True Religion

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…but the spirit survives

In the face of an increasingly authoritarian technocracy rooted in liberal internationalism, there is much talk today about nationalism as an alternative. However, this discourse mistakes nationalism for an end in itself, and lacks a sense of philosophical first principles. What does nationalism seek to recreate? What is really meant by “social justice” as the term is used today? What core principles separate left from right?

Because leftist thinking is rooted in a sense that nature can be improved upon, the man of the left considers himself an optimist. But receptivity to the sublime requires acceptance of the timelessness of all that is dreadful. This, and not saccharine devotion, is the essence of faith. The following excerpt shows how such faith can transcend the boundaries of the provincial and the particular without attempting to efface them, and demonstrates the principle expressed in Ephesians 6:12 that every physical struggle is essentially metaphysical.

“From the time when the Czarist government erected the central prison of Vilna called Lukishki, its sturdy walls have been dumb witnesses of many revolutions, of the fall of regimes and the rise of others, of changes of ‘population’ in its gloomy cells, and changes of guards in its long corridors. Each revolution had its guards; every war had its prisoners; and every batch of prisoners had its inscriptions. Half a dozen languages were engraved on the thick walls, reminders of the revolutionary war against the Czarist regime; of the strivings for national liberation of the Poles and Lithuanians; of the war of the Communists against the Polish and Lithuanian regimes; of the persecution of the Lithuanians by the Poles, and the Poles by the Lithuanians; of the imprisonment of Poles and Lithuanians alike by the Soviet regime. I gave the Hebrew language, too, a place of honor on the concrete walls of Lukishki….

“My first cell-mate [had] owned a little farm and was an officer in the Polish reserve; he was accused of belonging to a secret organization but he did not have to ‘go underground’ in order to find himself behind bars, one fine day, under the Soviet regime. The man was a kulak, which meant that he was condemned to liquidation as such. To this ‘original sin’ my companion added another crime: twenty years before his arrest he had fought in the ranks of the Polish army against the Bolsheviks….

“The NKVD did us a good turn and put into our cell a third prisoner. He was a corporal in the Polish army, a tailor by trade, a young man, uneducated but intelligent. We were drawn together mainly because I began to give him lessons in a number of subjects, principally the history of his people and of other nations….

“One day [our] solidarity was broken. That day we had a discussion about the war and the international situation…. My neighbors spoke of the impending clash between the ‘Swabians’ and the ‘Muscovites’ with satisfaction that they did not even try to conceal. For their hopes there were not only national reasons—they had, with their own eyes, witnessed the partition of their country by the ‘neighbors’—but also personal reasons. My neighbor, the officer, said: ’Whatever the future holds in store for us, there is no doubt that if war breaks out between Germany and Russia we’ll get out of this stinking cage.’ And the corporal added: ‘I think the Swabians will beat the Muscovites, and if the Germans come here we have a chance of being set free. And you, Mr. Begin, don’t you worry. We’ll stand by you and help you.’

“My reply burst, as it were, from my very heart: ‘Gentlemen, I can’t share your delight. I also think that a trial of strength between Russia and Germany is inevitable. But I am very much afraid. I can’t forget the fact that in the event of a Russo-German war, more millions of Jews are likely to fall into the hands of Hitler. And what will become of them?… Yes, I also want to get out, but I would rather remain in Lukishki if that will prevent Jews from falling into the hands of the Gestapo…. I am not praying for a war between Germany and Russia.

“The reply of my neighbor, the officer, was like an explosion of wrath. ‘What you have just said, sir, is most characteristic. With you people, everything is decided according to one criterion: what is good for the Jews. Actually, I was told long ago that there is a solidarity among all Jews, but you have given me confirmation that you people guard your solidarity under all circumstances.

“My pupil, the corporal, was equally angry. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the Jews always stick together. Don’t try to deny it, Mr. Begin. Why, you yourself have just said that it is better that we should all rot in this stench, if only no harm will befall your people.’

“What was there for me to reply to their contentions? They both spoke of Jewish solidarity as if it were a crime, as if they were talking about a conspiracy, something evil. For heaven’s sake!—I though to myself—what have the Jews not done to prove that they do not stick together? The divisions among the Jews, the multiplicity of their parties and their trends, are proverbial! ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘what you call Jewish solidarity—I wish it really existed.’

“One day a change occurred in my pupil, the corporal. When we first met he declared that he was not religious, that he was even an atheist. He used to tell many stories about priests who did not observe the various laws of abstinence. His blatant unbelief used to annoy our cell-mate, the officer, very much. He was a devout Catholic and prayed a great deal…. But one morning we were amazed to see the corporal isolate himself in a corner, cross himself, and sink to his knees in silent prayer. When he had finished praying, he turned to us and said with a certain shy hesitancy: ‘I shall pray every day. I have begun to believe again.’ The officer, who had just been through one of his attacks of obsession for order, forgot his anger and the boycott and shook the two of us by the hand most warmly….

“In the atmosphere that prevailed in our cell with the religious resurrection of the corporal, I naturally found my cell-mates understanding when I informed them, one day, that I would do without my supper and my food for the whole next day…. We had been in jail for quite awhile already, and the menu of the NKVD was beginning to have its effect on us. We were no longer hungry. We were starving. In such conditions man is liable to give substance to the frightening words: ‘Man hath no preeminence over beast’ (Ecclesiastes 3:19). My giving up the portion of soup in the evening, the coffee in the morning, and more soup at midday, under circumstances like these, would certainly have prompted cellmates that had no faith to ask me if I had gone out of my mind. But my two neighbors, who found consolation in their faith, did not scoff, and it was only with the greatest of difficulty that I succeeded in persuading them to share between them the food which I renounced on the Day of Atonement.”

From White Nights: The Story of a Prisoner in Russia (1957) by Menachem Begin (1913-1992)


Say Merry Christmas to the Bad Guy

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Behold the Good and the Just. Whom do they hate the most?

Apropos of the Israel Air Force’s Christmas raid on Damascus and the predictable moral outrage that resulted on social media, the following is an excerpt from In the Land of Israel by Amos Oz (1983), in which the acclaimed Israeli novelist interviews an anonymous, high-ranking Israeli military official, widely believed (though never confirmed) to be Ariel Sharon. The florid, Joker-esque tone is so strikingly Nietzschean that I had to quote it at length. I’ll highlight a few points of disagreement below.

“You can call me anything you like. Call me a monster or a murderer. Just note that I don’t hate Arabs. On the contrary. Personally, I am much more at ease with them, and especially with the Bedouin, than with Jews. Those Arabs we haven’t yet spoilt are proud people, they are irrational, cruel and generous. It’s the Yids that are all twisted. In order to straighten them out you have to first bend them sharply the other way. That, in brief, is my whole ideology.

“Call Israel by any name you like, call it a Judeo-Nazi state as does Leibowitz. Why not? Better a live Judeo-Nazi than a dead saint. I don’t care whether I am like Ghadafi. I am not after the admiration of the gentiles. I don’t need their love. I don’t need to be loved by Jews like you either. I have to live, and I intend to ensure that my children will live as well. With or without the blessing of the Pope and the other religious leaders from the New York Times. I will destroy anyone who will raise a hand against my children, I will destroy him and his children, with or without our famous purity of arms. I don’t care if he is Christian, Muslim, Jewish or pagan. History teaches us that he who won’t kill will be killed by others. That is an iron law.

