of ‘reason’ by Kant).

Beyond the very dense Kantian jargon, this guy surreptitiously inserts the substance into the bosom of an otherwise purely formal theory. That’s why, Stewart affirms, the Critique of Practical Reason is a betrayal, and that this is the key we need to decipher Kantian ethics: the result of the standards that Kant received as a child in the bosom of a pietistic Christian family. (Pietistic Lutheranism is a movement within Lutheranism that combines its emphasis on biblical doctrine with an emphasis on individual piety and living a vigorous Christian life.)

Stewart’s criticism is not original. Almost all of his arguments were defended in writing by living characters as a result of the publication of the first Kantian critique. The problem is that modern ‘philosophers’ share the apotheosis of Kant, and generally believe in the professional respectability of that crank thinker. The Eastern gurus (think of the Zen monks) hypnotise the faithful by saying things that are extremely unpleasant for commonsensical ears, but presented as profound metaphysical truths. Kant’s promise that he was able to reverse the basis of all knowledge, from ‘object’ to ‘subject’, is just this kind of psyop to dupe the unwary.

In sum, Stewart tells us, Kant’s obscurity is the critical factor in allaying the concerns of those who have brought Kant to the universities. His obtuse distinctions exude an air of professionalism and his twisted arguments give the impression of depth. The resulting inconsistencies supply grain for the controversial windmills of academic philosophy.

All that Stewart says invalidates not only bestsellers on philosophy like the bestselling story that Will Durant wrote, but what they want to teach us in the academy under the pretentious name of ‘philosophy’, supposedly love of wisdom. Stewart concludes by telling us that both the rationalists and the empiricists of the 17th century tried to take philosophy out of the monasteries, turning it into the fiefdom of the amateurs. Kant collected his ideas at the service of a return to the monastic age. After him, philosophy was to be safe from rebellious amateurs and returned to its peaceful seminaries and universities. Of course, the new theologians were no longer debating the sex of angels. They are masturbating themselves, intellectually, with ‘the facts of conscience’. Aristotle ceased to be the object of scholastic comments to be relieved by Kant.

Nietzsche wrote: ‘Kant’s success is just a theologian success: Kant, like Luther, like Leibniz, was one more drag on an already precarious German sense of integrity… Kant became an idiot. — And such a man was the contemporary of Goethe! This disaster of a spider (*) passed for the German philosopher!’

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(*) For Francis Bacon (1561-1626) the metaphysicians were like spiders that constructed their webs with a substance segregated from their insides, resulting in that their conclusions kept little if any connection to empirical reality. Kant has been the biggest spider of all, Tolkien’s Shelob! The number of philosopher’s apprentices who have fallen into his cobwebs trying to decipher them, in a vain search for wisdom, is legion.

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 14

The more rigorous a reasoning is, impeccable from the purely logical point of view, the more its conclusion is false if the basic judgement from which it starts—the one expressed by its major premise, in the case of a simple syllogism—is itself false. This is clear. If I declare that ‘All men are saints’ and then I notice that the Marquis de Sade and all known and unknown sexual perverts, and all animal or child torturers, were or are men, I am forced to conclude that all these people were or are saints: an assertion whose absurdity is obvious.

Perfect logic only leads to a true judgement if it is applied based on major premises that are themselves true. The adjectives by which we characterise such rigour in the sequence of judgements depend on one’s attitude towards the judgement from which it starts. If one accepts it, one speaks of an irreproachable or admirable logic. If one rejects it vehemently, as Mr Grassot rejected the basic propositions of Aryan racism, in other words Hitlerism, one will speak of ‘appalling logic’. This does not matter, since judgements remain true or false, regardless of the reception, always subjective, that is given to them.

Now, what is a true judgment?

