Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Chapter 4-2

Undoubtedly the Black Magic of the Christ Myth, combined with the subterranean sorcery of medieval sacerdotalism has partially succeeded, not only in sapping individual initiative, but also in suppressing in our Race many of its ancestral leonine traits and superb Barbarian Virtues. But as yet, it has not wholly triumphed in its emasculating necromancy. No! It has not transfigured us all into teams of contented oxen and bunches of earmarked sheep, although that is its final hope. There are some of the grand old stock, left alive. Few indeed are they amidst a world of slaves and swine.

The lion is still the lion, although his teeth have been most foully filed down by abominable moral codes; his skin made scrofulous with mange and leprosy of caged peacefulness, his paws fettered by links of slave-voted statutes and an iron collar of State Officialdom wound around his regal neck.

Someday, sometime, he is destined to break through the vile bonds that have been cunningly laid on him, escape from the wasting decline that originates from unnatural confinement and regain once more his primitive freedom of Action. The treacherous legislators and illustrious statesmen, who are now so eager to teach him the method of growing wool like sheep and how to fit his battle-scarred shoulders to a horse collar, may then be sorry and sad (if they have time), for he will probably chew them up.

Great and powerful governments, commanding peace, come into existence only in ages of decadence; when nations are on the downward grade. If the human animal lives a natural, cleanly life, out on the plains and forests away, where oceans rollers crash along the shore, or on the banks of the pouring rivers he requires no police-force to ‘protect’ him, no usurious Jew to rob him of his harvests, no tax gathering legislators to vote away his property, and no ‘priests of the Idol’ to ‘save’ his soul.

It is false standards of morality that debase and enfeeble individuals, tribes, and nations. First, in obedience to some sovereign code, they lose their hardihood and increase their numbers. Then that all may live, they become laborious, submissive to Regulations; and finally, with Death held up by priestcraft as a fearsome Terror, all personal valor fades away. Thus nations of spaniels are manufactured.

The normal man is the man that loves and feasts and fights and hunts, the predatory man. The abnormal man is he that toils for a master, half-starves, and ‘thinks,’ the Christly dog. The first is a perfect animal; the second, a perfect, monster.

Every belief that makes a duty of humility, that inspires people with ‘moral’ courage only, enervates their fibre, corrupts their spirit, and prepares them first for thralldom and then for, throttling.

It is not possible to conceive of Grand Life without incessant rivalry, perpetual warfare and the implacable hunting of man by man.

Terror, torture, agony and the wholesale destruction of feeble and worn out types, must mark in the future, as in the past, every step forward, or backward in evolution, homo-culture and racial displacement.

The soil of every nation is an arena, a stamping ground, where only the most vigorous animals may hope to hold their own. What is all history but the epic of a colossal campaign, the final Armageddon of which is never likely to be fought, because, when men cease to fight, they cease to be, Men.

This old earth is strewn to the very mountain tops with the fleshless skulls and rain bleached bones of perished combatants in countless myriads.

Every square foot, every inch, of soil contains its, man.


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