“Even if you’ll prove to me by mathematical means that the present war in Lebanon is a dirty immoral war, I don’t care. Moreover, even if you will prove to me that we have not achieved and will not achieve any of our aims in Lebanon, that we will neither create a friendly regime in Lebanon nor destroy the Syrians or even the PLO, even then I don’t care. It was still worth it. Even if Galilee is shelled again by Katyushas in a year’s time, I don’t really care. We shall start another war, kill and destroy more and more, until they will have had enough. And do you know why it is all worth it? Because it seems that this war has made us more unpopular among the so-called civilized world.

“We’ll hear no more of that nonsense about the unique Jewish morality, the moral lessons of the holocaust or about the Jews who were supposed to have emerged from the gas chambers pure and virtuous. No more of that. The destruction of Ayn Hilwe (and it’s a pity we did not wipe out that hornet’s nest completely!), the healthy bombardment of Beirut and that tiny massacre (can you call 500 Arabs a massacre?) in their camps which we should have committed with our own delicate hands rather than let the Phalangists do it, all these good deeds finally killed the bullshit talk about a unique people and of being a light upon the nations. No more uniqueness and no more sweetness and light. Good riddance.

“I personally don’t want to be any better than Khomeini or Brezhnev or Ghadafi or Assad or Mrs. Thatcher, or even Harry Truman who killed half a million Japanese with two fine bombs. I only want to be smarter than they are, quicker and more efficient, not better or more beautiful than they are. Tell me, do the baddies of this world have a bad time? If anyone tries to touch them, the evil men cut his hands and legs off. They hunt and catch whatever they feel like eating. They don’t suffer from indigestion and are not punished by Heaven. I want Israel to join that club. Maybe the world will then at last begin to fear me instead of feeling sorry for me. Maybe they will start to tremble, to fear my madness instead of admiring my nobility. Thank God for that. Let them tremble, let them call us a mad state. Let them understand that we are a wild country, dangerous to our surroundings, not normal, that we might go crazy if one of our children is murdered – just one! That we might go wild and burn all the oil fields in the Middle East! If anything would happen to your child, God forbid, you would talk like I do. Let them be aware in Washington, Moscow, Damascus and China that if one of our ambassadors is shot, or even a consul or the most junior embassy official, we might start World War Three just like that!”

……We are talking while sitting on the balcony of the pretty country house belonging to C. which is situated in a prosperous Moshav. To the west we see a burning sunset and there is a scent of fruit trees in the air. We are being served iced coffee in tall glasses. C. is about fifty years old. He is a man well known for his (military) actions. He is a strong, heavy figure wearing shorts but no shirt. His body is tanned a metallic bronze shade, the colour of a blond man living in the sun. He puts his hairy legs on the table and his hands on the chair. There is a scar on his neck. His eyes wander over his plantations. He spells out his ideology in a voice made hoarse by too much smoking:

“Let me tell you what is the most important thing, the sweetest fruit of the war in Lebanon: It is that now they don’t just hate Israel. Thanks to us, they now also hate all those Feinschmecker Yids in Paris, London, New York, Frankfurt and Montreal, in all their holes. At last they hate all these nice Yids, who say they are different from us, that they are not Israeli thugs, that they are different Jews, clean and decent. Just like the assimilated Jew in Vienna and Berlin begged the anti-Semite not to confuse him with the screaming, stinking Ostjude, who had smuggled himself into that cultural environment out of the dirty ghettos of Ukraine and Poland. It won’t help them, those clean Yids, just as it did not help them in Vienna and Berlin. Let them shout that they condemn Israel, that they are all right, that they did not want and don’t want to hurt a fly, that they always prefer being slaughtered to fighting, that they have taken it upon themselves to teach the gentiles how to be good Christians by always turning the other cheek. It won’t do them any good. Now they are getting it there because of us, and I am telling you, it is a pleasure to watch.

“They are the same Yids who persuaded the gentiles to capitulate to the bastards in Vietnam, to give it in to Khomeini, to Brezhnev, to feel sorry for Sheikh Yamani because of his tough childhood, to make love not war. Or rather, to do neither, and instead write a thesis on love and war. We are through with all that. The Yid has been rejected, not only did he crucify Jesus, but he also crucified Arafat in Sabra and Shatila. They are being identified with us and that’s a good thing! Their cemeteries are being desecrated, their synagogues are set on fire, all their old nicknames are being revived, they are being expelled from the best clubs, people shoot into their ethnic restaurants murdering small children, forcing them to remove any sign showing them to be Jews, forcing them to move and change their profession.

“Soon their palaces will be smeared with the slogan: Yids, go to Palestine! And you know what? They will go to Palestine because they will have no other choice! All this is a bonus we received from the Lebanese war. Tell me, wasn’t it worth it? Soon we will hit on good times. The Jews will start arriving, the Israelis will stop emigrating and those who already emigrated will return. Those who had chosen assimilation will finally understand that it won’t help them to try and be the conscience of the world. The ‘conscience of the world’ will have to understand through its arse what it could not get into its head. The gentiles have always felt sick of the Yids and their conscience, and now the Yids will have only one option: to come home, all of them, fast, to install thick steel doors, to build a strong fence, to have submachine guns positioned at every corner of their fence here and to fight like devils against anyone who dares to make a sound in this region. And if anyone even raises his hand against us we’ll take away half his land and burn the other half, including the oil. We might use nuclear arms. We’ll go on until he no longer feels like it…

“…You probably want to know whether I am not afraid of the masses of Yids coming here to escape anti-Semitism smearing us with their olive oil until we go all soft like them. Listen, history is funny in that way, there is a dialectic here, irony. Who was it who expanded the state of Israel almost up the boundaries of the kingdom of King David? Who expanded the state until it covered the area from Mount Hermon to Raz Muhammad? Levi Eshkol. Of all people, it was that follower of Gordon, that softie, that old woman. Who, on the other hand, is about to push us back into the walls of the ghetto? Who gave up all of Sinai in order to retain a civilised image? Beitar’s governor in Poland, that proud man Menahem Begin. So you can never tell. I only know one thing for sure: as long as you are fighting for your life all is permitted, even to drive out all the Arabs from the West Bank, everything.

“Leibowitz is right, we are Judeo-Nazis, and why not? Listen, a people that gave itself up to be slaughtered, a people that let soap to be made of its children and lamp shades from the skin of its women is a worse criminal than its murderers. Worse than the Nazis … If your nice civilised parents had come here in time instead of writing books about the love for humanity and singing ‘Hear O Israel’ on the way to the gas chambers, now don’t be shocked, if they instead had killed six million Arabs here or even one million, what would have happened? Sure, two or three nasty pages would have been written in the history books, we would have been called all sorts of names, but we could be here today as a people of 25 million!

