September 8, 2013
You have heard it said: “my Race is my Religion.” It is my assumption that to the bulk of whatever audience this little essay may have attracted that the afore-written statement is a very pragmatic, commonsensical statement. In fact, it probably goes without saying that most of you feel this goes without saying. Fair enough. Yet, if you were to take this delightfully concise little mantra outside our circles, the response received would be less than receptive.
Religion, as a matter of trivial fact, like all metacognitive ideals, can be reduced to a linguistic construct. The word comes to us from the Latin. “Religio.” It refers to a state of obligation, reverence or adoration. That’s it. Consider this the next time you overhear a “religious debate.” The morphological function of the word “religion” is eminently practical when confined to its traditional usage. Imagine that. Tradition as practical, what a revolutionary concept!
Well, it is precisely the question of tradition that I wish to, in a typically roundabout fashion, discuss. And it is chiefly for this purpose: my Race is my Religion. However, because I believe this, and, albeit tacitly, live this, it is assumed that I live a credo of hatred. I do not. I prefer a more holistic approach, a positive approach. You will read more of that shortly.
One of the most poignant criticisms I have heard leveled against White Nationalism is a very pragmatic one. That criticism ferries us back to my opening quote. That our Race is our Religion, that is to say our object of reverence, obligation, devotion, and, hopefully, adoration. Yet in my own, admittedly yearling, initiation into “White Awakening,” or “racial awareness,” or whatever you please, I have noticed corroborating evidence to back up this criticism. To outsiders it may seem as if our racism is indeed a credo of hate. Perhaps for some it is, but, frankly, my aim here is to discuss why an entirely hate-based philosophy is an inherently harmful position to take.
Before I continue, I shall define my position on hatred. It is necessary. All human emotions are necessary; they keep the gears of the machine oiled – if one is to take a Hobbesian standpoint on the human person. Hatred is a survival instinct. Once we have identified a threat to our well-being, we come to hate it. Yet, many seem preoccupied on hate. One must know what he is, and is not, what he holds, and does not hold, in order for one to understand what is threatened and when. Aimless anger is of no general use. Any animal can foist mindless hate. With that said, allow me to commence to elucidate upon my thinking.
Many White Nationalist cliques seem overly concerned with negative liberties and negative associations, rather than creative output. These negative liberties focus upon who we ought NOT to associate with, what we ought NOT to do, and think, and feel. And of course, it is true that there must be constraint in the many sub or hinter movements within the broader scope of White Nationalism, it must also be admitted that a fetishistic obsession with the what-nots will affect one pivotally undesirable outcome – it will simply make us into a puddle of inbred, quasi-Semitic-minded would-be and not-quite Aryans. We will discuss in short order how nature abhors a vacuum, but first analyse my previous statement and consider how you might hate a contradiction, and make it a personal objective to avoid falling into this categorically unpleasant state of vacuous duality.
It is the obsessive focus on negativity, which has characterised the Wandering Jew and lent him to so many poignant critiques, from Henry Ford’s “International Jew,” the document “Protocols of Zion” and directly to the disturbingly acute NSDAP film “der Ewige Jude.”
Consider this. The devil-god of the Jewish Scriptures, the reputedly ‘holy’ Tanakh, list the Jew-god as issuing unto Moseh 614 Commandments (because this god knew it had to cover all its bases with such an intrinsically defiant, inhospitable people – lest this race of lawyers find a loophole to exploit.) Of these 614 commandments, barely a handful are positive commandments. That is to say, there are more than 500 utterances of ‘thou shalt not’ as opposed to, ‘thou shalt,’ or better still, ‘oughst thou?’
So what is the point? The point is this. This obsession with negative liberty can service only to create a vacuum in which a slithering guile develops. Why, you might ask, has the Jew been so successful in his various campaigns? Because he has become a vacuum. The Jew has no positive culture. Jewish “innovations” are most often copyright infringements, from the archetypical splitting of the atomic human demiurge, once called Mannaz (whom they renamed Adamah and Hevah) in the Garden of Eden whose parallels are to be found universally, and universally inverse of the Jewish perversion of textual evidence – to the Deluge, which can be heard screamed from Babylonian mountaintops, rumbled from Roman Mythology and whispered in the holy Norse, (best preserved – and most tampered with – of the archetypical Germanic mythological constructs) echoed in Native America, und so weiter. Yet what is the chief difference between the native myths and the Semitic plagiarisms? The native myths represent vitality and life-force, they affirm afterlives and speak of the soul. The Jew focuses strictly on the ephemeral and buries his head away from the light of the eternal. Even their monotheistic God hypothesis was stolen from neighbouring cultures. The influence of Yahweh waxes and wanes and shifts in accordance to whom gods chose to annoy by selecting the Jews to inhabit their lands. The Egyptian period saw a remarkably callous Yahweh, where as some Psalms written in slightly more tolerant Assyria saw a relatively gentle Yahweh. Some of the Apocrypha shows evidence of Aryosophy as stolen from the Greeks: I cite the demiurge Hagia Sophia, the Holy Wisdom, which appears in the book “Wisdom” as a female counterpart to Yahweh. In short, the Jews invert what they take in – what is vital, they hamper, what reaches out, they force in. Their focus, being negative, leaves no other possibility. Their cultural vacuity obviously extends to the economic, as well, as this is the most common grudge held against the “chosen ones of YHWH.” That is that they do not produce, like with culture, they imitate and pervert, or otherwise steal.
