Depressing days

El Greco’s landscape of Toledo depicts the priory in which John of the Cross was held captive. To see the Greco landscape in the original blue and green click: here.

______ 卐 ______

I do not have a single male friend in the metropolis where I live.

Since I have finished writing my third and last book in Spanish—I really should not write another one!—as often happens with writers, an existential void was created in my state of mind.

I visited the Café of the Gandhi Bookstore where many years ago I was meeting with a group of friends. But I did not see any familiar faces.

Back home I realised that I had forgotten to buy a book. I have been quoting the expression ‘dark night of the soul’ in this site, taken from a famous poem by John of the Cross (1542-1591). For centuries this Spaniard has had a reputation as a profound mystic, and I wanted to read his book explaining the poem on the dark night of the soul.

At home I saw the book online. It surprised me that it contained concepts such as fighting the demon of lust and the devil. That means that John of the Cross was another idiotic Christian like millions of idiotic Christians who have been there for two millennia. The only difference is that his poetry is good. His poem starts with these words (translated to English):

In an obscure night
Fevered with love’s anxiety
(O hapless, happy plight!)
I went, none seeing me
Forth from my house, where all things quiet be…

But Aztec poetry was also good despite its psychotic customs, as I have shown elsewhere. In other words, aesthetic qualities do not vindicate the poet.

When trying to invent an activity these days I caressed the idea of having a podcast again. But I dispatched it: even if I did find a technician to handle the audio, my revolutionary thinking is not legal even by First Amendment standards in the US. And if I cannot speak out as a revolutionary conspirator, it is better not to talk at all because not saying what I think depresses me.

It is truly a dark night of the soul to have to live in a world in which whites, for the first time in western history, refuse to fight. Both the image of my previous post and what a commenter said in that thread epitomise what I mean.

Published in: on April 27, 2019 at 8:02 pm  Comments (26)  

What is a youth

Yesterday I saw, after a long time, a film that, as girls, my sisters loved: Zeffirelli’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. Older people remember that it was a hit for the adolescents of other times.

Nowadays it would be unthinkable that a film of this kind would interest the directors or the degenerated youth who only listen to degenerate music.

When yesterday I saw the young man singing What Is A Youth (composed by Nino Rota, written by Eugene Walter and performed by Glen Weston) to an audience that included Italian beauties, I could not help but feel something deep about the world that I used to live in ideals, and that is now being betrayed in the most criminal way not only in Italy, but in the rest of the West.

Almost at the beginning of the film we see a dialogue between Juliet and her mother in which the mother begins to prepare her, at fourteen, for marriage. Later the visuals of the marriage, filmed in the interior of a Romanesque church, are also very moving and in a healthy culture should be a paradigm of love.

What is a youth?
Impetuous fire
What is a maid?
Ice and desire
The world wags on

A rose will bloom
It then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid

Comes a time when one sweet smile
Has its season for awhile
Then Love’s in love with me

Some may think only to marry
Others will tease and tarry
Mine is the very best parry
Cupid he rules us all

Caper the caper; sing me the song
Death will come soon to hush us along
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Love is a task and it never will pall
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Cupid he rules us all

(20 second flute interlude)

A rose will bloom, it then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid

If there is something that I liked in a Covington novel it is that, in the ethnostate of his story, the exhibition of films made after the 1960s is not allowed.

The beginnings

What distinguishes me most from the forums of white nationalists is my ability to hate. It reminds me a little what I said to Jez Turner in one of the podcasts, referring to the nationalists in general, ‘Where’s your fucking hate?’ Turner did not seem to tune in to my emotions and commented that one should not ‘do something silly’, presumably referring to something illegal. But now the decent and law-abiding gentleman is keeping Tommy Robinson company in jail…

I currently barely visit the sites of white nationalists. I would do it again if they were able to feel, at least, some of the hatred I feel. This, for example, is Rudyard Kipling’s poem about the wrath of the awakened Saxon:

Published in: on May 30, 2018 at 9:14 am  Comments (21)  

W. B. Yeats

“Puritanical anti-Europe has become exactly what it set out to become: New Zion,” wrote Sebastian Ronin a couple of years ago referring to the US. Regular visitors of this site know that from my point of view the etiology of white decline is, in order of importance: (1) materialism, (2) Christian ethics and (3) Jewish influence. These excerpts from Kerry Bolton’s essay on Yeats in his book Artists of the Right give the idea of the most harmful factor of all:


The rise of industrialism and capitalism during the 19th century brought with it social dislocation, the triumph of the commercial classes and interests, and the creation of an urban proletariat on the ruins of rural life. Smashed asunder were the traditional organic bonds of family and village, rootedness to the earth through generations of one’s offspring, and attunement to the cycles of nature.

With the ascendancy of materialism came the economic doctrines of Free Trade capitalism and Marxism and the new belief in rationalism and science over faith, the mysteries of the cosmos, and the traditional religions. The forces of money had defeated everything of the Spirit. As Spengler explained in his Decline of the West, Western Civilization had entered its end cycle. Such forces had been let loose as long ago as the English Revolution of Cromwell and again by the French Revolution.