Any judgement expresses a relationship between two states of fact, between two possibilities, or between a state of affairs (and all psychological states fall under this category) and a possibility. If I say, for example, ‘The weather is fine’, I am relating a whole set of sensations that I am currently experiencing to the presence of the sun in the visible sky. If I say: ‘The sum of angles of a triangle equals the straight angle’ I am stating that, if a polygon has the characteristics which, mathematically, define the triangle, the sum of its angles will be, and can only be, equal to the straight angle; that there is a necessary relationship between the very definition of ‘triangle’, and the property to which I have alluded. If I say: ‘It is better to lose your life than to fail in honour’, I make a connection—no less necessary in principle—between my psychology and a possible situation in which I would have to choose either to live dishonoured, or to die saving honour.

The judgement is true if the relationship it expresses exists; otherwise, it is false. This is clear in the case of judgements—called ‘categorical’—which posit a relationship between two facts. If I say in broad daylight that ‘it is dark’, it is quite certain that there is no longer any connection between what my senses experience and what I say; the judgment is therefore false. If I say: ‘The sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to five angles’ I am saying an absurdity, because the connection I’m making here between the definition of the triangle and a property I attribute to it does not exist; the assertion contradicts the judgement that defines the triangle. (Even in non-Euclidean space with positive curvature, where the sum of the angles of a triangle ‘exceeds’ two right angles, that sum does not reach ‘five angles’.)

In the case of categorical judgements, which express a relation between two facts, as in the case of those perfect hypothetical judgements which are the theorems of mathematics, the ‘truth’ or ‘falsity’ are evident. No one will certainly accept what I am saying if I declare in broad daylight that ‘it is night’ for every healthy eye sensitive to light. As for mathematical theorems, they can all be proved, provided that one accepts, in the case of geometrical theorems, the postulates that define the particular space they concern.

The only judgements people argue about, until they go to war because of them, are value judgements: those which presuppose, in whoever emits them, a hierarchy of preferences. It is, in fact, always in the name of such hierarchy that we grasp a relation between a fact (or a state of mind) and a ‘possibility’ (future, or else conceived retrospectively, as what might have been). Facts can give rise to heated discussions, no doubt, but devoid of passion, and especially hatred.
 

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Editor’s Note: No longer in our time! when elemental facts—like saying that boys are boys and girls are girls; or that there are no grandmasters in chess tournaments who are black—can lead to such hatred that we may lose our jobs. To call ‘a spade a spade’ is now considered racist.

Some bien pensant censors are even suggesting that the expression ‘To call a spade a spade’ should be retired from modern usage! A newspeaker said: ‘Rather than taking the chance of unintentionally offending someone or of being misunderstood, it is best to relinquish the old innocuous proverbial expression all together’ (see: here).
 

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One does not really quarrel with one’s adversaries and, if one has the power to do so, one only cracks down on them, unless one considers the ‘facts’, which are the subject of the discussion, to be directly or indirectly linked to values that we love.

The Church has been hostile to those who maintained that our Earth is round and that it is not the centre of the solar system, insofar as the belief in these facts—in case they were proven and therefore universally accepted—negate not only of the letter of the Scriptures but, above all, Christian anthropocentrism. The biological facts which form the basis of all intelligent racism are denied by organisations such as UNESCO, which pride themselves on ‘culture’. They do it only because these organisations see, in a widespread acceptance of this premise, the threat of a resurgence of Aryan racism, which they detest.

Published in: on September 21, 2021 at 2:55 pm  Comments Off on Reflections of an Aryan woman, 14  

Between ice and fire

In the comments section where you can ask me anything before the end of the year, this morning I learned about a philosophical position. By following the links I came across a video by an ‘efilist’ that inspires the deepest nihilism. I also read ‘On efilism’ on the site The antinatalist, which explains it better:

Efilism addresses the objective fact that all lifeforms are a byproduct of a needless chemical reaction that occurred around a billion years ago.

Through unintelligent design, we evolved nervous systems some 500 million years ago; enabling us to feel pain. In turn, we became addicted to the burdens of chasing wants and needs in order to escape suffering.