So now that we have set that stage, allow me to pull back the curtains on another – if you’ll suffer me the longevity to do so. We know what we don’t want to be. It’s very easy to analyse what we do NOT want. As we have so recently established, Jewish history is based squarely upon what they do NOT want to be, what they do NOT want to do, et cetera. They do this because in a state of base nature, as Thomas Hobbes so assiduously fomented, it is easy to take the low road – where life is “nasty, brutish and short.“ It is hard to make positive advancements, and yet this is precisely what made the Aryan primordiality great. And so did the various races and tribes from which Aryan lineage can be deduced also exude greatness.
Allow me to proffer a suggestion. A sheerly introspective, yet transcendental suggestion. Rather than focus only on telling another what they cannot be, why not identify what/who YOU are? There is in France a movement, which I understand translates roughly as “Generation Identity.” These are youths seeking something primal; they are seeking self. Yet the self is derived from the group that spawned it, and we all know the lack of homogeneity that allowed the former creative genius of the Aryan to flourish. In fact, there are many such groups, yet the French one simply affords me the best connective metaphor with which to titillate your affective domain.
We all love to be entertained. Many White Nationalists love movies such as Beowulf (despite its egregious cultural misnomers, errors,) Thor (since when is Heimdall a mud-man?) and Lord of the Rings (a rather nobler effort.) We enjoy videogames with fantastic themes, (the Elder Scrolls, Dungeons and Dragons,) all of which promote the primal feel of Aryan myth and mystery. Why? Because they are positive reinforcements of an internal craving which cannot for long go unsatisfied lest entropy, travesty or tragedy ensue.
Yet, it would be unfair for you to inhale such a lengthy gust of cerebral flatus only to learn that the progenitor of the wind has nothing to back his words with. So. With that, an example: I myself am a Mainer. However, a more accurate and humorous diagnosis of my person could be to call me a W.A.S.P. (White Anglo-Saxon Pagan.) I embrace my culture as a Mainer to the fullest, which, in light of the hard and heavy myscegenistic plague, is predictably erratic. However, my Maine-ness cannot be understood outside the context of my racial lineage. In order to understand being a Mainer, one needs to know the history thereof, and the fluctuations within.
My Maine cannot exist without the Anglo-Saxon blood that has soaked its roots into the soil and nourished the trees of the forest by which I live, and flowed through the streams – vein-like – which ripple throughout the peaty soil within.
I, Paul, am the logical conclusion of my race. What I do caps the ends of my forefathers deeds. The legacy of Alfred the Great, of Beowulf, of Bede the Venerable, and so many more and the countless, noble Heathens which allowed them to engage unwittingly in the Hegelian Dialectic, which produced the very earthen Anglo-Saxon flavour of Catholicism that was eventually extirpated and neutralised at the Travesty of 1066 (better known as the Battle of Hastings) wherein bastardised Franks, now called Normans, whose language and culture had been heavily Romanised, did the same to my proud forefathers. However, there survives a Saxon spirit which ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes. So it goes with the Folk-Soul of every Tribe. In my English Motherland there arise racialist groups, unconsciously, which seek to not only preserve, but reconstruct Anglo-Saxon culture.
In the Netherlands, my cousin-land, you have bands like Heidevolk. In the Fatherland of Germany, you have different cliques, harder to find due to their secrecy, attempting to foster a Folkish return without the unpleasantness of the hideous censorship against nativist German culture in the wake of what Jonathan Bowden referred to as the European Civil War (WWII.)