“Even today I am willing to volunteer to do the dirty work for Israel, to kill as many Arabs as necessary, to deport them, to expel and burn them, to have everyone hate us, to pull the rug from underneath the feet of the Diaspora Jews, so that they will be forced to run to us crying. Even if it means blowing up one or two synagogues here and there, I don’t care. And I don’t mind if after the job is done you put me in front of a Nuremberg Trial and then jail me for life. Hang me if you want, as a war criminal. Then you can spruce up your Jewish conscience and enter the respectable club of civilised nations, nations that are large and healthy. What you lot don’t understand is that the dirty work of Zionism is not finished yet, far from it. True, it could have been finished in 1948, but you interfered, you stopped it. And all this because of the Jewishness in your souls, because of your Diaspora mentality. For the Jews don’t grasp things quickly. If you open your eyes and look around the world you will see that darkness is falling again. And we know what happens to a Jew who stays out in the dark. So I am glad that this small war in Lebanon frightened the Yids. Let them be afraid, let them suffer. They should hurry home before it gets really dark. So I am an anti-Semite? Fine. So don’t quote me, quote Lilienblum instead. There is no need to quote an anti-Semite. Quote Lilienblum, and he is definitely not an anti-Semite, there is even a street in Tel Aviv named after him:
‘Is all that is happening not a clear sign that our forefathers and ourselves … wanted and still want to be disgraced? That we enjoy living like gypsies?’ That’s Lilienblum. Not me. Believe me. I went through the Zionist literature, I can prove what I say.

“And you can write that I am a disgrace to humanity, I don’t mind, on the contrary. Let’s make a deal: I will do all I can to expel the Arabs from here, I will do all I can to increase anti-Semitism, and you will write poems and essays about the misery of the Arabs and be prepared to absorb the Yids I will force to flee to this country and teach them to be a light unto the gentiles. How about it?”

It was there that I stopped C.’s monologue for a moment and expressed the thought passing through my mind, perhaps more for myself than for my host. Was it possible that Hitler had not only hurt the Jews but also poisoned their minds? Had that poison sunk in and was still active? But not even that idea could cause C. to protest or raise his voice. After all, he said to have never shouted under stress, even during the famous operations his name is associated with.

Zionism is the radical notion that if you try and lay a finger on my children, I’ll fucking slaughter you. For a man of the left like Amos Oz, thinking like this is tantamount to having a poisoned mind. Well, if Hitler is what it took to poison our minds this way, we should be grateful to him.

As an aside, the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s were taking place throughout almost the whole of my childhood, and from occasional snippets of dinner table conversation I recall my male relatives strongly sympathizing with the Serbs. In this connection, an excerpt from General Sharon’s Wikipedia entry comes to mind:

Sharon criticized the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia in 1999 as an act of “brutal interventionism”.[79] Sharon said both Serbia and Kosovo have been victims of violence. He said prior to the current Yugoslav campaign against Kosovo Albanians, Serbians were the targets of attacks in the Kosovo province . . . During the crisis, Elyakim Haetzni said the Serbs should be the first to receive Israeli aid. “They are our traditional friends,” he told Israel Radio.”[80] It was suggested that Sharon may have supported the Yugoslav position because of the Serbian population’s history of saving Jews during the holocaust.[81] On Sharon’s death, Serbian minister Aleksandar Vulin stated: The Serbian people will remember Sharon for opposing the 1999 NATO bombing campaign against the former Yugoslavia and advocating respect for sovereignty of other nations and a policy of not interfering with their internal affairs.[82]

Israel was heavily pro-Serbia before the Kosovo bombardment, arming the Bosnian Serbs throughout the 1990s. Unfortunately, as Israel and Serbia occupy opposing sides of the post-WWII international order, the traditional friendly ties between our peoples have mostly been swept away in the tide of history.

Anyhow, I said above that I would highlight my areas of disagreement with Oz’s interviewee:

(1) I don’t think power works quite the way he conceptualizes it, i.e., as simple brute force and menacing posture, sans finesse, negotiation, etc. (2) In the hope that they can be prompted to emigrate, he welcomes anti-Semitic attacks on Diaspora Jews in a manner that’s totally sick and hyperbolic (“people shoot into their ethnic restaurants murdering small children”), and this not only negates his prior statement about the need to defend Jewish children from anti-semitic attacks but ignores the long-term need Israel has for an ensconced Jewish presence abroad, at least in the United States and Russia; and (3) he talks of hammering the Arabs until they’ve had enough, but the First Lebanon War actually fatigued Israeli Jews more than any other participant, emboldening the political left in Israel and giving way to a two-decade “peace” process that’s inimical to the hopes he expresses (for more war, territorial expansion, a fundamental alteration of the decadent Jewish character, etc.) For an excellent, philosophically similar take on the course of Levantine affairs since the inception of that process, here is Israeli commando, businessman and politician Naftali Bennet, speaking before a hostile, left-wing audience back in 2014:

Victory in the Eye of the Beholder

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Whaddaya think this is, the Rio Grande?

Maybe you’re glad US troops are leaving Syria. It’s probably a good thing for them, and may be as well for the US overall. I’m not emotionally invested in the idea of the United States. I don’t know all the ins, outs and wherefores of the Syria conflict, so I don’t have a strong opinion. But if the word on the street is true, i.e., that Trump just betrayed America’s Kurdish allies wholesale and handed them over to their Turkish enemies, then I have one question for the anti-Israel crowd: why wouldn’t a small, vulnerable people dependent on the whims of world powers not have the US Congress bought and paid for, if they could pull it off?


The Evil of Banality

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“Yeah, if you could picture a boot stamping on a human face, forever—that’d be great.”

Consider the differences between the film Office Space and the TV series The Office (the US version.)

In Office Space, there is a real sense of gall. The protagonist and his accomplices refuse to accept their circumstances as normal. They harbor a sense of higher purpose that’s inimical to their work lives, and in fact, we frequently see them out of work, out of doors, driving around town, in their apartments, and at barbecues. In The Office, meanwhile, there’s a sense of compensatory smugness: rather than underground solidarity, and questioning their circumstances, the characters content themselves with feeling smarter than one another and (especially) the boss, as a salve to their embittered acceptance of dreary mediocrity.

The characters in The Office have no lives outside of work. Throughout the series we rarely see the outside world, and when we do it’s usually either the parking lot, the loading dock, a business trip, or an office party where all are present and thus no kind of subversive plan can be hatched like the one that forms the plot of Office SpaceThe Office is like a claustrophobic horror movie set to hokey folk-brewery muzak. Its whole premise is to normalize the most pernicious ennui and paralysis, in guise of social critique–which is a necessary feature, because it’s the maximum extent of satisfaction anybody (characters and viewers) is intended to get out of it. This is how man-boob IPA and fantasy football are reverse-marketed to urbanites who think they’re better than the rednecks; it’s how work-as-identity is given plausible deniability for failed artists bagging groceries at Trader Joe’s and has-been high school drug dealers working sales at Best Buy. The NPC meme’s unintentional depth (that the alt-right will never fathom) is that it has everything to do with how we live, and nothing to do with how we identify.