Our nervous systems are hardwired to experience suffering far more than pleasure; both in intensity and duration. This brutal functionality of nature motivates all species to stay alive long enough to pass their DNA to the next generation. This would also explain why sex is so pleasurable.

Life evolved to torture and to be tortured. We are all victims and predators. There is no justification for nature’s cruel design. It’s wasteful, needless, and causes suffering. As Gary put it, ‘life is more friction than function’.

Efilists hold a sentiocentrist worldview. We recognise that the welfare of all living creatures (be it a frog or human) are of equal importance. This is juxtaposed to speciesism; which values one animal over another, which is irrational. We were all born to be slaughtered. No sentient being is immune. Without humans, other animals will continue to suffer just like they have been for millions of years.

The main difference between human and non-human species is our capacity to understand the futility of existence and right from wrong. We have the intellectual ability to see the meat grinder for what it really is. We are all in this rat maze together.

With knowledge comes responsibility. We must be janitorial, not wasteful in our endeavour to eliminate harm. As far as the red button scenario goes, I wouldn’t press it unless it painlessly and instantaneously evaporated all life on Earth—from men to microbes; including myself. And only if pressing that button had a guaranteed fail-safe that would prevent life from re-emerging.

I do have an idea on how we could end all life on Earth peacefully without dropping some mega bomb. In 100 years, we could have the technology to produce self-replicating nanobots. Each microscopic machine would be programmed to enter, then euthanize all lifeforms on Earth. After all life is erased, the nanobots would keep self-replicating with the goal of preventing the re-occurrence of life.

Efilism is a truly atheistic way of viewing reality. We don’t justify nature by believing in fairy tales nor do we worship nature and our own genetic codes.

This is the most extreme form of anti-life philosophy that we can imagine. It is true that I am an exterminationist, but only in the sense of ‘eliminating all unnecessary suffering’ (the four words) by dispatching the vast majority of humans due to their ‘Neanderthalism’, and a large number of animal species: the theme of my last two books in the eleven-book series From Jesus to Hitler.

Using the word I learned today, the Night King of Game of Thrones was apparently an efilist. HBO’s interpretation failed to honour George R.R. Martin as in The Song of Ice and Fire there is no arch-villain, not an absolutely evil Sauron as even in the evilest man there’s always a corner of good. And in the most benign man there is always a corner of evil. The HBO series failed to show the benign side of the Night King, falling precisely into the infantile Manichaeism that Martin criticised so much about The Lord of the Rings. The benign side of the Night King would be the noble goal of trying to forbid all suffering, however deluded he might be in my eyes.

Before the last season some Game of Thrones fans speculated on their YouTube channels that Bran the Broken was the Night King. But they were wrong: in the end it was revealed that they were two different entities. But on this website and in my last book I took up those speculations when trying to convey my idea: between efilism and a Nietzschean ‘Yes to life’ there is an Aristotelian golden mean.

Since this is the theme that for decades led me to come up with my philosophy of what I call ‘the extermination of Neanderthals’, presently I’m experiencing a flow of ideas that I can’t do justice to in a simple post. Those interested could start reading my texts that have been translated into English, especially Day of Wrath (see sidebar). But I’ll try to approach the subject in such a way that at least a slight taste in the mouth remains about what I have written in a more formal way.

Years ago I began to translate for this site several texts by the Spaniard Manu Rodríguez, who in more recent times abandoned all racism to dedicate himself to an idea that he already harboured since 1976: the New Age philosophy that revolves around the Gaia hypothesis. I mention Rodríguez because I was shocked by his abandonment of what I had been translating from his site. But it must be recognised that it is not easy to transvalue values: the magnet that Normieland exerts on those who are stunned in the middle of the Rubicon is formidable.

But the mention of Rodríguez is spot on. After his conversion to Gaia I wrote to him some time ago asking if he had read my exterminationist essays and he replied that it was surely a joke of mine (it is not). That was the end of our correspondence.

