Hell is Other People

so strong is tradition that later generations will dream of what they have never seen

Curtis Yarvin, as usual, has nothing to say, and takes only 185,000 words to say it. Monarchism, democracy, oligarchy—just spare me. The whole effect of these gigabrained debates around governance and multifarious -isms is to avoid asking the questions that threaten to ask back at us. Take this Chestertonian slop-gob, for example:

When an Anarchist is poor he breaks laws; when he is rich he makes them. In neither case does he ever dream of obeying them.”

Obviously, Chesterton was exempting some third class of persons that included himself. But really, who could this dictum possibly not apply to? What the fuck is life if it’s not personal? Everyone‘s an anarchist, some are just better at it than others. And if you’ve been sold an ideology by one of these door-to-door gigabrains, let me assure you, you are very, very bad at it.

I come from a coastal town. Over the years, Fourth of July celebrations at the local beaches became ever louder, more violent, more crowded and intoxicated. Finally, one year the City simply shut them down by setting up klieg lights, 20-foot high chain-link fences, and police patrols in riot-gear with menacing loudspeakers. The whole thing looked shockingly draconian and post-apocalyptic. It was awesome. My high school pals—the ones with rap-sheets and land-whale baby-mamas and horrible tattoos, who like to get hammered and blast hip-hop—were aghast.

Should people like that have freedom? Of course not. They should be used in medical experiments instead of monkeys. They also shouldn’t own single-family homes:

The idea of living in an apartment on what is now green rolling hills jarred people with visions of their own porches and yards… Residents might support density in theory, but what they really want is a single-family home to call their own… How Steamboat solves this conundrum could have implications for communities across the country that are struggling with affordability as their populations grow.

Fulminating about every lifestyle psyop in the corporate press is the next-worst thing to going along with it, and the above-quoted article from Time magazine is perfect catnip for based soyfacing. If you think the “dissident” right (LMFAO) is anti-conservative, you should see their critique of liberalism. At the rate they’re going, in fifty years’ time they’ll be nostalgic for bug protein. There is nothing about the right today that isn’t pure rejection of the present in favor of pure fantasy about the past. If there’s a homestead without an Instagram page, did a tree really fall in the woods?

Go to any shopping center right now and sincerely tell me why everyone there shouldn’t be living in a pod. What do you care if other people can’t afford a house, aren’t eating right, aren’t having kids, can’t stop binge-watching anal porn? If you’re gonna to tell me you’re sincerely concerned about the well-being of a million strangers, I’d like you to please keep your distance until my cattle-prod is fully charged. What’s going to fix all these misguided people so that society is more to your aesthetic liking? The Church? The wild hunt? A gay Renaissance fair? Please.

I’m against tyranny, full-stop. Beyond that, I don’t care by what name we call our government system, as long as life is reasonably tolerable and I get left the hell alone. Everything else is messianic mob mentality.

The Only Good Journalist

Would those who believe the world is run by Zionism please explain how this BLM-tier agitprop made its way onto—nay, became—primetime CBS?:

It has all the bells and whistles. There are the melanotic, dystopian-future studio anchors. There’s the grave intonation, the “human rights” framing, the clergyman inveighing against disproportionate force, the ideologue “expert” holding forth primly on events she witnessed only seconds of on a janky bystander phone camera (an American law professor, no less, drawing very very serious conclusions in the almost total absence of reliable evidence). The repeated claim in this and related reports has consistently been that Israel is “targeting” journalists. Who the hell uses a euphemism when accusing another of murder? It’s very strange.

I’ve seen as little of this current snafu as the little Rutgers law prof on CBS did, but I’m 100% certain that after years of traversing and reporting from the West Bank, Shireen Abu Akleh’s death came as a surprise to Shireen Abu Akleh. All the reports about her death contain expressions of shock from her colleagues in the West Bank press corps that anything like this could ever have happened—in the fucking war zone of Jenin. These people feel no sense of danger from the IDF, and Israel has conditioned this expectation by protecting them. Obviously, if Israel was “targeting civilians” the Palestinians would be far more circumspect about affronting the IDF. If, indeed, Israel was “targeting journalists” (as the frivolous line now goes) there’d be no journalists in the West Bank.

But the West Bank is crawling with journalists, reporters and camera crews as far as the eye can see, from everywhere in the world. (I was there some years back as an IDF serviceman – it was like being on Cops.) Due to the intense diplomatic and media scrutiny Israel always elicits, the West Bank exists in a kind of fishbowl, where smarmy, collegiate members of the international press corps (many of whom fancy themselves partisans in the conflict) feel just the right ratio of danger to safety—not unlike yuppie patrons of a dive bar in an up-and-coming urban neighborhood. Where else can you stalk an army raid of an insurgent safe-house, filming all the while—as a supporter of the insurgents—and still make the Brasserie for a digestif by midnight?

Relative to other theaters of battle, this state of affairs is unique in all the world. Detroit is not so safe. For journalists to enjoy cover of democratic scruples in Afghanistan or Iraq meant embedding with the occupation force and parroting its side of things, at least to a degree. Lebanon on a good day is no less dangerous for the westerner press than Gaza is on a bad one. Syria? Forget about it. Those reports get filed from Athens. Ditto the whole of Africa and just about anywhere in the former Soviet space where live fire is being lain.

The distinct motives on either side bear examining as well. What the Israeli army was doing in Jenin was pursuing a band of insurgents (to put it restrainedly) responsible for the murder—the deliberate homicide, with malice aforethought—of women and children. No one who truly believes that Israeli soldiers deliberately kill non-combatants could possibly feel the need to be so coy as to refer to this euphemistically as “targeting.” While we don’t know which side’s bullet ultimately did her in—and if it turns out to’ve been Palestinian you can be sure the calls for “accountability” will abruptly fall off—we do know that Shireen Abu Akleh chose to put herself at the scene of a firefight, as a media partisan for the murderers of children, to slander their pursuers. Not unlike the peaceful protests we see stateside many an election year, these journalists are championing crime, and undermining social order.