Unlike the classic hero quest where evil is ultimately overcome, The Office co-opts the viewer to the flaws of the world the characters inhabit by centralizing the upward trajectory of Jim, the series’s one unironically sympathetic character, and his rivalry with the obtuse and narcissistic boss, Michael Scott. Thus, in the world The Office normalizes, there is no third option, as there is in Office Space: the worker’s choices are the carrot, or the stick. The boss can be hated, but only with resignation, and padded shenanigans form the outer limit of anybody’s volition. Thus, The Office does not critique the peculiar banality of corporate life so much as it drills it into the viewer’s head by co-opting his resistance with passive-aggressive amusement so cheap it scarcely even rises to the level of humor or compelling irony. It is the prescription lithium of art and entertainment, the apex comfortably-numb riposte of Nietzsche’s weaselly Last Man to all the piss and audacity of the past three-hundred years of human striving and carnality. It does not merely summarize or portray but, rather, embodies and frames a kind of neutered Hobbesianism and tech-peonage, and everything that turned so palpably and terrifyingly to Suck over the course of the aughts and early teens of this century. If you liked The Office, you should check the back of your eyelids for a barcode.

Nigger Winning

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the tragedy of the commons

Although his wording seems a tad inexact, if you’ve been to college you know exactly who Sam Hyde is referring to by “these people.” I, for one, agree wholeheartedly with his tweet. Or, I would, except for one thing:

Who is this “we” ?

In the case of France’s gilles jaunes, there is likewise a great deal of confusion about identification. Copycat protests outside of France have been comparatively tepid so far. Progressives are waiting things out; tax revolts aren’t their thing. Tankies can’t support anything so reminiscent of 1956. The whole scene’s too down-home for Antifa and all such faux-syndicalist hipsters, who in their heart-of-hearts always loathe the proletariat. The stateside mainstream right is feeling smug, but only tentatively—perhaps they smell trade unionism in the smoldering tires. The movement alt-right is disappointed by the lack of overt racism, although the broader dissident right is cheering, because immigration expenditures are tangentially implicated in the protests. Certainly the vrai francaises comprise the bulk of the movement. There were even early reports in the mainstream press that the whole thing was cooked up by Marine Le Pen, but that appears unlikely. In the end, protesters, like armies, march on their stomachs. This is why the gilles jaunes are so sympathetic: they’re truly non-aligned.

Still, I cannot sympathize with them entirely. I’ve never liked crowds. I loathe nightclubs, concerts, sporting events, cheap motels, public restrooms, amusement parks, and twenty-minute wait times at sit-down restaurants. I despise louts, revelers, and revolutionaries. Perhaps you, too, are in debt, will never own anything, are fed up with anarcho-tyranny, and see no prospect of a better life for your children. So what? Join the club. Neither you nor I are in danger of starving anytime soon (thanks MasterCard), but if one of us were, the other would be unlikely to help. I’d like to see Macron defenestrated as much as they all would, but what the gilles jaunes are demanding, in the end, is a gloved hand. After all, they cannot run the republic.

Mind you, I wouldn’t dare to suggest that the lumpen Frenchman is not squeezed to death. But is he preferable to Macron? On the surface, sans doute. But if I have to get somewhere, and you’re blocking traffic, I don’t really care what your problem is. As far as I’m concerned you can render unto Caesar and quit fucking up my day. Self-righteousness is never entirely excusable, and ideologies are inherently degrading: the Moloch of abstraction can only devour my babies if I give it permission, and it seems, despite a distinct lack of experience living in France, that the Arabs have no trouble whatsoever evading their taxes.

So….. Join hands to make the world a better place? No thanks. The crowd is inherently foreboding; it represents the transcendent unity of death. And just who is this “we,” anyway? Nobody I’ve got time for. Obviously I’m no kind of leftist, but the red pill is just one eye in the land of the blind, and contra 99.98% of sperg WN e-celebs, I’ve got kids who aren’t theoretical, and a blond/blue Aryan wife who veritably chirps the praises of my circumcised slab—whereas the pallid, grasping souls who read Chateau Heartiste (or Saul Alinsky or Dale Carnegie or The 48 Laws of Power) aspire to be the conniving pecker in someone else’s mind’s vagina because they cannot make do with sincerity, and don’t know what it means to be the measure of oneself. When Socrates, the Prophet Isaiah and St. Paul performed their transvaluations, they undermined virile norms, and rulers who were truly terrifying. Whereas, in Sam Hyde’s rendition of slave moralitythe master is genderqueer, has club foot and daddy issues. Nietzsche spoke of “no shepherd, and one herd”—the red pill merely enables a few sheep to bleat smugly and impotently about conspiracy, and to think they’ve opened up a vista.

Ask yourself, what character is missing from the following illustration?

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Why, the artist, of course. His work veritably screams self-objectification and fear. No one who truly comprehends the nature of power and the power of nature would allow himself in this manner to be baited by, and become the predictable moral foil for the postmodern degenerates in this illustration. Despite what its activists believe about themselves, like all other ideologues, the alt-right has no real goal but activity for its own sake. Revealed preference is a bitch:

Slave trade, indeed! What is being defined here as “intellectual awakening”? Arrival at the ossified certitude that true evil is embodied solely in 0.2% of the human race—everyone else are just marionettes. For the alt-right, this is the key to accurately comprehending reality. According to these people, nothing, really nothing but this has real explanatory power, which is the surest possible sign that what it represents is not a red pill or a rabbit hole, but anesthetic for curiosity. No “journey of intellectual discovery” can possibly come of it.

There’s a name for this kind of narrative frame: it’s called a morality tale. To be movement alt-right is to be a reflexive limbic system in a cybernetic forest of thumbs, same as any NPC. If you’re doing this with an IQ >120, you’re feeding kale to a stage 4 tumor. In the immortal words of Céline, “When men can hate without risk, their stupidity is easily convinced, the motives supply themselves.” Thus, according to the alt-right, there is no appreciable difference, morally, ideologically, or evolutionarily, between Rachel Maddow (above) and this woman:

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trad life, sans hashtag

If the alt-right had just one woman like her, there’d be Nazi colonies on distant star systems. Actually, no, scratch that—there wouldn’t be, because the whole alt-right phenomenon is about commiseration, about ecstatic, co-dependent renunciation of responsibility not just for the composition of one’s own environment, but for the composition of one’s own feelings, which is the exact opposite of the attitude expressed by the woman in the Times of Israel article in the screenshot.

Notice how Sam Hyde never even raises the possibility of how best to avoid becoming “broke, dead, your kids raped and brainwashed”? How he never even raises the question of how “we” are going to “win”? That’s because Sam already won the e-celeb game, cigars and car payments, his smugness is its own reward, and a photo negative of Rachel Maddow’s (at least Ty Lopez and Joel Osteen are promising you money.) What does Sam need “we” for, other than views, clicks, likes, and donations, coin of the realm of narcissism that the alt-right unwittingly (one eye) helps metastasize?

While you mull it over, allow me to provide you the free service Sam won’t. Don’t worry, there’s no Patreon button here, and none of your compadres are around to see you taking advice (about ideas, not just events) from a half-breed Hebrew. Just how are “we” going to win? Well, by avoiding Twitter like ass cancer, for starters.

The Two-Pronged Thesis, Illustrated

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more than demographic replacement

As iterated in the previous post:

(1) Capitalism (the pretense of endless technological and economic development) is a natural complement to progressivism (the pretense of endless moral advancement); and

(2) the cultural assault on whiteness is a natural complement to the destruction of the middle class.