In the United States, where religions are born and subsequently killed with the rapidity of Catholic proclivity of yore and declinity in the Black Plague era, you have different groups. And yet so many of these groups are marked by, you guessed it, negative associations. We all know their number. The dark clouds before the Black Sun loom over these groups like locust plagues and the so-called ‘proud’ Heathens shudder in fear in the shadow of the Reich, apologising for what they have not done and informing their Kindreds not to harbour anyone who might edge to close to “racism.” And yet, is not Asatru, Theod, and any Folkish religion not the logical march of the race that birthed it? Even if the vastly improbable hypothesis that Race turns out to be a mere social construct is true… than are these people not yet attempting to venerate the illusion, then, of their ancestors? In my mind, this makes absurd the notion of universalist “Asatru.” It strikes me that one can be either universalist or Folkish, but not both. What is the point of Asatru, if not to attenuate oneself to their Folk?
They speak of loosing themselves from “Christian shame” and yet yoke themselves, in a fell swoop of delicious irony, to a purely artificial “pagan guilt.” Why? Not even the Jews, who have no true culture of their own, except the bent prosthetics that they wrest from the nursing homes of cultures they themselves put into decline, apologise for their numerability, expansionism or imperialistic machinations. Another question is why am I hammering this point so hard? Because it is easy to allow negativity to become a poison that hampers movement. Wisely did Alfred Rosenberg in his “Myth of the Twentieth Century” categorise the Nordic Spirit as one marked by movement and creativity. The Germanic race is categorised by journey, voyage, restlessness, innovation, industry, efficiency, imagination, creativity, and adaptability – these all require Lebensraum, living space. Yet what does this negative spirit do? It impels us to stop. While we waste our time focusing on divisive topics, we could rather be researching our Tribal lines and tracing them along the sand to feed the wider, frothy sea of White Nationalistic impulse.
By denying instead of affirming, we starve instead of feed. Cultural Anthropology informs us, via the Venuses of our hallowed dead, that our Aryan diasporic tribal fathers appreciated a well-fed woman. Only death-worshipping modernity, whose wells foreign import has poisoned, favours the sylph-like shade of unlife that the modern woman aspires to be. I have argued elsewhere that anyone with a religion should view that object of devotion as a feminine archetype. That said, do we wish our movement to resemble the Mother Goddess, whose breasts nourish, whose hips once sheltered, and whose belly once hid us from all harm? Or would we rather a sickly, wretched, bone and sinew laden she-creature whose shallow, pallid, whimpering breathing haunts our waking nightmares? Metaphor is a powerful tool, and our movement is our mistress. I need say no more there, or must I?
Allow me to digress. I had earlier offered to tell of myself. Well, myself, or, to dehyphenate, my SELF is derived from my clan, my clan from my tribe, my tribe from my race. I am a Mainer. My forefathers travelled here from England. From England, they had stopped in the Netherlands. Before that they had lingered for a time in France, after having left a cluster of obscure regions in Southern German and Denmark. The ancient Anglo-Saxon tribe was, like the Allemanni, a coagulation, confederation, of separate tribes. Specifically: Angles (from Angeln/Angul,) Saxons (from Sachsen,) and Jutes (from Jutland.) It is also said that the Saxons were thus named for their tendency toward a unique weapon called a Seax, so as the French who take their name from the Francesca (a kind of throwing axe.)
These Anglo-Saxon nomads travelled to the previously Celtic land and either conquered or intermingled with the prior inhabitants. From there they flourished, establishing a purely tribal account of the archetypical Germanic myth. The Demiurge Wodenaz became Woden. Turisas became Thunor. Frija was venerated, as was Tiw. Yet these were not gods of epic danger, as were the northerly understandings, so climatologically impacted. The gods of my folk were earthy, shamanic, given to riddles, wandering and earthy medicine. On a superficial level they have obvious connections with the Northern Germanic variants, but the flavour is intrinsically different in the core – as is the tribe. The same, yet different.
Later. In the absence of Semitic influence, a strictly Germanic Christendom arose. Barely Christendom, more a Germanic monotheism. Jesus was a persona non substantia. There walked in his place Hælend, who came in the name of the chief god Dryhte. Hælend was a warrior prophet whose charism was not impeded by his daily function as a healer. He was present among his people, unlike the messianic Jew prophet who, like Arthur, poses as a once and again king – but never a nowadays king. In fact, if from this construct modern understanding were removed and we observed this system passively, the Saxon Hælend would resemble a starkly Odinic character, his Dream of the Rood being not unlike Odhinn’s fixation to Yggdrasil. Such is the power of the Anglo-Saxon flavour of the Germanic
In terms of physical achievements, not even the stratifying (though it denies this claim) influence of Christendom could not destroy the industry of the Anglo-Saxon spirit. Ask yourself? Who wrote all the good sea-shanties? And why all the ruckus? The British Empire was the greatest of such for quite some time, in terms of achievement. Yet for all her greatness, when Britain indeed was Great, she was because she aimed, advanced, rather than calculate and negate. Now the Anglo-Saxons of England stagnate, and mud-coloured hoards pose as Saxon – an absurdity beyond both insult and injury in terms of scope.