We Are Hyperborians, Lebowski

Of all the dumb schisms in the DR, Christian versus pagan is by far the most persistent. What’s dumb about it is the longing for a static attachment to creed, which is very Christian but negates paganism entirely. The unnamable is the eternally real. Religion is just an abstraction; a mature man recognizes truth wherever he finds it.

But while I feel strongly (and, over the years, pretty consistently) that in its broad strokes Christian metaphysics is sound and perhaps superlative, as for this alt-right schism, I have to say that Christianity carries a great deal of wistful baggage that paganism does not, and I think the one question that puts the lie to the devotion of alt-right Christians is to ask whether they could worship Christ if they knew for certain he’d been a black man.

On Easter Eve I had a vision, a kind of night-reverie, where I saw an image of the living Christ, all sparkly and bedecked in golden light. But when I dared to gaze more closely I began to realize—like the lookout in Blazing Saddles—that the Lord is a nigger. In a split second the part of me that was perturbed by this—and it was deeply perturbed—welled up, and then burst. All of a sudden I began laughing maniacally. Imagine my relief—if that is Christ, then all debts truly are forgiven. 

Could an alt-right Christian have reached such a conclusion from this experience? Of course not. He’d have to fall on his face and fellate this Jobu, right alongside all the rainbow-flag Episcopalians and George Floyd mourners, because the widening-gyre god of Christianity and that of the liberals is one and the same. He is small, this Christian god. The true Christ has not given us leave to examine him so closely. And if the DR stands for anything, it is the first ecstatic stirring of something well and truly beyond, something nameless and timeless and sufficient unto itself, that inhabits a part of us that we’ve forgotten.

After visiting the village of Leukerbad in the Swiss Alps, James Baldwin wrote:

For this village, even if it were incomparably more remote and incredibly more primitive, is the West, the West onto which I have been so strangely grafted. These people cannot be, from the point of view of power, strangers anywhere in the world; they have made the modern world, in effect, even if they do not know it. The most illiterate among them is related, in a way that I am not, to Dante, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Aeschylus, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Racine; the cathedral at Chartres says something to them which it cannot say to me, as indeed would New York’s Empire State building, should anyone here ever see it. Out of their hymns and dances come Beethoven and Bach. Go back a few centuries and they are in their full glory—but I am in Africa, watching the conquerors arrive.

Baldwin is one of my favorite authors, a writer’s writer whose talents were sharpened against the lifelong deficit that came into focus for him so dramatically in that village in Switzerland. To say Another Country lies outside the Western cannon is just false. But in our day you’ll never meet a black man so self-deprecating, because the West—which Baldwin frankly acknowledges is something racial—is dead.

In The Rebel, Camus posits that rebellion can only have meaning in Western civilization, “where a theoretical equality conceals great factual inequalities.” (If you don’t believe him, try thinking of a counter-example. It’s like rhymes with orange.) What’s bemusing about this remark is that it applies equally well today in the inimical context: whereas Camus was writing as a leftist and, essentially, an egalitarian, bemoaning the inequalities in western civilization and supposing that rebellion is always aimed in the direction of greater equality—that type of thinking is precisely how western civilization’s egalitarianism today covers over the great factual inequalities of nature, and it is in favor of that natural inequality that today’s rebel asserts himself. Stripped of Camus’s obvious intent, the statement that rebellion can only have meaning in the context of western civilization is profoundly racist and authoritarian.

That is why American pop culture’s association of rebellion with blacks over the past century is so deeply unsatisfying. Despite periodically having to defend myself in school from non-white terror, by a complex system of mental canal locks I was never allowed to view this problem directly. The whole culture around me awarded these people a kind of animal authenticity that it forbade me, as a white boy, because my parents’ generation had traded it for easy living. From a very young age I recall perceiving the post-industrial domestic hedonism, the corporate pop-psychology and consolidation of ownership of the Clinton-era boom years with foreboding. I remember when Office Space and American Psycho belonged to the left. Contrarianism itself was something liberal, and it was from that perspective that I first understood the whole edifice of modern comfort and convenience as a kind of facade, sclerotic, doomed to expend itself utterly, its dying energies devoted to an endless capacity to rationalize—and here we are. Yet this clarity was obscured by the cataract of a saccharine and fanatical egalitarianism, so that rebellion meant rejecting the possibility of order and dominance utterly.

It was seeped in that weltanschauung that I came of age right around 9/11. The widespread anti-war sentiment of the Bush II aughts was characterized by a masochistic rectitude, something vegan, estrogenic, and dogmatically unreconciled to the Jungian shadow, and it seemed to me that this ideology correlated more closely with the lithe nihilism and having-it-both-ways of bourgeois corporatism than its purveyors were ever likely to admit. Zionism became a way for me to reject all this. In 2002, Israel had narrative. America’s then-narrative was that a man who cohabits with a goat and sounds like Noam Chomsky incinerated the World Trade Center because he hated consumerism, but that God was thankfully on the side of Spencer’s and Hot Dog on a Stick. Israel’s narrative, on the other hand, was that the plucky little Dwarves had persevered against odds and fought their way back to Erebor. Israel was the Joker to First World campus liberalism—unabashedly militarist, colonialist and racial (at the street level, if not always the diplomatic one) with none of the false motives that came to characterize America’s foray into the middle east. For example: because Jews believe that the soul of a person whose corpse is scattered in pieces can have no rest in the afterlife, when a Palestinian IED destroyed a tank in the early 2000s, the IDF sent a massive force into Gaza and cordoned off the area so that infantrymen under rabbinic supervision, crawling on hands and knees, could recover every last scrap of human flesh for identification. Make of this superstition what you will: what other modern country would ever deploy its armed forces to protect the souls of the dead?

But when you drink Zionism to the bottom of the glass you find exactly the kind of alienation that Baldwin experienced in the Alps. It’s not just bad mustache man and the Arch of Titus. It’s the cathedral at Chartres, Shakespeare, Beethoven, the Hermitage, the fucking Pyramids—for Jews these are all just symbols of persecution. The reason why Jew of Malta is long forgotten while The Merchant of Venice will never be forgiven (despite Marlowe being a thousand times more anti-semitic) is because Merchant is accurate.