As an example (a perfect example) of how this works, consider, if you will, the following 21st-century reimagining of Norman Rockwell’s Four Freedoms:

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Freedom of Speech

(1) Freedom of Speech: In the original, two white-collared gents are craning their necks to hear a blue-collar Joe speak his mind, because social status is not the whole measure of human worth. In the revision, two men who apparently sell burner phones in a mall are craning their necks toward a moon-faced woman in a plunging blouse, whose practical utility in the community is as unclear as a LinkedIn profile with a description that reads “Seeking opportunities.” Superficial characteristics such as the subjects’ ethnicity, gender and/or style are the sole and total measures of their intrinsic worth.

Incidentally, in order to emphasize the white male (presumably a bartender or used car salesman) listening to the lady-POC, the artists not only cast him as the best-dressed (i.e., the richest) person in the room, they intuit, in spite of their ideological conditioning, that in order to be the kind of white male who cares what she has to say, he would need to have a rapey neck tattoo. Just as it’s easier to imagine the end of the world than it is to imagine the end of capitalism, the browning of America is easier to imagine as a temp-to-hire gig economy than as a workforce with bargaining power. Fulmination over the signifiers of identity serves instead to distract from wage stagnation and insoluble debt.

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Freedom of Worship

(2) Freedom of Worship: In the original, you have a Jew (foreground, right), Protestants (the elderly couple with clasped hands), a Catholic (the blond in the middle with the Rosary), a skeptic or agnostic (the pensive-looking, dark-haired man behind her with one hand tugging on his chin) and a black woman, presumably Southern Baptist, in the back (in the original you can see more of her; part of the frame is cut out here).

Meanwhile, in the revision, there’s no discernible religious or even ethnic diversity, unless the arresting prettiness of the girl in the star-spangled hijab is intended to imply that she’s a convert, or a fair-skinned Bosnian or Levantine, i.e., (in either case) that whiteness, being intrinsically more beautiful than the alternatives, is something to which Muslims, too, can aspire. The mixing here of genders at a Muslim prayer service is likewise illusory, a multi-culti fantasy, total bullshit. Though there is a man with a hand on his chin, this is probably just unthoughtful mimicry of the original, because overt skepticism is so unlikely in a Muslim prayer quorum. But supposing he’s a skeptic, in the future this painting imagines, there’s only one religion to be skeptical of. That’s what is meant here by diversity. Wild, huh?

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Freedom from Want

(3) Freedom from Want: There’s a discernible reduction here (on the left) in freedom from want, with a loaf of bread replacing the turkey. Also, no grandma—perhaps the reduction in living standards that always accompanies these kinds of progress leaves no possibility of sustaining the elderly. Again, the sole measures of human worth in the revision are superficial: ethnicity, gender, style. On the other hand, the subjects in the original seem only to need each other’s presence, regardless of those qualifications. As proof of this key difference, notice that no one in the revision, other than the woman with the baby, is gazing directly at anyone else—and in that case, the baby looks apprehensive as fuck, as though he’s just been passed to a stranger. The woman looks equally unfamiliar with him. Perhaps he was only just recently harvested from her Nepalese surrogate.

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Freedom from Fear

(4) Freedom from Fear: I’ve read somewhere that nearly fifty percent of gay men report having been molested as children—if true, this certainly comports with what I know from gay friends and acquaintances. In any case, the kids on the left have intentionally been deprived of their mother (which is still a requirement of being born), so theirs is a qualitatively worse situation than that of the children on the right. The original was entitled “Freedom from Fear.” Ask yourself whether kids in 2018 are more likely than their 1943 counterparts to be free to play outside unsupervised without fear of ending up molested (in both the classic and the contemporary senses of that word) and you’ll immediately understand the delusional ridiculousness of any suggestion (like the one in the painting) that things have either improved or not deteriorated utterly in terms of children’s freedom from fear. Only sodomites with inexplicable notions of purchasing children have less to fear in 2018 than they did in 1943.

There’s a movie about precisely the transition this Rockwell-redux is proposing/imagining/documenting. It’s called Idiocracy.

The overarching take-away of this reimagined Four Freedoms is that the proponents of multiculturalism can conceive of no alternative to the standards set by white, heteronormative Christians. They cannot match Rockwell, so they usurp him, hounding the descendants of his subjects because they cannot stand the thought that those who traditionally had no regard for them should enjoy happiness. They are the sad loaf of bread to the juicy roast turkey, the swivel-eyed jazz-hound to the loving matriarch, the cryogenically fertile poofter imitators to the biologically complimentary genuine article. Diversity is a “strength” only because (in the words of Tucker Carlson) our elites are “dividing in order to rule.”

In the current year of its intellectual impoverishment the alt-right is predictably kvetching about this transvaluation of values strictly in terms of “demographic replacement,” which is certainly a thematic element of these paintings and a dire enough concern in realtime and meatspace. But what is demographic replacement? Do we still have the freedoms that Rockwell’s painting suggested we had and needed to fight for? Can we look forward to the spiritual and psychosocial (much less the material) quality of life that Americans enjoyed in 1943? The original Four Freedoms would have been inconceivable, or nonsensical, if those freedoms had not actually existed in America then, the way Rockwell portrayed them. Obviously, the original Four Freedoms was regime propaganda, but if you juxtapose it with, say, Soviet social realism you’ll see that it’s far more subtle and resonant in its modesty. Yes, my left-leaning friends, although I disagree that exclusion and persecution are one-and-the-same, I realize that not everyone in 1943 America enjoyed these four freedoms to the same degree. But after so much “progress,” is that more, or less true today? What I mean to suggest this Rockwell-redux should be prompting us to ask, is: does the 21st-century version bear the same degree of symmetry with reality as the original did?

Well, in one way, yes, it does: we do have all the diversity it portrays, and then some. And, in another way, it doesn’t, because we don’t any longer have anywhere near the same degree of any of those four freedoms.

If you don’t understand the connection by now, you probably never will.

The Alt-Right Viewed From the Right, Pt. II

(Part I here)

“Being and stability are regarded by our contemporaries as akin to death; they cannot live unless they act, fret, or distract themselves with this or that. Their spirit (provided we can still talk about a spirit in their case) feeds only on sensations and on dynamism, thus becoming the vehicle for the incarnation of darker forces.” Julius Evola, Revolt Against the Modern World (1934)

What could be more Weimerican than coquettish insistence on enjoying complicity and rebellion simultaneous? As consciousness itself is debased, collectivized and uploaded to a cybernetic panopticon, the movement alt-right feigns resistance like a ridiculous wench.

Just because a given truth is being suppressed (e.g., race, gender, classical wisdom, the nature of power) doesn’t mean that it’s the be-all, end-all of Truth itself. In any case, if you’re complicit in the way we today use the internet, then you’re complicit in the consequences. At bottom, the whole alt-right phenomenon is a human ressentipede, a quasi-Nietzschean victimology, a bug that thinks it’s a windshield (“When we win…“) Its pathetic thought leaders make Silicon Valley technogarchs look like Roman gods. And it doesn’t matter how incisive they are: in the final analysis, which is power, Sam Hyde is an embittered professional sniveler who makes Joe Bernstein look like Mad Max. Erik Striker’s shrill mouth makes Fran Drescher sound like Clint Eastwood. Richard Spencer’s petty antics make Larry David look like Lou Ferrigno. Chateau Heartiste’s reams of (at times, weirdly latent bufty-boy) bile make the yentas on The View look taciturn. Subterranean, ressentiment figures is all these people will ever be, and there’s a name for what they do: it’s called race-baiting (as distinct from race realism), and if it ever had its moment, that moment has passed, because it’s dishonorable on its face, and transgresses the basic coolness of the traditional Anglo-American temperament. Never be rude to an Arab: we get it. Nine years is too long to be dragging out this punchline without becoming an accomplice of its object.