There was, however, a reaction to this predicament. The old conservatives had not been up to the task. The spiritual and cultural reaction came from the artists, poets and writers who reach beyond the material and draw their inspiration from the well-springs of what C. G. Jung identified as the collective unconscious. This reaction included not only the political and the cultural but also a spiritual revival expressed in an interest in the metaphysical.

Among the artists in “revolt against the modern world” was the Irish poet William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), leader of the Irish literary renaissance and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923. Despite his English and Protestant background, Yeats was involved in the Young Ireland movement, much of his poetry celebrating the Irish rebellion and its heroes.

Yeats had been as a youngster introduced by his father John, himself a Pre-Raphaelite artist, to the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites, the romantic imagery of which stood then as a rebellion against the encroachments of modernism and industrialism. Having lived in England as a child twenty years before, Yeats was now struck by how much had radically changed under the impress of “progress.” The modern era had even impacted upon the aesthetic of Yeats’ own family, writing of how his father now made his living, and also alluding to the changes being wrought by modernism in art:

It was a perpetual bewilderment that my father, who had begun life as a Pre-Raphaelite painter, now painted portraits of the first comer, children selling newspapers, or a consumptive girl with a basket of fish upon her head, and that when, moved perhaps by memory of his youth, he chose some theme from poetic tradition, he would soon weary and leave it unfinished. I had seen the change coming bit by bit and its defence elaborated by young men fresh from the Paris art-schools. ‘We must paint what is in front of us,’ or ‘A man must be of his own time,’ they would say, and if I spoke of Blake or Rossetti they would point out his bad drawing and tell me to admire Carolus Duran and Bastien-Lepage. Then, too, they were very ignorant men; they read nothing, for nothing mattered but “Knowing how to paint,” being in reaction against a generation that seemed to have wasted its time upon so many things.

For Yeats the mystical was the basis of both his poetry and his political ideas. He was particularly interested in the Irish mystical tradition and folklore. He saw the peasantry and rural values as being necessary to revive against the onslaught of materialism.

Additionally, the “occult” provided a literally hidden culture that was above and beyond the crassness of democracy, of the herd, and of material existence, hence its being termed the “Royal Art,” where again, as in traditional societies over the course of millennia, a priestly caste, at the apex of a hierarchical society, served as the nexus between the terrestrial and the divine, serving as that axis around which High Culture revolves.

Yeats’ poetry was intended as an expression of these symbols of the unconscious and the archetypal. This resurgence of these age-long memories required a “revolt of soul against intellect now beginning in the world.” What is here called “intellect” was the advance of rationalism, scientism, and Enlightenment doctrines that had destroyed man’s nexus with the divine embodied in traditions and hierarchical social orders, and which has repressed man’s spiritual nature in favor of the crassly material.

Yeats, like D. H. Lawrence, Ezra Pound, et al., was particularly concerned that commercialism would mean the pushing down of cultural values in the pursuit of profit rather than artistic excellence. Hence, he called for a revival of aristocratic values. He lamented that, “the mere multitude is everywhere with its empty photographic eyes. A declaration of war on the masses by higher men is called for. Everywhere the mediocre are coming in order to make themselves master.”

His appeal was to the artist and to the individual of taste and culture for, as Nietzsche had pointed out, culture is the faculty that distinguishes the human from other organisms. In this spirit, Yeats applauded Nietzsche’s philosophy as “a counteractive to the spread of democratic vulgarity.”

Yeats’ keen sense of historical context is reflected in “The Curse of Cromwell.” Here he identifies the English Revolution as what we can see as the inauguration of the cycle of “Money over Blood,” in Spenglerian terms: the victory of the merchant class over the traditional order, which was to be re-reenacted in the French Revolution. The Bolshevik Revolution was of the same spirit of money against blood, of the materialistic against the spirit and culture.

All three revolutions were carried out in the name of “the people” against the traditional rulers, only to create a greater tyranny in the service of money. Spengler had written in The Decline of the West: “Practical communism with its ‘class war’… is nothing but the trusty henchman of big Capital, which knows perfectly well how to make use of it… in that their object is not to overcome money-values, but to possess them.”

Cromwell’s English revolution has had lasting consequences for the entire West. The cycle of Money over culture and tradition that Cromwell inaugurated has never been overcome. America was founded on the same Puritan money ethics and continues to spread that spirit over the farthest reaches of the world.

The specter of Puritanism has haunted the entire world ever since, “far and wide.” Nobility of character, regardless of “class”—itself a vulgarization of the traditional castes—was destroyed by the inauguration in the West of the reign of money by Cromwell, and one that was not overcome, but rather adopted by its supposed “enemy,” socialism, as Spengler was to point out. Yeats, as “The Curse of Cromwell” shows, has been one of the few to realize the full depth and lasting significance of Puritanism under whatever name it might appear.

No longer are there left those of noble tradition, those who served as part of a long heritage, “the tall men”; and the old gaiety of the peasant village, the squire’s hall and aristocrat’s manor have been beaten down.

All neighborly, content and easy talk are gone,
But here’s no good complaining, for money’s rant is on.