For a long time, the Indo-European world understood itself intrinsically as something distinctive, unitary, imbued with special destiny and incontestably superior to any given runner-up. The swastika, for example, can be found all over the place in late 19th century America. It was still emblazoned on the leather binding of the yearbooks at my alma mater as recently as 1932. So it’s silly to trace the decline of the West to Plato or St. Peter or the French Revolution. The West wasn’t even getting started back then. It wasn’t until the period circa 1880-1945 that the transcontinental railways were built, the British Empire spanned the globe, Shackleton and Hedin made their expeditions, and Siberia, the Yukon, the southern capes and the heights of the Himalaya were all finally conquered. 

Bruce Chatwin’s In Patagonia is a remarkable travelogue of Argentina in the 70s, that memorializes this outpouring in the form of anecdotes from elderly British and German settlers living at that time in the southern Andes, who still remembered the influx of Europeans three-quarters of a century earlier, their conquest of the remotest lands, and the Odyssean sailors who transported its wool to market in London and Seattle, following nigh to the heels of Tennyson’s ancient mariner. Kipling, Jack London, the pre-Raphaelites, the Beaux Arts, and especially the children’s literature of that period all testify to the self-awareness of the West as something unitary and incomparably dynamic. The decline begins around the same period: the cynicism and malaise portrayed in Chekhov and Oscar Wilde, the banker’s coup of 1913, and the Great War, which precipitated maudlin Nazism, Wickard v. Filburn, the Stalinist purges, and the unseemly domestication of the American 1950s.

No literature encapsulates the awareness of a constricting malaise during this time better than the Lost Generation. When I was in high school in the 90s, back when reading was mandatory, The Great Gatsby was still mandatory reading. Tom Buchanan was taught as anti-racist satire, Meyer Wolfsheim shrugged off as a product of the book’s time. But Gatsby is incredibly based and prescient: not only is the portrayal of Jews there (and their relationship to the kind of arrivism  revealed in Gatsby’s fawning remark over lunch about the criminal Wolfsheim’s superior intelligence) exactly what it seems, but Tom Buchanan is not being smeared as a racist—he’s being smeared as a degenerate. Call of Cthulu was contemporaneous and its message is likewise deeply racial.

The Sun Also Rises is also incredibly based, with the capricious and overcompensating Jew, Robert Cohn, too googly-eyed and childish to ever be loved; the lapsed Catholic narrator, Jake, who’s too cynical to ever love again; and the bankrupt and cuckolded aristocrat, Michael, drowning in debt and drink. Likewise the ruined old nobles of Chekhov’s Cherry Orchard, overtaken by the merchant Lopakhin, of peasant origin, and played off by a Jewish orchestra. Lady Chatterley (and Forster’s Maurice) are altogether cast from the same mold.

I once read somewhere that The Big Lebowski is about the death of God, with each of the characters representing one of the several inadequate, cookie-cutter responses that Western culture has been acting out ever since, trying to cope and compensate. And yet the one personality the film seems to have left out entirely is that of the fascist. There are nihilists and a neocon, yes—but no Nazis. Or are there? 

It’s always dark in The Big Lebowski. Most of the action takes place at night. It seems to me that the various characters do indeed represent the empty masks we cling to like buoys of fake meaning on a sea of dread, as we navigate a dark night. The nihilists’ mask is simply the pretense of not wearing any. And this pretense may have many analogues, but fascism is certainly one, because it is pathos-laden and purely vindictive. It cannot resurrect an age of martial valor. It can only lower itself to the challenge of bestiality and dementia.

Consider the recent demonstrations by operatives of the so-called Rise Above movement, and their slogan, “white lives matter”:

Perhaps the principal conceptual shift that occurred during the 2010s was the passing of the torch of (advocating for) consumerist creature-comfort to the liberal class and its orcs from the withered hand of (more or less) conservative middle America, whose vanguard now takes to the streets to annunciate exactly the same kind of simpering and pathos-laden victimology the blacks once did. Indeed, this is the entire tendency of right-wing politics today. Does a virile and forward-gazing people need to debase itself in this manner? The unnamable is the eternally real, and true dominance is always implicit.

For everyone else, there’s the so-called dissident right.

Self-Care in the Globohomo Bates Motel

The private lives of employees are not forgotten—hence the increase in so-called personnel counseling.” —Julius Evola

Long story short: you’ve got this cultish yuppie wellness retreat in Hawaii run by Masha, an aging but svelte Russian immigrant and former CEO played by Nicole Kidman (who has had more work done on her than the BQE and should probably be in a diaper). Masha is super-selective about which applicants she picks to attend, and bases these decisions on the traumatic background each applicant brings to the retreat, how much they “need” Masha’s services, and how well each one plays against the others. The retreat is intensive and emotionally invasive. Everyone’s blood is drawn upon arrival, their luggage and smartphones taken away, and they’re served smoothies every morning prepared on the basis of their individual bloodwork.

Masha is mysterious and all-knowing. It is implied repeatedly that she has some X-factor intuitive magical power over her charges, and she has an androgynous, racially blended staff of customer-service yogis in scrub-like robes and little hemp purses whose job is to deflect the entitled carping of each fragile guest as they nervously anticipate the next steps in Masha’s pretentiously mercurial personal-transformation regimen. Although this really just consists of a series of schlock corporate team-building exercises, the whole tenor of Nine Perfect Strangers is one of reverence for this sort of thing, without the least hint of satire.

Masha’s staff look like maladapted grad students, but speak all the time with an incongruously sedate detachment, like knowing elders. If you’ve spent time in any of our nation’s hippy-liberal wellness playgrounds—e.g., Austin, Taos, Santa Cruz, either of the Portlands—you’ve encountered these types, idolaters of the wind-chime who seem to have drowned in the religion of TED and Esalen. Anglo-swamis and intersectional canned hams whose lives never develop beyond the realm of a college campus. Sexless, humorless, passive aggressive, smiles eyeless, robotically compliant with every dictat of PC language policing, there seems to be a fourth wall they never break, like something vital has been cauterized out of them.