Being de-platformed, by the way, doesn’t prove that you’re a threat, it proves rather conclusively that you aren’t one, and the NPC meme is unintentional self-parody, because anyone who’s on social media at all has reduced himself from the get-go of the conversation to a reflexive limbic system with thumbs, beholden to all and sundry in endless multilogue leading nowhere. “Will to power bro! Oh shit, another 30-day ban.” What are you doing cracking voluminous classics if you can’t understand one measly sentence from Marshall McLuhan?

Every podcast pledge drive, every Patreon panhandler, every PayPal button, every alt-right merch-huckster out there selfie-sticking the Kali Yuga is eating, like a dog, directly from the hand of Silicon Valley. Their one paramount concern, before degeneracy, demographic displacement, neocon wars or any of the rest, is whether mom and dad are going to cut off their internet and their allowance; and when the hammer comes down, vey iz mir, its literally anuddah shoah, oh gawd, there oughta be a law. Pure slave morality.

Like any other pack of fanatical wags, the alt-right’s enemies are a monolith; its conscience is clean. Take the latest snafu: the doughy little carnie behind a YouTube live-cast called the “Killstream” raised over $26K for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital using the SuperChat feature on YouTube. A Wall Street Journal reporter working on an asinine hit-piece on alt-right podcasters contacted the host for comment around the same time YouTube refunded each individual donation. Rather than asking themselves what it is about them that not even a children’s cancer center will take their money, the alt-right Twattersphere flared up in righteous indignation, trending hashtags and excoriating the WSJ as baby killers, even though St. Jude’s announced they never had any intention of taking the money. By the same logic being directed at the WSJ, this would have to mean that St. Jude’s cares less about cancer stricken children than the alt-right does. Pure idiocracy.

Only clickbait mills and minority grievance racketeers can even pretend to take this Eric Cartman hive-mind seriously. Fascism is always a symptom and accomplice of degeneracy. Like vindictive women, niggers and faggots, the alt-right doesn’t hate the mainstream so much as they desperately want its attention. Every withdrawal of hosting relieves them of having to slink off into an irrelevant little echo-chamber. “But the Daily Stormer is a parody!” So was Hitler, he just didn’t realize it. Like a cretinous lech mistaking a woman’s disgust for secret desire, the alt-right takes these obstacles as proof of anything but their own incapacity. What kind of sadomasochist needs this grim, lurid entertainment? What human type feels compelled to play these games? He need not fear the future, because “his race is as ineradicable as the flea.”

Relevance-Whoring with the Austrian Corporal

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the alt-right cries out as it strikes you

“[T]his plant thrives best amongst anarchists and anti-Semites today, so . . . it will come as no surprise to find attempts coming once more from these circles . . . to sanctify revenge with the term justice—as though justice were fundamentally simply a further development of the feeling of having been wronged—and belatedly to legitimize with revenge emotional reactions in general, one and all.” Nietzsche, Genealogy (1887)

I was four parts into a five-part critical essay series on Judaism when the Pittsburgh massacre happened. Unsurprisingly, it’s very hard to coldly and objectively assess Jewish identity when a pogrom has just taken place.

Pittsburgh is a lovely town. My father was born there. His mother grew up worshipping at Temple Rodef Sholem, a beautiful beaux arts building erected in 1906, and located a mile down the road from Tree of Life, which is exactly the kind of conservative shul where I worshipped and was bar mitzvah’d as a kid. So this thing hit me very hard.

Politics is always closely connected with public spectacle. It goes without saying that the doyens of our present-day system of public spectacle are disproportionately Jewish, and their tendencies and prejudices are abundantly clear to those on the alt-right who take a critical view of Jewish identity and see it as a pernicious facet of political power. But what does that have to do with eleven elderly worshippers in a Pittsburgh synagogue? How woefully few of us are truly able to grasp that the internet is a projector screen? This massacre was pure idiocracy, a ressentiment phenomenon through-and-through.

But it was something more as well. It was the apotheosis of alt-right logic, as perfectly representative of the alt-right as child drag queens and Mexican heroin are of progressivism. Each side complements the other in manifesting the same disease process whose only beneficiary is social media, i.e., one man’s casting couch. The NPC meme, by the way, is inadvertent self-parody because anyone who’s on Twitter is just a limbic system with thumbs. Do you know what your perspicacity is when it’s harnessed to the push and pull of every ADHD nanosecond of rumor, exult, and indignation? It’s shit. It’s fucking shit. “But Twitter and Facebook are the public square!” Next you’ll be telling me Hot Pockets are an indispensable source of dietary fiber.

Supposing I concur with every bit of the alt-right critique of American civilization. So what? If you’re trying to rent a room in the Tower of Babel, you’re gonna have to sign Babel’s lease agreement. Who are these embittered, murmuring cattle, anyway? So jealous of a corpse, so angry at a vulture. They need Jesus more than George Soros or Wolf Blitzer ever will.

So I couldn’t care less about the de-platforming of, or the Stormer before it. Free speech is the simpering demand of the vanquished.

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“The best lack all conviction, while the worst   
“Are full of passionate intensity. . . .”

Sodom Janitorial

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when the toxoplasmosis comes before the cat shit

If God exists, it’d probably be best to worship him. But the Devil, if he exists, seems to have managed just fine all these years without a fan club. Worshipping him is not only optional, but superfluous.

This is why I can’t stand Luciferians. For one thing, they’re only considering one side of the story—which ought to be their foremost grievance against the competition. For another, in terms of what he has to offer, a disaffected lieutenant can only contrast poorly with the boss. Worst of all, Luciferians either worship Satan, in which case they’ve altered none of what they object to about religiosity, or else they’re frivolous, i.e., they don’t really believe in the Dark One, but conceptualize him instead as just an elaborate metaphor for humanism. Well, the Devil may get along fine without a following, but (to channel my inner Mark Twain) I don’t see why he ought to be insulted this way.

In The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov’s rollicking satire of 1930s Soviet life, Satan comes to Moscow with his retinue, and gets up to all kinds of mischief. Ironically, the only Muscovites Bulgakov’s Satan seems to attack are those who really deserve it. Before destroying Moscow, he rescues a blacklisted novelist and his mistress, who has literally sold her soul in order to rescue her love and his condemned manuscript from the authorities. In the end, even Bulgakov’s Jesus looks kindly on this ultimate sacrifice, and intercedes with Satan to spare her from eternal torment.

Why would Satan do God’s work for him? And why would God allow Satan to get up to any kind of mischief at all? It isn’t only in Bulgakov. It’s in Genesis, and Job, the Islamic Story of the Cranes, and the betrayal of Christ in the Gospels. We might surmise that it gives the universe a certain balance, but perhaps there’s another explanation.