The artists, once patronized by the aristocracy, must now prostitute their art for the sake of money on the mass market, as script writers, and “public entertainers” to sell a product. All individuals are now producers and consumers, including the artist producing for a consumer market.

And we and all the Muses are things of no account.

Yeats considered himself heir to a tradition that has been repressed by democratic vulgarity, and he lived in service to that tradition, now virtually driven to the catacombs under the dead weight of “mass culture,” which is nothing more than consumerism posturing as “art,” “literature,” and “music” manufactured according to market demands. He and a few others of the same temperament lived in the service of High Culture as contemporary troubadours “against the modern world” to uplift the spirits of the remnant who have managed to maintain their nobility in the face of the crass.

One product of democracy and capitalism that Yeats feared was the proliferation of those he regarded as inferior people. Yeats advocated planned human up-breeding and joined the Eugenics Society at a time when eugenics was a widely held belief among the intelligentsia. Yeats had “On the Boiler” published the same year, where he endorsed the psychometric studies that were showing intelligence to be inherited, and expressed concern at the proliferation of the unintelligent.

The aristocracy of old, the noble lineage of blood, of familial descent, has been replaced by the new rich, the merchants, our new rulers are those who measure all things by profit. Like Spengler, Yeats saw hope in Fascist Italy: “The Ireland that reacts from the present disorder is turning its eyes towards individualist Italy.” In particular, he admired the educational reforms and cyclic historical doctrine of Italian Fascist philosopher and Minister of Education, Giovanni Gentile, stating in 1925 before the Irish Senate, of which he was a member, that Irish teachers should study the methods that Gentile had enacted in Italian schools, “so to correlate all subjects of study.”

The following year Senator Yeats stated that the Italian educational system was “adapted to an agricultural nation” which was applicable also to Ireland, “a system of education that will not turn out clerks only, but will turn out efficient men and women, who can manage to do all the work of the nation.”

With the assumption to Government of De Valera in 1932, the following year Yeats was seeking to formulate a doctrine for Ireland that would be a form of “Fascism modified by religion.” History consisted broadly of “the rule of the many followed by the rule of the few,” again reminiscent of Spengler’s idea of a “new Caesarism” that follows on the rule of plutocracy at the end cycle of a civilization.

For Yeats, the rule of the few meant a return to some form of aristocracy.

Hark, grey Galilean

The Wolf Age is coming,
The great fimbul winter,
When all sick things perish.

—Peter H. Peel

Published in: on August 12, 2015 at 2:15 pm  Comments (1)  

On Spain and literature – IV

retrato de soledad anaya
Apropos of what I said in my previous post about blaming the Iberians’ lust of gold for their inter-breeding in the Americas, let me quote a translation of some lines of one of the poems of Francisco de Quevedo (1580-1645), “Poderoso caballero es don dinero,” that I reread recently in the book of my teacher Soledad Anaya (pic).

When Quevedo writes, “in the Indies did they nurse him” he means of course that gold is found in the newly-conquered West Indies, the lands of New Spain (now Mexico); and when he says “in Genoa did they hearse him” he means that the gold is buried as jewelry with the corpses of the wealthy merchants of the Italian city Genoa.

Mother, unto gold I yield me,
He and I are ardent lovers;
Pure affection now discovers
How his sunny rays shall shield me!
For a trifle more or less
All his power will confess,
Powerful knight is don money.

In the Indies did they nurse him,
While the world stood round admiring;
And in Spain was his expiring;
And in Genoa did they hearse him;
And the ugliest at his side
Shines with all of beauty’s pride;
Powerful knight is don money.

Noble are his proud ancestors
For his blood-veins are patrician;
Royalties make the position
Of his Orient investors;
So they find themselves preferred
To the duke or country herd,
Powerful knight is don money.

Never meets he dames ungracious
To his smiles or his attention,
How they glow but at the mention
Of his promises capacious!
And how bare-faced they become
To the coin beneath his thumb
Powerful knight is don money.

I’m not sure if the translation of “…to the duke or country herd” conveys accurately the meaning. In the original Spanish it says that the yellow metal “hace iguales al duque y al ganadero,” makes the duke and country herd equals.

You can imagine how the young and ambitious commoners in those times (like Cortés) looked for chances of upward mobility in the “West Indies.”

See Dr. William Pierce’s take on this very subject: here.

Published in: on December 17, 2013 at 6:30 pm  Comments (4)  

On Spain and literature – III

retrato de soledad anaya

The reason I almost never include poetry in this blog is simple. Very, very rarely a poem reaches the innermost of my soul. The first poem that reached me was one by Luis de Góngora, which I read in the textbook of Miss Anaya (photo) in my middle teens.

Góngora was a Baroque poet of the golden age of Spain. He, and his contemporary Francisco de Quevedo (about whom I have to quote something in the future), are considered the most prominent Spanish poets of all time. Góngora flourished by the end of the 16th and the beginning of the 17th centuries, when the Spanish language reached its maximum degree of perfection. Anaya, my former school teacher, tells us in Literatura Española that later in his life Góngora became a priest and lived in a chaplaincy of honor in Madrid in the palace of King Philip III.