I’ve seen it observed by alt-right Twitter hipsters that the bartender and the priest have been eclipsed by the therapist. This is very correct. But while the priest has a duty to God, and the bartender listens secondarily to serving you a drink, the therapist is the only member of this triad who gets paid to pretend to give a shit, with absolutely no organic pretextual springboard. Although she’ll likewise take all comers, even a prostitute doesn’t stoop to this level of gaslighting.

Because overachieving neurotics never know contentment, cosmopolitan elites are always in the market for therapeutic diversions. The customer-service yogi of hippy liberalville (with the quirky downtown) is the court eunuch, the toady class of corporate America, a yes-man selling indulgences. He washes the feet of the rich, not in the name of the narrow gate and the eye of the needle but in the name of the post-wall beefrag of that great cleansing void where poverty of the spirit means poverty in the cosmic sense alone:

Note (in the video, above) that the man from Galilee has been conveniently excised, with an overtone of profundity intended to sell something expensive to the self-importance of the cosmically-anxious manager class. The richer and more successful they are, the longer the shadow they’re running (or cycling) from. Even the Buddha was a deadbeat dad.

That is why we have TV shows like Nine Perfect Strangers premised on emotions being a symptom of sickness, and unfamiliar experts being uniquely qualified to manage them for us. 

Fuck White People

yes we can

Nationalism is a psychological defense against misanthropy in 100% of cases. Accordingly, no one hates white people more than white nationalists. And why wouldn’t they? Have you seen white people? Jackson, Jipsum, Jaylyn, Jordyn. I know a white man—a professional hip-hop DJ, the lowest form of race-cuck—who named his son Iverson. Negro circus animals with literal prepubescent mental capacity command the popular imagination the way astronauts once did, and this man named his son, his only son—by a “baby mama,” no less—after the surname of one of them. Reality just doesn’t get any lower and more demoralizing.

You should see the white parents at my youngest son’s elementary school. None of the men under 50 will shake your hand. They all prefer “fist-bumps,” a symptom of negrified stupefaction and egomania if ever there was one. The women, meanwhile, are all in yoga pants—what used to be called leggings, which are technically an undergarment. Every bit of cellulite, every inch of ass crack is visible in these overpriced biohaz receptacles. They’re not tasteful, like a miniskirt. They simultaneously cover everything while leaving nothing to the imagination. 

Then there are the tattoos. None of my friends’ parents had tattoos when I was growing up. Now, they’re everywhere—on adults, even affluent ones. Especially affluent ones. The future bankrupts of various post-industrial industries, who expect that their stripmall gym or their real estate license or their degree in marketing or criminal justice should entitle them to the fat of the land in perpetuity, play acting at the age of forty like cowboys and sex-kittens and movie gangsters while their doughy, half-autistic children dissipate into the dullening amusements of a Microsoft annuity blue-screen.

No amount of deadlifting or paleo dieting or churchgoing could possibly dilute this grandiose narcissism. The gyms and trad churches are the worst venue for these theatrics and fake personalities and sex pests, clamoring to wring the last drops out of the American dream like any other type of yuppie. Even the alt-right “active clubs” and macho “tribes” all live for Instagram, for “the grind” and “the hustle,” like the kind of delusional recidivists you’d expect to meet in Narcotics Anonymous who’ve all read The 48 Laws of Power yet can’t keep a job as a barback. \

White power!

Fuck America

“So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, whilst we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.” —Howard Pyle, Robin Hood

Citizenship in a republic assumes a certain baseline competence on the part of the citizen. We don’t have that anymore. We have endemic narcissism and fat pussy in yoga pants, and patriotic tough-guy louts who are all sub-rosa PornHub coomers and pathetic road rage incidents waiting to explode. Spend fifteen minutes with an American and he’ll tell you everything about himself. It’s disgusting.

Look around. Do Americans deserve the right to bear arms? Even the police don’t deserve that. Americans are entitled, litigious, emotionally labile exhibitionist infants living under the iron vagina of a richly-deserved shithead management system. At least all the immigrant grifters can see this fire sale for what it is. Anyone who thinks the past glories of this country can be restored is a dangerous zombie with no imagination. Move on. Get a life. It’s over. Nothing that America promises has ever materialized in our lifetimes. And why should it? Why should I sit around, waiting for a handout, or a miracle? Housing prices, gas prices, stagnant wages, inflation, social decay, a six-month waitlist to get your teeth cleaned…. Did you expect anything different? You’re a sucker. If you love America, let it be dead. Your sclerotic hope is just a millstone. If you’re not here trying to get rich, what are you doing? Hanging out, using the wifi until some great, cosmic chimpanzee typing ones and zeros into a keyboard finally manages to write your dreams true? Go live in a shack in Albania already.

David McCullough’s 1776 is a history of the first year of the American revolution. One of the events recounted there is the Battle of Long Island. After the battle, a Hessian mercenary, whose regiment was deployed on a beachhead and then marched inland to the city, wrote home to his wife that America must be the richest country in the world, because every household he saw on Long Island had a few acres, a henhouse, a milk cow, an orchard…. In other words, breathing room. Opportunity. It was nice while it lasted, but it’s spent. All good things must come to an end.

If you can’t stomach a whole three minutes of Tucker Carlson, start this video at 2:35:

“We are a force for good in the world because we’re rich… If we jeopardize our affluence, we jeopardize our ability to make the world better, obviously.” I mean, how are we gonna keep our influencers on TikTok without those coltan mines? Tucker isn’t a conservative outlier, he’s conservatism on Xanax, Tolkien’s Gollum clinging to its precious. Absolutely nothing has changed since the drivers of negroes yelped loudest for liberty. Throwing a moral veneer over human avarice and lechery can only work for so long, and the game is up. “Because we’re rich…” Please. No one here is rich anymore except talking heads and plutocrats and vicious grifters with dead eyes and large bot-followings. Everyone else is running around on vapors and revenge fantasies. 