Bear with me.

What separates man from beast? Language? Other apes can be taught sign language. Even robots can talk nowadays. Bipedalism? Opposable thumbs? Here I can even refer you to monkeys. But according to all three Abrahamic faiths, only free will—reason—distinguishes man.

Does God give us free will in order to amuse himself? This is what Nietzsche said about the Olympians in Homer. But supposing you were Richie Rich, and could never know who your true friends are. Wouldn’t that suck? I imagine that is why God gives man free will.

Hasidic Rabbi Manis Friedman, in a click-baity YouTube video entitled “Only Judaism Will Tell You This,” makes the similar suggestion that man’s relationship with God is a two-way street—that God needs us as much as we need him, because just as God is infinitely powerful, he is also infinitely vulnerable. The only problem I can see with this supposition is that Judaism is certainly not the only religion that will tell you this. After all, don’t the Christians believe God came to earth in mortal form only to live as a despised itinerant preacher and be executed excruciatingly?

Nearly six decades after Bulgakov completed his masterwork, and nearly six years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, one Yevgeny Rodionov, a Russian soldier and Orthodox Christian, was captured by Chechen insurgents and executed after refusing his captors’ offer to spare his life in exchange for converting to Islam. Supposing (just supposing) that Rodionov was mistaken, and that Islam is the one true religion. Even so, given the limitations of what he knew, it can hardly be the case that his refusal to compromise was wrong. Faith is something indelible, not interchangeable. Refusal to compromise—to the point of martyrdom—deserves the utmost respect. One could even imagine Mohammed interceding with Satan to spare the young soldier hellfire.

According to Sheikh Imran Hosein, when the Dajjal (“deceiver,” i.e., the Antichrist) emerges, he will have the word kafr (unbeliever) written on his forehead; the mu’amin (believer) will be able to read this, and therefore identify the Dajjal, even if he is illiterate; but the kafr will not be able to read it, even if he knows how. For Hosein, the mu’amin can of course only be Muslim. The only caveat he proffers that would disqualify a nominal Muslim is that the belief must be complete and heartfelt. Obviously, this wouldn’t include believers of other faiths. Still, there is something to this idea about the ability to discern evil being dependent on a fixed inner guidance that resides in the heart.

Maimonides teaches that emunah tmima, i.e., innocent (or simple) faith—as opposed to a faith that depends on great learning—is the truest and strongest form of faith. The New Testament says something very similar. Let me tell you how I got mine.

My great-grandfather came to the United States from Moldova in 1908. He was offered work with his brothers-in-law at the Studebaker factory in South Bend, Indiana, but turned it down when he was informed he couldn’t have a Saturday sabbath. Though not haredi (ultra-orthodox), he was a masorti (traditional) Jew. Instead of settling for a Sunday sabbath, he went out and bought a few heads of lettuce, then sold them on the street for a meager profit. Eventually he became a green grocer with his own shop. His refusal to compromise his faith is a simulacrum of Daniel’s refusal to bow before Nebuchadnezzar.

My grandfather was the only one of his siblings born in America, in 1911. He sat me down, starting at the age of four, and taught me Hebrew liturgy, scripture and midrash. I remember the lessons only vaguely, a few aphorisms at most, but they imbued me with an abiding faith in the Almighty, and this is the heartfelt simplicity that Maimonides calls the truest form of faith, and the foundation which eventually enabled me, after many trials, to discern wickedness, just like Imran Hosein’s mu’amin, who can read the writing on the forehead of the Dajjal, even if he is illiterate.

At the age of 19, I moved to Israel. Nobody leaves an affluent country for Israel unless they’re in search of some sense of purpose in life—some inner guidance—that they feel devoid of, that they believe the holy land can give them. I’ll spare you the details, but at the time, this described me perfectly.

At one point shortly after I arrived, I took a bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and walked to the Old City. At the Kotel, there are haredim (ultra-orthodox Jews) who stand around waiting for tourists to come. They ask if you’re Jewish, and if you reply that you are, they either invite you to a sabbath dinner, or to lay phylacteries and pray with them. They believe that prescribed prayer hastens the coming of the messiah, and that the more Jews they can get to perform it, the faster the messiah will come.

Well, rather than lay phylacteries with the haredim, I prayed on my own at the wall. According to rabbinic law, the son of a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother is not Jewish, and I didn’t want to disrespect the beliefs of the haredim by partaking in their rituals without full disclosure. However, as I was leaving the Kotel plaza, a white-haired and frock-coated old haredi with a Brooklyn accent approached and asked if I would like to stay for free in a Jewish youth hostel. I said that I would, and he led me through the winding alleys of the Jewish Quarter, peppering me with questions about my upbringing and knowledge of Judaism. His name was Rabbi Meir Schuster, and he explained that he ran a Jewish outreach program for diaspora youth in Israel. When we arrived at his youth hostel, the place was empty except for a few rucksacks on the beds. He showed me to a bunk, but as I laid down my pack, he suddenly remembered to ask whether both my parents are Jewish. (I suppose I don’t quite resemble a Ferengi as nearly as a good Jewish boy ought to.) I answered honestly. He became irate and told me to get lost.

Rav Schuster was right: rules are rules, and he didn’t make ’em. The Hebrew liturgy is hauntingly beautiful to me, the Hebrew language has a deep spiritual resonance, and as I said, my grandfather’s emuna tmima is the foundation of my strength and discernment in God. But in sum total, none of this amounts to Judaism in any official sense. Besides, if the Jewish people are in error, should I compromise my ethnic affinity, or my faith? For instance, according to poll data, 76% of American Jews are pro-choice. This is nothing but Moloch-worship. In fact, Jews are disproportionately involved in all kinds of white collar scams and unnatural sexual hijinks. If these are my people, then ethnic solidarity has no meaning. So I want as little to do with the Rav Schusters of the world as they want to do with me.

Secondary to ethical and theologic precepts, my grandfather also taught me to despise Christianity and, to a lesser extent, Islam. (Rav Schuster would’ve surely approved.) I used to think this was part and parcel of the faith he imbued me with. But when I eventually married a Christian, I agreed to her desire to baptize our sons. As distasteful as the prospect was for me, given my upbringing, I realized that denying a sacrament to a believer would contravene the ethics my grandfather taught me. This cognitive dissonance gave rise to an open-minded exploration of Christianity and Islam that I never would have undertaken before. The blinders fell off, and I finally acknowledged the salience of the many aspects of Judaism I object to, rather than feeling the need to minimize or rationalize them, or serve in the Israeli army to prove Rabbi Schuster wrong (which I actually did, from 2006-2008.)

In essence, what I had to acknowledge was the fact that since 70 CE, Judaism has been a defeated and subterranean culture. Rabbinic Judaism took out of the old Hebrew faith the virility and jihad that once gave rise to successive Jewish uprisings against foreign domination, replacing them with vindictiveness and snide intellectual superiority.