Góngora composed his Sonnet LCXVI when he was twenty-one years old:

Mientras por competir con tu cabello
Oro bruñido el sol relumbra en vano,
Mientras con menosprecio en medio el llano
Mira tu blanca frente al lilio bello;

Mientras a cada labio, por cogello,
Siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano,
Y mientras triunfa con desdén lozano
Del luciente cristal tu gentil cuello,

Goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente,
Antes que lo que fue en tu edad dorada
Oro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente,

No sólo en plata o vïola troncada
Se vuelva, más tú y ello juntamente
En tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.


Following is Edward Churton’s translation. Góngora’s urgent appeal to a young blonde nymph to enjoy her youth before time destroys her made a huge impression in the lad I was:

While to contend in brightness with thy hair
Sunlight on burnished gold may strive in vain,
While thy proud forehead’s whiteness may disdain
The lilies of the field, which bloom less fair,
While each red lip at once more eyes will snare
Than the perfumed carnation bud new born,
And while thy graceful neck with queenly scorn
Outshines bright crystal on the morning air:

Enjoy thy hour, neck, ringlets, lips, and brow;
Before the glories of this age of gold:
Earth’s precious ore, sweet flowers, and crystal bright
Turn pale and dim; and Time with fingers cold
Rifle the bud and bloom; and they, and thou
Become but ash, smoke, shadow, dust and night.

Published in: on December 1, 2013 at 10:28 pm  Comments (1)  

Parable of the talents

In my previous post on exterminable non-whites and White sin I evoked the New Testament’s Parable of the talents in a way that might need further explanation. And what better explanation than quoting John Milton, who was fascinated by the parable (Matthew 25:24-30) and referred to it repeatedly, as in the sonnet “On His Blindness”:

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent, which is death to hide,
Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he, returning, chide

As online encyclopedias point out, this interpretation seems to be the origin of the word “talent” used for an aptitude or skill.

Published in: on October 24, 2013 at 12:00 pm  Comments Off on Parable of the talents  

Semites and Vikings: no love lost

The following is the last part of Chapter 21 of
William Pierce’ book Who We Are:

One would expect to find a spiritual difference between a race bred a hundred generations in the marketplace, where survival depended primarily on a glib tongue and an eye for a bargain, and a race shaped by the killing winters of the North, accustomed to combat and hardship. This difference—the difference between the Jewish spirit and the White spirit—is manifested in the world around us in a thousand ways.

Perhaps nowhere has the contrast between the natural, healthy, adventurous spirit of our race and the spirit of the Jew been more sharply drawn, however, than in a couple of recent issues of the student newspaper published on the Los Angeles campus of California State College. In the first issue was printed a poem by Dr. Peter Peel, who teaches history there. The second issue contained a response to the poem from a Jew at the same college.

Here is the poem, which was titled “Goetterdaemmerung”:

When Spring lightly touches
With hand green and golden
The mountains and fjords,
Then shouts the sea rover,
“A-viking! A-viking!”

The hammers are busy
On weapon and harness.
Then flashes the broad blade
In every sea hamlet.
The dragon ships, thirsty
For bounding blue water,
Leap down to the seashore.

And Olaf of Norway
And Erik of Gotland
And Thorwald the Mighty,
Whose grandsire was Wotan,
Stand fast on the poop deck
With golden hair streaming,
With spear brightly glinting,
With eye fierce and blazing,
Sail out on the swan’s bath —
The grey widow-maker —
For England or Iceland,
Byzantium, Vinland,
Far land or ancient
And ripe for the plunder,
The burning of roof-trees,
The seizing of women,
The tooting of treasure,
The flowing of red blood,
And wine for the victors.

Ah, whence fled those great days,
The days of our fathers,
The days of the valiant,
Of gods and of heroes,
Or fair maids and foul dwarfs,
And lindworms and dragons,
Of Beowulf, Dietrich,
Strong Harald, grim Hagen,
Wolfhart and Siegfried,
The greathearts, the mighty?

Yea loathsome today is
The seed of their strong loins —
The petty, the small, the clod and
the crawler.

The music has gone from the souls of our people.
The thunder has vanished away with Valhalla.
Now meekness and weakness
And womanly virtues
Have shackled, degraded
And shamefully softened
The sons of our fathers,
The sons of the mighty.

And now have we traded
The lightning of storm gods,
The arms of Valkyries,
The halls of Valhalla,
The kiss of wish maidens,
For wings and a nightshirt,
A harp and a halo,
A psalmbook and psalter?
Oh, no, my Lord Bishop!

Hark, grey Galilean,
The Wolf Age is coming,
The great fimbul winter,
When all sick things perish.

A few days after this poem appeared, the following letter headed “Bloodthirsty Sickness,” showed up on the editorial page of the student newspaper:

Editor: The poem about the Vikings in the Nov. 25 issue by Peter H. Peel had real soul and beauty—the soul and the beauty of the bloodthirsty. Let it speak for itself:

With golden hair streaming,
With spear brightly glinting,
With eye fierce and blazing…
And ripe for the plunder,
The burning of roof-trees,
The seizing of women,
The looting of treasure,
The flowing of red blood,
And wine for the victors.