The human creature is awful—full stop, no exceptions—and for 246 years America has been busy romanticizing him. If your prerequisite for being good is to be rich, and your reason for being rich is to be good, you’re going to go broke slowly, and then all at once. 

Fuck Right-Wingers

Can the absorption of alt-right brain coom into the rectum of boomercon jowl-theater be more complete than this? The men of Sodom were less vindictive. The “mystery speaker” turned out to be that fat-headed tranny, Marjorie Taylor Greene, “washed in the blood of Christ.” What a freakshow.

There is nothing remotely coherent about this lineup. Al Bundy was more right wing. Why would I want to see a Twitter handle talk in meatspace? Can I take a shit at the same time? It’s pathetic. This is what happens when alt-right attention whores gaze long into the abyss of e-money.

I’ve said it before: there’s no longer any daylight between conservatism and the alt-right. The radicals had their say, and the normies have all been radicalized. And do you know what changed? Nothing. And it never will.

Fuck the Jews


Judaism is a lyrical trove. It embodies mournful steadfastness, defiant pluck, and impervious amour propre. But it is also an agonized victimology, solipsistic, constantly chafing and embroiled, its relationship to the outside world anxiety-laden and fundamentally antagonistic.

The Jewish Question is a minefield to which virtually every approach seems to escape reasonable proportion or fall shy of the mark, due on the one hand to the obscure and protean aspects of Jewish doctrine and identity, and to the manic, cynical ressentiment of full-retard anti-semitism on the other. I have elsewhere made the distinction between dispassionate recognition of ontological differences, and that fanaticism which I refer to as full-retard anti-semitism. Dispensing with the latter is easy: ressentiment is just… gay; and I have treated the topic at length in these pages. Judaism’s underlying neurosis is perhaps more evasive of diagnosis, if only because its symbolism and eschatology are insinuated so deeply into Western civilization that the tangle of branches obscures the vine.

People go generations without ever examining received and fixed ideas. They go to their deaths defending them without having comprehended their full import. Just what is Judaism? By this I mean the whole spectrum of historically Jewish national characteristics—Judaism, Zionism, yiddishkeit. Everything that makes Jews distinct. Some of the extreme outliers—e.g., the Lemba people, or various weird and completely foreign practices that various liberal sects are claiming bear an intrinsic relation to Judaism—can be excluded. But other than that, in making the criticisms that follow I will not be boxed into a definition that suits only one faction of Jews—or the whims of anti-semites—because that is exactly the kind of thing that prevents cogent analysis of this topic. We all know Jews and Jewishness when we see them.

Still, the question remains: what is Judaism’s underlying psychology? What is someone with a Jewish identity really adhering to, at the most basic level that gives this identity commonality with all other Jews?

One thing is certain: Judaism is deeply insecure. “Security” is virtually the sole aim of the State of Israel; maudlin reflections on personal and familial Jewishness—reducible invariably to a sense of insecurity—are a staple among cultural elites; and Jewish topical films and literature reflect the most skittish, vindictive psychology. Only three antidotes have ever been proposed for this: religious fervor, apostasy (or assimilation), and Zionism.

Vladimir Jabotinsky, one of Zionism’s clearest thinkers, described the problem thusly:

We ourselves have acquainted our neighbors with the thought that for every embezzling Jew it is possible to drag the entire ancient people to answer… Every accusation causes among us such a commotion that people unwittingly think, ‘Why are they so afraid of everything? Apparently their conscience is not clear.’ Exactly because we are ready at every minute to stand at attention, there develops among others an inescapable view about us, as of some specific thievish tribe. We think that our constant readiness to undergo a search without hesitation and to turn out our pockets will eventually convince mankind of our nobility; look what gentlemen we are—we do not have anything to hide!

This is a terrible mistake. The real gentlemen are those who will not allow anyone for any reason to search their apartment, their pockets or their soul. Only a person under surveillance is ready for a search at every moment. This is the only one inevitable conclusion from our maniac reaction to every reproach—to accept responsibility as a people for every action of a Jew, and to make excuses in front of everybody including hell knows who. I consider this system to be false to its very root.

Jabotinsky could’ve saved himself a lot of trouble by just becoming a dentist. Over the course of a 150-year period which has seen the rise of the first independent Jewish polity in millennia, nothing about “this system” has changed. No people in the world expends greater energy on PR. After seventy-three years of Israeli independence the Jew, and the Jewish Israeli, is every bit the specially protected creature his forbear was in the courts of medieval Europe. One has to wonder whether this system is susceptible of change at all, or if its perverse incentives all militate in the direction of continuous ressentiment and inferiority complex.

Israeli filmmaker Yoav Shamir’s 2009 documentary, Defamation, examines institutional Jewry’s cynical exploitation of anti-semitism for political gain, and even managed to elicit a shocking (if not quite counter-intuitive) on-camera confession from former ADL chief Abe Foxman that from his perspective, anti-semitism is a source of leverage. Andy Nowicki reviewed the film for the original Alternative Right:

[T]he most powerful segment… involves a group of Israeli teenagers who are flown to Auschwitz on a field trip. The kids are familiar adolescent characters: rowdy, rambunctious, immature, emotional, prone to gossip and mischief, at times sweetly wide-eyed in their innocence. They are both annoying and likable simultaneously, as teenagers can be. In any case, this group is in no mood to have their consciousness raised during their exciting trip together: much to the consternation of their adult chaperones, they just want to have fun. 

Over the course of the trip, however, these kids are repeatedly bludgeoned with the message: You are Jews and the world hates you; you must in turn hate and fear the world if you hope to survive! Their faces are pushed into the gruesome tales of the events that took place in the notorious camp, and at night their handlers tell them stories of how the present-day country of Poland is still rife with neo-Nazi violence. A harmless comment to some members of the group uttered by an old Polish man is interpreted as viciously anti-Semitic; Shamir tries to correct their misconception, but to no avail; they have been instructed how to perceive reality, and won’t be dissuaded.