Now, the fact is that Rodríguez’s Gaia philosophy, which he writes in Spanish, is the perfect antithesis of efilism (‘nor do we worship Nature’ says the efilist in the long quotation above). My philosophy of the four words represents the moderate position between the two extremes, as Rodríguez naively accepts all earthly life, without considering the astronomical magnitudes of suffering that many living creatures experience (In my opinion, this contributed to Nietzsche losing his sanity. As he suffered greatly in his solitude, his ‘Yes’ to life short-circuited his mind.)

I said that ideas come to me in droves on a topic that is impossible to do justice to in a post, but rather it takes a series of entire books to convey the main idea. For the moment, the interested visitor could read the article ‘A postscript to my prolegomena’ that appears on pages 104-106 of my Daybreak (PDF on the sidebar).

But not even if someone read my eleven books means that we would agree, as what makes someone say a resounding ‘Yes’ to life (Bran the Broken); a resounding ‘No’ (the Night King), or somewhere in between depends on how you were treated in your childhood. In other words, this is a psychogenic problem, not an ideological one. The only thing that occurs to me at the moment, when most of my books are untranslated, is to recommend the first novel by Arthur Clarke, Against the Fall of Night, which takes us to a utopia in a very distant future where unnecessary sufferings have already been eliminated on Earth (although Clarke never uses the four words).

The dialectic of the song of ice and fire in the universe is the dilemma of whether the universe is to cool down eternally due to unnecessary suffering, or whether it is worth returning to the primal fire that makes Being explode again in countless stars…

On young Keith Woods

That Christianity is a sort of extension of the Jewish problem is made clear in the latest video by Keith Woods, who used to appear in the McSpencer Group on YouTube before the thoughtpolice deleted all the videos that Richard Spencer had uploaded.

In his video today the young Woods mentioned St John of the Cross (see what I said about this ‘saint’: here) and other mystics. Woods informs us that ‘the claims of the mystics are universal’ and repeatedly used the term perennial philosophy: an esoteric or occultist perspective that erroneously views all of the world’s religious traditions as sharing a single truth—as if the drive of Islam to kill and conquer is the same as what we have recently been saying about St Francis; and let’s not talk about sacrificing children to the gods in even more primitive religions (see my yesterday post).

Woods also said: ‘You need an ahistorical vision of absolute truth’ and spoke of ‘the experience of God’. But he fails to understand what God actually is. He also fails to see philosophy as what it really is (see for example here and here). Woods also failed to mention how his Irish parents—or whoever raised him in Catholicism—installed in his mind his religious introjects (cf. my very recent entries that explain introjection with examples of my own life).

Worst of all, what Woods told us after the seventeenth minute evokes, in a way, how Christian Matt Heimbach repudiated racialism in a public confession this year. Woods said: ‘…and to defend nationalism or racialism on the basis of an extended egotism I think it is basically incoherent and it is just relativistic and arbitrary, and believing in that it is as believing in any kind of far-left anarchism or anything else’.

Most alarmingly, in the comments section of the Woods channel the commenters failed to realise that this is a giant step backwards towards Judeo-Christianity: a mental virus that incites white people to commit ethnosuicide in pursuit of an allegedly more spiritual truth than racial preservation.

Woods started his video saying that he no longer wants to visit social media because it is superficial, and informs us that it is better to read books. Recently I reread some passages of Bertrand Russell’s Wisdom of the West, which summarises the main philosophical currents. What Woods doesn’t seem to get is that even the great works of the so-called wisdom of the West also tell big lies. Even the best Christian art is full of poison (cf. what I recently said about the music and lyrics of Bach’s compositions).

Like the vast majority of white nationalists, Woods, who with his statements today has apparently distanced himself from the movement, knows nothing about the real history of Christianity.