Murder! rape! loot, plunder blood and wine—the wanton destruction of the productive by bloodthirsty savages.

And what do these vicious predator-warriors denounce?

Now meekness and weakness
And womanly virtues
Have shackled, degraded
And shamefully softened
The sons of our fathers,
The sons of the mighty.

Yes, how could one be more degraded in the eyes of these savages than to become like those inferior creatures called women.

Beware you women, blacks, Latins and other lesser creatures. The Blonde Beast “With golden hair streaming” and warm, red blood dripping from his mighty sword shall rise again. Beware you weak and sick of all races for “The Wolf Age is coming… When all sick things perish.”

Meanwhile, I wait for the day when this bloodthirsty sickness of the Blonde Beast shall perish forever from the face of the earth.

—R.A. Klein

It is the poet who creates nations, not the scientist

The following articles, “The Sword” and “The Edge of the Sword,” published originally at The Occidental Quarterly, are the second and third essays in Michael O’Meara’s book Toward the White Republic, available from Counter-Currents Publishing here.

The Sword

My article “Toward the White Republic,” which recently won the TOQ essay contest (though under shady circumstances according to one critic), has been the subject of several internet discussions, most of which, typical of the medium, have produced more heat than light.

Nevertheless, around the margins of this discussion and in a few genuine flashes of insight buried under the rubble of meandering commentary, certain signs suggest that white racial consciousness in the English-speaking world may be in the process, however slowly, of changing, as white nationalists challenge the hegemony of the race realists.

I say this, of course, based on my particular understanding of white nationalism—which is mine alone—and not that of any group, least of all that of a conservative outfit like The Occidental Quarterly.

My sense of this changing consciousness is perhaps exaggerated by the fact that the prospects of white nationalism at last finding its way into the political arena seems a bit brighter now that the black Jesus is losing his magic touch, that the still too comfortable white middle class is already up in arms over his proposed Big Brother state (which they will have to pay for), and that the impending economic tsunami is about to sweep away the materialist illusions that have misguided whites for the last half century or so.

A great cleansing could be coming—probably won’t, but could.

Influenced by Heidegger and Evola, I’ve long believed that the “malaise” afflicting the white man is profound, traceable in part to the advent of modernity, which introduced certain civilizational and ontological principles inimical to European life.

This malaise has taken a toll no less on the racially conscious community, which upholds not a few of the same principles that are today responsible for the impending demise of white America: especially principles associated with the disembedded individualism of Adam Smith, the scientism of capitalism’s technoeconomic order, and the nihilism that seeks to disenfranchise religion, morality, and the significance of culture.

Part of this is due, I suspect, to the fact that the “racially conscious community” has long been dominated by the idealism of “race realists” or what, before 1945, was called “scientific racism,” a school associated with Madison Grant and Lothrop Stoddard, along with such scientists as Charles Davenport.

The tasks of “scientific racism” were considerably different than the tasks we now face. The largely scientific orientation of realists upholding their truths was appropriate to a society which still had a color-line and kept Negroes out of the public sphere. Against reformers, Jews, and do-gooders who sought to integrate alien races, race realists simply needed to demonstrate the terrible social and genetic costs of racial integration.

This not the case today, where the issue is a matter of asserting ourselves as a free people, rather than defending an already established status quo.

Though the principles of scientific racism are now clearly beyond the pale of respectability, science itself nevertheless remains the conceptual bedrock upon which modern liberal society rests.

Ideologically, liberalism emerged in the eighteenth century, as proponents of scientific rationalism endeavored to apply their principles to society and state. All traditions, beliefs, customs, and affiliations—that is, all the qualitative facets of life that are the source of meaning—were thus forced to give way to the quantitative, materialist, abstract, and inherently alienating imperatives of a scientific instrumentalism that sought to impose its bloodless order on the white world for the sake of homo oecomicus.

This emphasis on the materialist and quantitative has resulted in the comforts of our consumer society, as well as the less than comforting realities of its consummate meaninglessness. We may, as a consequence, be materially richer—yet spiritually, and in other ways, we’ve become the most desperate of the poor. A truly enriching life, as tradition holds, depends less on the means of existence than on its meaning.

It is only when the world is no longer experienced as a sacred whole and knowledge is fragmented into narrow scientific disciplines that man becomes a social atom regulated by purely rationalist principles detached from superior ideals and subjected to subpersonal, collectivist, and naturalist criteria, whose inevitable culmination is the present decadence.

To think, then, that a popularization of Salter’s Ethnic Genetic Interests, a revival of Darwinian biology (with its propensity to see organic life in terms of self-regulating market principles), or the privileging of a (philosophically naive) analytic-empiricism has any role to play in saving us from the menacing forces arrayed against white life—well, to be kind, it’s too absurd to refute.

Science simply does not understand human being, just as its truths cannot defend us from the forces favoring our extinction.

Heidegger says “science does not think”—it only enunciates the facts, which it has no means to interpret or evaluate—because that would mean appealing to normative, hence unscientific standards. Understanding is the work of culture—the work of accumulated legacies that imagine, populate, and make meaningful man’s world.