The kids, being hedonistic at heart, do manage to put up some resistance to the relentless stream of emotionally compelling propaganda being pumped into their ears, but they can only hold out for so long. Near the end of the trip, a lovely young Jewess breaks down and tells Shamir that it has finally happened: she has learned to “hate” her enemies; the implication is clear that she has come to view the Palestinians and Arabs as cut from the same cloth as the Nazis. 

This scene has a viscerally searing quality, similar in feel to Orwell’s account of his hero Winston Smith succumbing to the horrific manipulations of the Ministry of Love and learning to embrace the pernicious ruling ideology of Oceania. The corruption of innocence portrayed here is simply breathtaking, and heartbreaking to behold.

The deeper question that Defamation fails to ask, however, is just what purpose this distorted attitude serves. What imago are these sacrifices really being lain before? It must be something more than just Israeli state security or short-term political gain, because it is far older than both.

I’ve been wanting to cast this anguish aside for a long time, to put Judaism in the past and never again be afflicted with the pangs of its sentiments. My mother is not Jewish and neither is my wife. But I was raised Jewish—strongly so, and the mental impressions of our formative years are hard to shake. Still, behind my troubled fidelity I have long sensed a foreboding of something uncanny—a callous and refined self-regard, at once vindictive and pathetic, lurking in the shadows of platitudes like a shell game. Yes, the tenacity of the Jews is on the one hand a virtue, but the Jews’ adaptability is ironically a product of refusal to adapt. To live precariously, as an alien, out of belief in one’s own precious distinctness and thwarted special election—such a system is necessarily clandestine. That is why Jews almost always tend to feel embarrassed by public expressions of Jewishness by other Jews.

In Spies of No Country—a history of the early years of Israel’s spy services—Israeli author Matti Friedman put it (approvingly) like this:

Double identity has always been a part of life for Jews, members of a minority often outwardly indistinguishable from the majority. You wonder how much to show or hide at different times… Some of the oldest stories told by Jews about themselves feature characters who use their double nature at crucial moments to aid their people among the greater nations that threaten it.

Now, I happen to think that Jewish crypsis is one of the richest literary motifs there is, and I don’t want to oversimplify it. But in terms of the angst Friedman is describing, do we ever really feel this way about what is inherently or self-evidently good? Sometimes, yes. Society and its authorities can err where individuals or minorities are in the right. But for a people to be singularly right, always aggrieved, and the rest of mankind wrong or at best indifferent, for millennia at a stretch—that is simply beyond credence.

The younger we are, the more easily we are drawn to concise and vigorous doctrines. As a romantic ne’er-do-well in my late teens, I went to Israel in the early 2000s and joined the IDF because Zionism—assailed dramatically at the time, both by suicide terrorism and world opinion—evidenced a clear sense of mission that American universalist consumerism lacked entirely. But as I searched for exactly what it is that Jews believe, I could not find it anywhere. Yes, there is the central catechism—the Shema—and the 13 Pillars of Faith, but very little of this is distinct to Judaism, and anyone can believe them—that doesn’t necessarily make them a Jew. When placed beside the tumult of Israel’s perennial orientation to the world, they explain next to nothing.

Furthermore, it quickly became clear to me that orthodox Judaism is not only a set of laws, but an initiatic system centered around progressively obscurer texts—and doctrines—and it is highly selective about who gets to learn them. I was told by religious friends that Judaism contains the most ancient and superlative wisdom, that the Torah is replete with mysteries beyond the grasp of reason, and that I simply had to trust the rabbinic authorities. But it isn’t in the nature of reason to depend on the caprices of gurus—and it isn’t in the nature of light to conceal itself. Either this creed is concealing something good from a wicked world, or it is concealing something dark from a morally ambivalent one, and I think I know which is more likely. Namely, it is incontrovertible that Jewish eschatology promises Israel eventual world dominion in a messianic age. Like all messianism, this is megalomaniacal, something wicked on its face, and the fact that it is not taken seriously by most Jews does not make it less characteristic of Judaism. For something called Judaism to persist without it simply requires it to take different forms.

When I viewed Jews entirely as underdogs—a belief critical to Jewish identity—this disturbed me less. But that view was oversimplified, and in any case, times have changed. Put simply, the Jews have given the world a large part of the most debauched ruling class it has ever seen, and though for the most part these people are not Torah observant, their peculiar will to power is remarkably consistent with well-known motifs in the Hebrew Bible. Powerful Jews may represent a tiny proportion of Jewish people, but they represent a very high proportion of world oligarchs. If we want to keep things down to earth and avoid pure speculation, there is simply no avoiding the conclusion that a trans-national conclave that is disproportionately if not predominantly Jewish occupies the very center of power in the world today. Although one sees it done poorly more often than it is done well, in this context the psychological fundamentals of Judaism simply must come under examination.

I don’t have a dogma or peculiar theory to stand on here. From personal experience all I can tell you is this: to be a person with due regard for objective truth, on the one hand, and a strong Jewish identity, on the other, is to be ready at a moment’s notice (and more often unasked) to burnish the nation’s public image by presenting oneself as an example; to avoid asking critical questions, and dissociate or rationalize when they can’t be avoided. It is to engage in a great deal of self-criticism and self-awareness, but only as ego defense; and (especially) to regard fanatical and repulsive enemies as a welcome relief from introspection.

Of course, Judaism means different things to different Jews. Its factions and trends are proverbial—yet it coheres. Just what is its sine qua non? Not its catechisms, but its overall tendency and underlying psychology? What is the unvarying factor around which its disparate strands all coil?

I have already hinted at my thesis. Judaism’s basic narrative structure is simply that the Jews are the elect of God or of history—congenitally more special, intelligent, persevering and misunderstood than all other peoples, with a special destiny to be vindicated before the rest of mankind, either (1) religiously, in a coming messianic age; (2) historically, over the course of linear time, or (3) in daily life and society, as sagely sorts with a penchant for overcoming long odds. It isn’t that most Jews consciously believe this or behave as if it were so. It’s that every (yes, every) disparate form of Jewish identity—whether left-radical, libertarian, secular, religious, nationalist, chauvinist, humanist, etc.—is underlain by this basic narrative structure. Even Jewish self-hatred tends to be a way of just chewing on this psychology without ever spitting it out. 