If avid book-reader Woods doesn’t know German to approach Karlheinz Deschner’s ten volumes on the history of Christianity, why not read the few chapters translated into English? And if Woods wants to go back to his previous practice of reading a hundred books a year, why not also read The Fair Race which also addresses Christian history?

What Woods ignores, as many who have not broken with their parents’ programming also ignore, is that what Christians and neochristians (which include those who believe in esotericism) call ‘spirituality’ is psychosis, folie en mass. Genuine spirituality is something very, very different and there is a whole category here, under that heading.

If Woods loves books so much it would do him a lot of good if he read some of the books on the sidebar. It is not an excuse that he doesn’t want to buy them. Except Letter to mom Medusa (very personal stuff about my biography) those in English can also be read as free PDFs.

Published in: on July 29, 2020 at 12:47 pm  Comments (6)  
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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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The wall

With the average white nationalist, I have run into a wall on issues such as Pierce and Kemp’s stories of the white race (the basis for understanding everything), why many anti-Semites continue to worship the god of the Jews, conspiracy theories like JFK and 911, or scepticism about a currency crisis due to the Fed panicking through QE4 (a process that apparently has started these pandemic days). The cause of the mental wall is succinctly explained by the American philosopher Peter Boghossian:

People do not formulate their beliefs on the basis of evidence. They think they do, but instead, they cherry pick pieces of information or pieces of data to support the beliefs they already have.

The key thing to understand is that people formulate their beliefs because of some moral impulse, derived from a community to which they belong. They have a strong moral sense of why they ought to believe something.

Arguing with evidence doesn’t work. That triggers something called the backfire effect—it’s well established in the literature—where people just hunker down or double down in their beliefs.

So instead of providing evidence, there are other ways that we have to shift those conversations.

The way to reach people about these issues is through values and not evidence. You have to figure out what somebody values and why they value it. In fancy terms, that’s called moral epistemology.

Once you figure out someone’s moral epistemology, that’s like the lock. And the templates that we use in the book [How to Have Impossible Conversations] are like keys to unlock that lock. Epistemology is just a two dollar word for ‘how you know what you think you know’. And morality is just a word meaning ‘what ought I to do’.

People don’t really think very much about how they come to their moral beliefs. It’s remarkably interesting how brittle those moral epistemologies are. With a few targeted questions, people can become more reflective about that.

Fortunately, there are a few nationalists who live on the other side of the wall.

Published in: on March 13, 2020 at 12:01 am  Comments (5)  

Even whites are animals

This is a comment from me that, instead of putting it in response to what commenters said in a recent discussion thread, I put it as an independent entry as the topic is central to understanding us.

Apparently, these commenters suffer from human megalomania: that humans are superior to animals, or that humans have souls. I doubt that they have read with due attention the books of William Pierce, or Impeachment of Man by Savitri Devi. Already in January 2015 I had published an entry with the title of ‘Animals’, and as epigraphs I chose some words from Pierce and Hunter Wallace. The latter, as a Christian, continues to believe in the existence of the human ‘soul’. But despite this he acknowledges that whites deserve to be committed to the Fruitcake Hospital:

By that standard most people are simply animals—thinking animals, but still animals, without the essence of humanity.

William Pierce

For those who don’t believe Whites are capable of imposing this madness on themselves, I will point to France during the French Revolution which abolished slavery in the name of the “Rights of Man” and made every Negro a citizen of the French Republic.

Hunter Wallace

He who wants to venture into why we need a lesson in humility must read Impeachment of Man. In short, much of the evil of our time is due to pride, the primordial sin that modified apes are the crown of evolution when, because of their fruitcake behaviour, they obviously are not.

Read my Day of Wrath and tell me with a straight face that humans are ‘sane’ or ‘superior’. That does not mean that they are a lost cause, as potentially the eternal feminine could lead the white race to the Absolute, as I say in my last essay in The Fair Race (pages 652ff).

Published in: on October 20, 2019 at 1:19 pm  Comments (14)