Science, as such, can’t tell us why a handful of men, armed only with a will and a goal, would think they could defeat the greatest empire in history or why my favorite aunt is the one who defends her country’s honor with a German accent.

As much as we nationalists respect the authority of science, we consider it secondary, say, to the extraordinary authority of Homer, who gave birth (in his myth-making) to the Greeks and the Greeks to all the rests of us.

What’s important, here, is to realize that the truths of the Iliad, or those of Mendelian genetics, are born of the imagination, not of some natural illumination, and that their significance pertains not to “the thing itself,” but to what lies in us, as a people rooted in time and being, with a destiny distinct to who we are.

One historian of the ancient Greeks, Paul Veyne, argues that: Men do not find the truth, they create it, as they create their history.

Thus it was that whenever the Greeks criticized the fictitious stories that had grown up around their myths, it was not to reject myth, but to uncover the deeper, more truthful basis—the authentic tradition—which they took as the ideal representation of who they were. For myth—this “constitutive imagination of their tribe”—is what gave them a meaning, a vocation, and a destiny—which is something quite simply beyond science’s capacity.

This is not to say that science is the opposite of poetic myth, in the way truth is the opposite of error, but simply that it is a different and by no means superior way, to know the world—at least the physical world in its quantitative and materialist expressions.

It is imagination, not the analytical formulations of science, that gives us access to the real in the world.

The notion that truth can be presented stripped of myth is itself a myth. Nietzsche argues that there are no facts, only interpretations. This doesn’t mean that the real doesn’t exist, only that it’s impossible to apprehend without some interpretative faculty, analytic or artistic, that rests on mythic foundations.

Myth, not coincidentally, undergirds the foundation of our culture. It operates still in the highest reaches of scientific speculation. It speaks to us as a collective solidarity, not an individual conscience; it expresses a determination to act; it is beyond dispute; it cannot be defeated; it speaks the language to which all human beings are most responsive; it transmits the defining experiences of authority and ultimacy, the source of sacredness.

For myth, the world is not a product of rational calculation, but rather a primordial legacy imbued with the weight of tradition, spirit, and blood.

It is the poet, relatedly, who creates nations, not the scientist. (Creativity, need it be added, is hardly born of analytical reason—if such a disembodied thing ever existed. The great scientific breakthroughs [as Kuhn with his “paradigms,” Bachelard with his “epistomological ruptures,” and Foucault with his “epistemes” explain] are rarely the product of a scientific reason applied to neutral source materials or facts, but rather come from something else entirely—something more akin to the creative side of the artist’s sensibility.)

Novalis said that “poetry is the base of society”—for without poetry, there is no myth, and without myth, there is no culture—and hence no means of creating a people.

When white nationalists appeal to a mobilizing myth, it’s not because they dismiss discursive reason or the authority of evidence and experience. Rather, they simply assume it to be the more elemental and galvanizing form of our understanding.

As Sorel, Le Bon, Pareto, Weber, Mosca, and others have shown, the success of an idea depends less on its logical virtues and demonstrative capacities than on its mythic representation of certain collective impulses.

If man were a machine, rationality alone would suffice. But man’s “rationality” is rooted in the irrationality of his collective consciousness, in the mythic postulates of his culture, in the norms and values of his communal existence, and in the strange, occasional stirrings of his blood.

White nationalists pay homage to race realists less for validating the significance of racial differences and highlighting the dangers of miscegenation (whose obviousness needs no scientific elaboration), but for their often gallant effort to keep America white.

Today, however, in this miscegenating age indifferent to the scientific implications of race differences, our task is not to defend a no longer existing racial hierarchy, but to save what remains of white America. The white nationalist struggle, as such, is about freeing whites from the anti-racist order threatening them—not about carrying out the sort of educational campaigns that occupied the scientific racists.

Race realism, moreover, is only a part of what defines white nationalism—no matter how primordial blood may be. The racial truths of the biological sciences are indeed meaningful only in the context of our people’s life. For they, not the material world of science, are what makes these truths significant.

In favoring an independent white homeland and assuming, rather than privileging, the postulates of race realism, white nationalists hold that the world is not a marketplace of ideas and that the best ideas rarely get the best market price. No matter how primordial blood may be, the white nationalist struggle is more about the soul and spirit that blood brings forth.

More crucially, white nationalists are not so naive as to believe that their America will be saved by facts or scientific demonstrations. Rather, they believe that only by acting as other oppressed and threatened nations have had to act to insure their survival will their America survive: That is, only by struggling to become a sovereign nation, free of the forces opposing them as a people, will their kind have a future (aspiring to do this, of course, in strict adherence to the legal provisions of the US Constitution).

White nationalists, as a consequence, assume that the defense and rebirth of white life in North America will have little to do with science or truth or justice or any other grand abstraction (so fond to the language of liberalism), but only with the struggle for power—a struggle old as the ages—one which, even in our dumbed-down information society, is not about issues related to science—but about the politics of imposing our cosmos (order) on the prevailing (and encroaching) chaos—above all, a political struggle in the Schmittian sense of determining who our real enemy is and of knowing that the ultimate goal is not about abstract truths, but about white survival.