Zionism has done relatively little to reverse these tendencies. But whereas pre-emancipation conditions required some spiritual fortitude of the Jews (which was much remarked upon and commended by Nietzsche), in the world of democratic values, the modus operandi of repulsive, manipulative weaklings is to constantly demand deference from others to their own sense of insecurity, which they lack the self-awareness (or the honesty) to ascribe in any proportion to their own failings, or to circumstances beyond what can readily be blamed on others. Those who nurse grudges also tend to lack scruples. Thus, we can discern an essential similarity between the ends-justifying lack of moral restraint in Zionism, on the one hand, and the various minority grievance rackets in the developed world that you’d think would have nothing in common with a highly militaristic ethno-state, or with a people that gave the world the Old Testament.

Yet somehow, especially since the end of the Cold War, Israel always finds itself on the side of international liberalism: Davos, Hollywood, the EU, CFR, international banks, Silicon Valley, and NATO destabilization of illiberal regimes. But while Israel practices certain liberal restraints in relations with its Arab subjects, this proves Israel’s humaneness no more than it displays the same profound unease of conscience that lies unexamined at the heart of all cosmopolitanism and technological progress. Certainly there are socially conservative elements in Israeli society, but Jewish solipsism dictates that they can never consider themselves in terms of the traditional, monotheistic values under assault by the centrifugal tendencies of the wider modern world. Thus, what is holding Israel and the Jewish people together is not primarily values, but fear, and roiling, pathos laden feelings of superiority. Meanwhile, the Jewish state’s leaders are accomplices to the idolaters of this world, the ultra-rich and libertine. They express the values of the state in the pithy phrasing of human liberty, even as they operate from pure machiavellianism.

But there’s a widespread and long-standing tendency to see fault only in the Jews, when the fact is that the Churches have long been worldly, pharisaical, and sycophantic. It’s difficult not to notice the pro-Caesar bent in parts of the New Testament. And of course, Islam has its own problems, from the marriage of the prophet to a six year old and consequent doctrines allowing sexual exploitation of minors to the outright murder of non-Muslim children with clerical sanction.

Yet for Sheikh Imran Hosein, the Dajjal can only be a Jew. It has likewise been said by certain Christians that Islam is Satanic, or that the Antichrist will be Jewish; and of course, rabbinic authorities have propounded some very ugly doctrines regarding Gentiles, and Christianity. For the simpleton and the demagogue—which any of us may be at times—the Antichrist is always on the other team. Despite his best intentions, the proverbial beam is always in the eye of the neighbors. When we use religion as a mask in this way, we need unbelievers, for the negative transference of our own ungodly impulses.

From the Devil’s perspective, what could possibly be better for business?

Last of the Kike Wiggers


I even like a song or two by One Republic

Okay, look: on this blog, I’ve been critical of the alt-right. In my salad days, I even visciously battered a couple of neo-Nazis, and that was back when “neo-Nazi” meant something. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a white nationalist. But….

There’s a lot going on that the alt-right is reacting to. If I had to really boil it down, my thesis would be two-pronged:

(1) Capitalism (the pretense of endless technological progress) is inextricable from progressivism (the pretense of endless moral progress); and

(2) the cultural assault on whiteness is inextricable from the destruction of the middle class.

Of course, there are many qualifications we could make here about capitalism, but I use the word for lack of one that better captures the ideology and methods of the present planetary managerial class (Davos, Silicon Valley, Hollywood, Madison Avenue, Fortune 100, MSM, EU, NATO, IMF, etc.) In any case, the cultural assault on whiteness is part of a larger assault on teleology, on organic loyalties (ethnic, confessional, communal, familial, conjugal) that make people difficult to manage. In the near-term, there may appear to be winners and losers, e.g., Islam as opposed to Christianity, Zionism as opposed to Islam, the rising tide of color as opposed to white supremacy, etc. But in the long term, all these groups’ adherents lose the ability to maintain independent communities. Consciousness itself is collectivized and fed into a cybernetic panopticon. As a web-based subculture, the alt-right actually perpetuates this a great deal, and so can never serve to restore the medieval values it fetishizes, any more than Western backpackers in Kathmandu or pilgrims in Jerusalem’s Old City can really experience something deeper than is possible anywhere else in the modern world.

In these circumstances, white nationalism is a low grade, one-dimensional reaction, but not an entirely illogical or emotionally illegitimate one, and I concur with a great deal of the WN critique. So while I personally am not a white nationalist, I wouldn’t disavow the label. Yes, me, a not self-hating half-Hebrew. If a left-leaning colleague or fellow dinner guest were to accuse me of being a white nationalist, not only would I not genuflect, I would defend white nationalism. (The same goes for a lot of ideologies I disagree with. If voting Republican makes me a Nazi according to some deluded person, then if I choose to answer him, I’ll be answering as a Nazi in any case. If you wouldn’t split a hair, why split a tree trunk?)

The most common argument from those on the far right who want to disassociate themselves from white nationalism is to deride it as inauthentic (i.e., merely an internet phenomenon), its followers as largely mouth-breathing, autistic, and pathetic; and to argue that race is an inadequate criteria to judge people by, because it’s too inclusive, rather than local and pragmatic. Jack Donovan’s variation on this argument, in a 2017 essay entitled “Why I am not a White Nationalist,” is one of the most widely read that I’ve seen:

I’ve learned to hate white people and White Nationalists more than any of their opponents. Not because they are evil monsters, but because they generally suck. I hate white people and White Nationalists because they are weak, broken, phenomenally autistic, or all three.

I agree 100%. But no nationalist loves all his people, and there are ardent believers in every cause who personally can’t stand the bulk of their fellow travelers. Freud called this “the narcissism of the small difference.” Its rich history can be seen in intra-party purity squabbles and religious schisms of every kind. So why would someone who might otherwise be associated with white nationalism want to distance himself from it?

Having used Richard Spencer’s conferences to promote himself, Jack Donovan now has a pinky toe in the mainstream (and, unlike most ruthlessly self-promoting internet personalities, has earned his stripes to talk shit about whomever he pleases.) So there’s nothing mysterious about his disavowal, whatever the rationale may be. But what about those who have less visibility, and less concern for the opinions of the multitude, with all its potential customers? Why would some anonymous and otherwise right-leaning person draw the proverbial line at the alt-right? Clearly, all this demonstrates is the desire to remain neutral on a moving train. Whiteness as an end in itself is plainly retarded, but right-wingers of nearly any stripe who have misgivings about white identity politics are nevertheless going to have to stop beating around the bush and acknowledge, sooner or later, that whiteness is an unavoidable distinguishing factor in their views and interests, and that non-whites who side with them are, to some degree, siding with whiteness. If saying so gets me labelled a white nationalist, then turning around like Donovan does and projecting that label on ol’ Neckbeard McJergens or some similar straw man out of central casting, is bad faith, not to mention collusion with those doing the labelling.

Mencius Moldbug’s 2007 essay on the subject (like Donovan’s, entitled “Why I am not a White Nationalist”) argues from the class-not-race angle (as if class and race are mutually exclusive considerations), and that white nationalism is inherently ineffective, due to its taboo radioactivity in the mainstream. All true—again, whiteness as an end in itself is clearly retarded. But at the risk of forfeiting all nuance and aloofness, this line of argument avoids the issue. So if whiteness and white people per se don’t mean anything to you, just wait and see how you like it when there is no more whiteness to mean anything.