Of course, any enduring group identity will involve mythos, conceit, xenophobia, perhaps inferiority complex; but to conceptualize a national god as the God, and the nation as the most special and important of all time, is an exceptional psychological perch that virtually cannot be climbed down from, and this perhaps points to why Jewish identity survives all kinds of assimilation and disillusionment.

Consider, for example, this famous bit of philo-semitism from Mark Twain:

The Egyptians, the Babylonians and the Persians rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greeks and Romans followed and made a vast noise, and they were gone; other people have sprung up and held their torch high for a time but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, and have vanished. The Jew saw them all, survived them all, and is now what he always was… All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains.

Could anything more nearly approximate the Jewish self-image? The combination of pathos and pomposity is glaring. The question also arises whether immortality is at all desirable—don’t get me started on who else Twain was singing the praises of at the time.)

Leo Strauss similarly concluded, in his noted 1962 lecture, “Why We Remain Jews,” that the purpose of the Jews is to prove that there’s no salvation:

The Jewish people and their fate are the living witness for the absence of redemption. This, one could say, is the meaning of the chosen people; the Jews are chosen to prove the absence of redemption.

Well then who chose them? I happen not to be a believer in redemption in the Judeo-Christian sense (I much prefer Camus’s dictum, “Do not wait for the last judgment; it comes everyday.”) Still, it’s hard to see how one people’s failure in this regard could be everyone else’s problem. Strauss’s conclusion is a bit like unsolicited advice to a bright-eyed youth from an embittered elder. Our religion flopped, so yours must be nonsense as well.

More recently, TED-talk charlatan Douglas Rushkoff expanded on this:

The thing that makes Judaism dangerous to everybody, to every race, to every nation, to every idea, is that we smash things that aren’t true, we don’t believe in the boundaries of nation-state, we don’t believe in the ideas of these individual gods that protect individual groups of people; these are all artificial constructions and Judaism really teaches us how to see that. In a sense our detractors have us right, in that we are a corrosive force, we’re breaking down the false gods of all nations and all people because they’re not real and that’s very upsetting to people.

We are nihilists, Lebowski. We suck all the enchantment out of the world and replace it with data. Of course, a nation with boundaries and an individual god that protects an individual group of people is precisely what Jews have long believed in; but those are just the trees, whereas Rushkoff in his breathtaking arrogance has actually identified the forest, the destructive logical terminus of Judaism as its psychology actually functions in western civilization since WWII. For how different is Rushkoff’s thesis from ours? Is he not agreeing that Judaism entails being congenitally more special, intelligent, persevering and misunderstood than all other peoples, with a special destiny to be vindicated before the world?

But this is quite odd. On the one hand, we have Judaism, the ancient religion: insular, xenophobic, theistical. On the other, we have “Judaism”: liberal, cosmopolitan, atheistic. The rabbis (for the most part) aren’t excommunicating the atheists, and the Zionists approve of both sides. All seem to agree about little else, except that Judaism makes us more special, intelligent, persevering and misunderstood than all other peoples, with a special destiny to be vindicated before all mankind.

Needless to say, this self-image is not self-sufficient. It necessarily involves others who would prefer to be left out of it, who may not be thinking about Judaism, though Judaism is thinking about them. That is what Jabotinsky was trying to change, he just couldn’t see the depth of the problem and that it went two ways—that Christianity is not only scapegoating the Jews, but that Judaism needs this, because it is scapegoating the gentiles as well. This identity of anguished specialness is a neurosis that has to be let go. You can hate me for saying so, but I mean to learn from the past, not wallow in it like a pig in shit, no matter how precious and ancient the shit may be. I’m not waiting for the messiah; what God has given is sufficient. And aside from the unparalleled lyricism of the Bible, there is nothing the Jews have given mankind that others have not discovered independently and done at least as well. There is no other people on earth that does not have its memory of calamities, no less terrible for them than ours are for us. The Jews should honor their national heroes and mourn their national martyrs without the constant underlying feeling that the world has something to answer for. It’s not healthy. It’s not right.

Rise of the Normie Fascist

I’ll show you no nut November

Progress and civilization, religion and the ideal have closed life in a mortal circle where phantoms most grim have erected their viscid reign.” —Renzo Novatore

Beware of those who talk much of their ‘justice.'” —Nietzsche

I have a confession to make: I can’t stand Tucker Carlson. It’s not that I disagree with him much. It’s just that…. Some evils are so ubiquitous, so predictable, that I can no longer be bothered with anyone who’s still gawking at them.

It would be difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when the 2010s alt-right merged completely into basic conservatism. It didn’t happen all at once. For me, I think the first sign came a few years back, when the tattooed, pot-bellied pastor at a boys’ church activity group I take my youngest son to told the parents (apropos of what, I can’t recall) that “Strong men make good times, good times make weak men,” etc. But there have been lots of little moments like these over the past ten years, Yarvin on Tucker being the most recent. Or when The Tim Allen Show parroted the “white people built civilization” trope (which is true, but also pouty and cringe), or when rumors were going around that Steve Bannon was fond of Julius Evola. And who can forget this Chestertonian slop-gob, which made quite the rounds a few years back:

It’s always sad when your comedy heroes confess to being humorless. The verbiage, the sentiment…. It’s a perfect illustration of Wilde’s definition of a cynic. Note the outrageous abuse of the word “stygian.” The Enlightenment was a milestone in the history of consciousness. Its assassins are who is lurking in wait, and they’re all so…. tiresome. Little do alt-right Twitterers realize, when they skewer the uncouthness of Marjorie Taylor Greene, that they’re looking at their own souls in the mirror.