La politique, Napoleon said, c’est le destin.

The political in this sense opposes scientific rationality, whose calculating and determining materialism drags man down to his animal side, and instead favors all that lifts man above and beyond himself, as a destining being.

Every distinct people is indeed a destiny forged by common values expressed in certain basic myths. Without those myths, there are no collective values and without collective values there are no common destiny—and no people.

This makes the struggle for nationhood a matter of political, cultural, and social struggle, not science.

The change I see affecting the racially conscious community is related to what may be an emerging understanding of the need now, if we are serious about guaranteeing a future for white children, to go beyond race realism and to start thinking like a nationalist vanguard, which sees itself as the kernel of a future White Nation—born from the desperation of the decayed and increasingly tyrannical system of the powers that be.

The historical course offered by myth, in contrast to the inherently passive determinism of scientific rationalism, is a choice for heroes, not bookworms or computer hobbyists, for it opens the future to those tiny grains of sand that inevitably bring the great machines to a grinding halt.

In the struggle we’ll need to wage if we are to survive, myth is not simply a more appropriate and powerful way to understand what needs to be done. It taps those primal forces that will empower us to reject the devitalizing forces of liberal modernity and to assert ourselves in a re-enchanted world with a destining project distinct to who we are, as New World Europeans refusing to accept our programmed extinction.

If there are odd individuals here or there who can or do respond solely on the basis of self-interest alone, that’s fine—but they are more likely to end up in the race realist rather than the white nationalist camp.

One final point: Besides promising to free us and ensure our continuity, the mythic imperatives of white nationalism offers us another chance to expiate our “sins”—to do the penance that will make us better men, more like our great grandfathers, as Harold Covington says—degenerate and characterless types that we have since become. For it’s not just that whites have been hoodwinked and manipulated by their new masters, as many would like to believe. From an Aryan perspective, they have all too readily abandoned almost everything that once made them such a world-forming race.

To undo all that has alienated us from our innermost spirit (and that’s a great deal), we no longer need to keep harping on the teachings of race science, which whites have been conditioned to resist. Instead, our task today is to recover the values and traditions that made our ancestors strong.

To do this we need, in imitation of those who have gone before and in anticipation of those who will follow, to struggle, sword in hand, to be what our myths have destined us to be.

The sword is white nationalism.

The Edge of the Sword

Author’s Note: Myth and science are tangential to the real issue facing us, which is about politics and preservation. The following is an effort to sharpen (or maybe just to repeat) certain ideas presented in “The Sword.”


The starting point for all discussions of white preservation must begin with the realization that we have entered an Interregnum, a period of unprecedented danger during which we are destined to experience a great transformation. The most conspicuous sign of this came in November 2008, with the advent of the blackest night, symbol not of sleep but of death.

The question that now faces us is: Will it be our death as a people or the death in us of all those things that have led to this most desperate stage of our history?


The historical antecedents of white nationalism are many: Kearney’s Workingmen’s Party, the First and Second Klans, various state’s rights and segregationist movements of the 1940s and ’50s, perhaps George Wallace’s American Independent Party, as well as a horde of smaller, more sectarian organizations.

For the past generation, however, the racialist movement defending our way of life has ceased to be political and become largely a race-realist affair—which was to be expected, given that the race realists presently dominating white discourse are the heirs of the prewar “scientific racists,” who saw their task in essentially educational terms.


Scientific racists in the early twentieth century indeed played an important intellectual role in defending the existing system of racial relations.

But that role bears no relationship to the one facing white Americans in this period, however much race realism remains a crucial part of the white-nationalist arsenal.

Then, when scientific racists commanded the center stage of public opinion, America was still a white man’s country, it had a well delineated color line, an established racial hierarchy (which most whites unconsciously accepted), and twice it succeeded in imposing immigration restrictions on a reluctant government (against Asians in the early 1880s and against non-Nordics between 1921 and ’24).

In this context, scientific racists—who came mainly from the upper classes and were often academics or intellectuals—merely needed to popularize their findings to defend the pro-white status quo.

Today, their race realist successors have continued in this tradition, trying to re-educate whites in the knowledge of what their great grandparents once knew.

This knowledge, moreover, is mainly of a scientific kind and aimed primarily at informing elites and influencing public policy—typical Enlightenment forms of metapolitics. Not coincidentally, such metapolitics accepts the liberal supposition that man’s world revolves around the objectively-defined self-interest of rational individuals, whose identities are rooted in materialist considerations rather than in the infinitely less quantifiable ones of history, culture, and kin.


As Rome burns, the question inevitably arises of how reasonable it is to continue writing cookbooks amidst the flames devouring us. This, though, is what race realists will end up doing if our racially conscious community does not soon break with its naive scientism and assume the shape of a political-metapolitical front to represent the higher collective interests of European America.


Since state policy has turned against white Americans and come to pose a direct threat to their continuity, our tasks today is a matter of ensuring our collective survival as a people, which means it is a matter of forming organizations and movements to struggle on our behalf.