That, in itself, is a painfully rudimental outline of a history stretching back into Aryan prehistory. Our history, our broad history, is history itself, timeless, formless. Each of the Germanic, Celtic, indeed, many Slavic, Baltic tribes all run backwards through time into the Indo-Euopean, and further still Indo-Aryan and to the beginning when there was presumably the Aryan, which likely arose some time after the Pleistocene Epoch, given lexicological research. At any rate, our roots are anchored in the Sun, the first of all-recognised deities (Mother Sunna, Sol Invictus et al.), which gives us life. Yet, inseperable from physical history is language, culture. And the Tribe has contributed much. While the Northern Germanics capitalised on hauntingly esoteric myth and mystery, as well as rough, yet primally charged craftsmanship, the Anglo-Saxons brought to the board a revolution. The Saxon hoards are among history’s most intrinsically detailed knot-works, the burial mounds, sublime. The metalwork, divine. Later still we infiltrated the schools of literature – but not before making schools possible – and dominating literature. Among the greats are proud Anglo-Saxons and their offspring.
Yet, ironically, the British Empire fought the German Reich. This was possible because of the disintegration of racial awareness among the two Tribes. It should be viewed as a historical irony, then, that the Anglo-Saxons, who became one Tribe through the confederation of several neighbouring ones, went to war with the Germans, who historically resisted unification the longest (eventually achieved through Blood and Iron through Bismarck) but realising the error of petty nationalism had established a third Empire which sought to unify ALL Germanic peoples, and later all of Europe.
Regardless of this. Despite the occasional conflict, the early Germanics were a confederation of tribes, the same, but different. They often worked together, or beside each other, as we see with the Allemanni, whose name literally means (all the men – men here meaning humanity as a whole,) and the Anglo-Saxons. Surely they all held themselves in esteem, but felt kinship with others. Perhaps they sensed their common ascent out of the Heart of Germania, which is what became modern Germany.
It is my temporal, fallible and human opinion which states that we ought to view ourselves thusly: we each represent our own Tribe. I am the extension of my father, and he of his father. I bear in me the seed of both, which God and gods willing, will produce a new generation of my clan. This cycle itself is not imaginable, truly, temporally. Who is my first father? Ask, Adam? It is unfathomable the legacy that lives in my genes. The honour, pride, talent, characteristics of my clan, tribe, and race, continue through me. And so yours through you. We must act in accordance with this first and foremost, but also recognise that in this White Nationalist spectrum of sub and hinter movements, we are all but chamber-singers in a larger choir. We appreciate that our notes grace a larger audience, but cannot do so without maintaining equanimity with the other singers while yet establishing the unique identity that drew the choir to enlist us.
So it is. And so it goes. The Anglo-Saxons forged a kingdom of ages. A kingdom that was maligned by miscegeny and multiculturalism (read deculturation). Great men, such as Enoch Powell, and interesting characters such as Heimgest who chairs the Odinic Rite, Edred Thorsson, Freya Aswynn, Alex Kurtagic and Kai Murros – all sense a shift in the wind. They understand what allowed their lands, their Folks, to assent to greatness. They have begun to march in step with a primal urge, their Ordeal, their Orlog, towards the beating of the Nornir upon Wyrd’s own drum. We march with them, who read these essays, listen to these broadcasts and feel the songs and the Runes in their souls and minds.
So it was with the United States, which in her own way began with seminally noble, though less intelligible roots. When it all disintegrated is a matter of debate, for, as by the time of the Puritans, racial pride had all but become subconscious, and tribal concern had been metabolised. Their church had become the Folk, which is both sound and unsound and also not the point of this essay. The point is, however, that like the Baptist hymn preaches, the soul of man (Mannaz) never dies. It was mentioned earlier that there are, even in the U.S., Folkish revivalists – plagued as they are by guilt-fetishes.
It is thusly that I begin to wrap this up, and tie it together. I am a Mainer. Maine is a province of Germania through way of Blood and Soil. Yet, this is temporary, as my roots could have been planted anywhere. The point is that our Tribe lent itself, along with others, to lands such as these, and form the spinal column – that great serpentine edifice – that binds us. Yet, long after Maine has ceased to be an artificial blip on a negotiable map, the Race and Tribe that produced it will continue, in some form or other.
In closing: The fact of the matter is that Folkish revival is inevitable. It is ongoing. It is part and parcel with Natural Law. It cannot not. It simply IS. It cannot be defeated so long as even remotely evident racial lines, and moreover Tribal lines, exist. The question remains: when all is said and done, what kind of Folk do we want? Do we want a Folk PROmoted, or one DEmoted?