In late 2012 I was in college, when I encountered an article on TakiMag. Before long, I was reading Jack Donovan, then Radix and Alternative Right. It was all so heady and subversive. At the outset, the alt-right was equal parts Tyler Durden ontology and Tom Buchanan shitshow bombast. But the sense of alienation it spoke to was so raw, the venue it emerged in so incompatible with the catharsis of being punched in the face, that before long the alt-right went from skewering puritanism to practicing it. The moment of clarity for me came in 2013 when an alt-right page on Facebook shared a Counter Currents article condemning the Kansas City JCC shooter—but purely for tactical reasons, “optics” and the like. It wasn’t long before the whole thing became a Nuremberg rally, just another exhibitionist ring-around the fetid altar of full-retard anti-semitism.

The thing about fascism is that it’s all bark. Whereas Zionism started out with great feats of daring against precipitous odds, only to degenerate into a liberal consumer culture and a victimology, Nazism started out with bawdy talk and broken glass, only to take on precipitous odds that its ersatz heroism was insufficient to overcome—Tolkien’s “ruddy little ignoramuses,” stroked with assurances of their congenital fortitude, morality, and entitlement.

But we shouldn’t be too hard on the Nazis. After all, the complexity of nature and of human life is lost on ideologues, who are always in the vanguard of far dimmer wits—the man with one eye, leading the proverbial blind. For as I have sung many a time in the shower:

When one reflects how necessary it is to the great majority that there be regulations to restrain them from without and hold them fast, and to what extent control, or, in a higher sense, slavery, is the one and only condition which makes for the well-being of the weak-willed man, and especially woman, then one at once understands conviction and ‘faith.’ To the man with convictions they are his backbone. To avoid seeing many things, to be impartial about nothing, to be a party man through and through, to estimate all values strictly and infallibly—these are conditions necessary to the existence of such a man. But by the same token they are antagonists of the truthful man—of the truth…. The believer is not free to answer the question, ‘true’ or ‘false,’ according to the dictates of his own conscience: integrity on this point would work his instant downfall. The pathological limitations of his vision turn the man of convictions into a fanatic—Savonarola, Luther, Rousseau, Robespierre, Saint-Simon—these types stand in opposition to the strong, emancipated spirit. But the grandiose attitudes of these sick intellects, these intellectual epileptics, are of influence upon the great masses—fanatics are picturesque, and mankind prefers observing poses to listening to reasons.

The party-men of the alt-right are on trial this week, in a federal court in Virginia, and things look to be going badly for them. Little do they (and their opponents) realize that they’ve already won. They got what they wanted—they radicalized the normies. Conservatism in 2021 is completely isolationist. Jews are about as popular as they were in 1937. Old-time religion is enjoying a resurgence. The Great Replacement is on Fox primetime. Everything is “based.” Alt-right memes and tropes are everywhere among normie conservatives and Trumpists, who in 2021 are finally as alienated as the readers of Radix were in 2012. The only problem is, they’re no less stupid for having been radicalized. The circus of American public life absorbed these poison darts, and carried on. The vanguard led its child army to the Holy City, and the windswept streets whispered “Rosebud” (and a promo code for MyPillow. Thanks, Jack Posobiec.)

Pay careful attention. I say this as a Pale Horse-before-it-was-cool conspiracy theorist: such an outcome is far, far beyond the abilities of Dr. Woland, Project Monarch, or the Elders of Zion. It depends on the constitution of the human creature—and his apotheosis, the American—something that can only be ascribed to the sick sense of humor of God Almighty. The problem was not hatched in a Prague cemetery, it was ordered loud and clear with a Dr. Pepper and a large fry.

Some carnival barker called Darren Beattie—a self-styled genius whose star is rising among right wingers, because they lack all sense of style—proposes that the antidote to left-wing moral fervor is right-wing moral fervor:

Juxtapose the slogan ‘Silence is violence’ with ‘Don’t tread on me.’ ‘Silence is violence’ is morally imperialist, and it will always beat ‘Don’t tread on me,’ and [this] registers the fact that the left, for all its faults, has the moral high ground, and that’s why they win. And so, until Republicans can be just as confident in being protectors of civilization against barbarism and destruction and defend civilization as such with the same kind of moral fervor that the left attempts to tear it down [using] words like ‘racism’…. Until they’re prepared to do that, they will lose. And so that’s the moral framework, and having the moral high ground gives you the confidence to hold frame in a discussion.

Where to begin with these brain contusions? The Republicans as “defenders of civilization”! “Civilization” is a buzzword, an affliction to which its sufferers apply the snake oil of moralism the way a junkie uses smack. This right wing junkie hates the left because the left has better smack. He needs the good stuff because getting help is out of the question—he cannot work for a living, he’s too far gone. “I’ll see your AOC and raise you a Father Coughlin and a No Nut November.” Is public discourse not insufferable enough? Who that lived through the summer of George Floyd could possibly want more moralism? This lunatic’s will to power is a game of blackmail anybody’s mother-in-law could beat him at, yet he intends to “defend civilization” with it. Sad!

Here is what this Beattie’s “moral high ground” looks like in practice:

Such shameless sniveling! The French and Indian War? Why not the Battle of Thermopylae? These dimwit spergs are everywhere now, with nothing to say for themselves but this Ancestry.com trivia. Outhouse intellectuals, consumer dissidents and high school football has-been dad bods who’ve learned the word “oligarchy.” The oligarchs couldn’t wish for choicer enemies, Beattie’s moral rectitude is the extent of their power:

Has the baggy-eyed soul of Spiro Agnew acquired a new flesh suit? The awakened Saxon would like to please speak to a manager. This loyalty-oath fetishist thinks the military is too woke because he doesn’t realize that Nietzsche’s “regulations to restrain him from without and hold him fast” were already gayer than a rubber dolphin. That’s why my sole loyalty is to my family and friends, and to timeless principals. I wouldn’t waste a drop of it on ideology, or institutions, or on making common cause with patriotic louts and moralfags against woke fairies and loons. If our rights don’t derive from government, but from God, then why this obsession with power? I don’t know about you, but my rights derive from me, and I don’t give a fuck what God or America has to say about it.