To this end, white nationalists will need to break with the exclusively academic/scientific orientation of race realists and start building a nationalist vanguard to lead their people. The question is: How?

This is the question that needs to be addressed and addressed not as an epistemological issue (i.e., as an issue of knowledge), but politically, culturally, socially, and in other ways that intersect our experiences in the world.


Science (which too is infused with myth and ideology) is for academic debate, myth and ideology are for popular social movements. There is, though, no hard and fast division between them. Those seeking to make the epistemological difference between them primary seem not fully conscious of the great historical tasks facing white men in the twenty-first century, just as their dismissal of popular political mobilizations as a “misty and idealistic totemism” seems to reflect the typical liberal propensity to avoid engagements that might involve them in real world activity.

Context here is all important. If I need a cancerous growth removed from my body, I’m not going to have a student of myth do it, just as if I want to learn about José Antonio Primo de Rivera, I would prefer to ask a Spanish historian rather than a geneticist.

Similarly, if I want to build a nationalist movement, I know it’s going to take something more than the virtues of Frank Salter to convince whites to abandon their individualistic and materialistic lives (which, incidentally, are usually led under the sign of self-interest)—it will take something bigger and grander that touches them at the core of their being.

That something can only be found in myth, culture, history, and blood—in all those things that transcend the individual, that link him to a higher destiny, and that refuse the safe, sanitized detachment of modernity’s privatized realm.


Myth is not “mystification,” even if our naive empiricists assume it to be; it is simply another way (and at times a more powerful way) of apprehending and communicating a truth.

In one situation it is obviously appropriate, in another situation science is.

A mythic figure like Jeanne d’Arc touches a Frenchman more profoundly than the vast intellectual heritage of Cartesianism because St. Joan evokes a hundred defining emotions lodged in a Frenchman’s heart, doing so in ways that the elegant, yet bloodless postulates of Descartes’ scientific rationalism cannot.

The Cartesians’ powerful heritage is not, as a consequence, unimportant to France; it simply has little role to play in defending the nation from those who seek its destruction. Relatedly, in the numerous assertions of France’s nationalist movement, St. Joan is omnipresent because of all she represents, while Descartes rarely has anything to add, except perhaps in keeping debates at the conceptual level orderly and logical.

If you want, then, to engage in discussions about race and racial differences, you bring in the geneticists and Darwinists. But if you want to build a nationalist movement to ensure the continuity of white America, you appeal to Andrew Jackson and Thomas Jefferson, to the Battle of the Alamo and Kearney’s Workingmen, to the Stars and Bars and the sustaining voices of those quintessential representatives of America’s white culture, the Carter family.

Those who think that IQ, JQ, EGI, GSS, HBD, etc., are somehow more important in mobilizing a people than appeals to their spirit or destiny do not seem to know, “empiricists” that they claim to be, anything of history, especially the history of the nationalist and labor movements that shaped much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

A preference for scientific demonstration rather than political mobilization is, moreover, the strategy of middle-class intellectuals, whose world is defined by the classroom, the computer monitor, and tedious faculty meetings. Political appeals to a people’s cultural and mythic paradigms, on the other hand, are the meat and drink of militants who associate with workers and soldiers, organize local cells and demonstrations, and, when the time comes, raise barricades in the street—to defend their neighborhood from marauders, or perhaps to do what used to be done, in front of Paris’ Hôtel de Ville.


The world is not a debating society.

It’s hardly coincidental that Carl Schmitt characterized the liberal, whose ideology distorts his perception of the real, as someone who thinks debate alone in politics suffices.

The politics of the friend/enemy dichotomy is accordingly irrelevant to the liberal, who prefers to reason with the enemy, as he tries to buy him off.

Life/Death, Friend/Enemy: This primordial polarization poses the great political question—the question that brings us to the point where we are compelled to ask ourselves: How are we going to defeat the enemy who threatens our existence?

Contrary to the contention of certain cyber pundits, this is not a matter of deciding who is more intelligent or who commits the most crimes. My commitment to the white nation wouldn’t change even if we were the least intelligent of the races or the most criminally prone.

To defeat the enemy is, rather, a question of deciding what political options are available to us: Will it be a Great Trek to a new homeland; will it be a matter of reviving the heritage of the Borderland Celts, who settled the Indian-occupied frontier and defended the Alamo with rifle in hand; will it involve parliamentary or extraparliamentary actions that mobilize our people; or will it simply be a waiting game, to see how well we can prepare ourselves for the coming crash, when the wolves will be allowed into the very bosom of the city.

Who knows what course awaits us?

The one thing, though, that I hope we can all agree on at this point is the importance of making ourselves ready—by being as independent as possible, by keeping in good physical and mental shape, by ensuring that we are well-located, by knowing who we are and what we stand for—but above all by doing something, anything, in the real world to prefigure what will become the White Nation.

Very little of this, I’m afraid, will have anything to do with marshaling evidence from biological texts—that’s a diversion better left to the liberal modernity whose racial horrors we seek to escape.

Published in: on November 25, 2011 at 10:44 pm  Comments Off on It is the poet who creates nations, not the scientist