My most recent article, “The Measure Of A Man”, met with some critical success. Though it was somewhat dramatic, it seemed to resonate with my readers, and I received many encouraging comments thereafter. However, I fear I was not explicit in some of my criticisms of the modern castrati which typifies the nu-male, where I used language which is coded and known only to the circle of philosophers and warrior-types who have their eyes turned upwards towards a more perfect ideal of life, liberty, and manhood. So here, I endeavour to explain my particular critique of the effeminacy of modern man.

I have already explicitly denounced modern man as a materialistic and religious creature, a product of social opinion, and an altogether cowardly and cold-blooded type of animal. He is liberal with himself and strict with others, altogether over-tolerant of insults, and greatly gratified when he is dominated and put to shame for his weakness. One can only offend him by describing him accurately, or as I should say, objectively. For to claim that he fails to uphold the image of masculinity shakes the nu-male from the safe bondage of his subjectivity and sends him scrambling to defend himself as the very picture of Herculean virility and strength, albeit in an attenuated and modern (therefore, debased) form. In other words, he immediately feels the lack of that masculine virtue and scrambles to justify himself. This is the only time he can be bothered to recognize the existence of objective, perfect Forms, which he happily denies all the rest of his life as mere “social constructs”.

But I am here to define and criticize effeminacy, and as such this will be a critique of modern woman as well. The effeminacy I criticize is a flaw of the natural woman in much the same way that wanton cruelty is the flaw of natural man: the primeval sin, the biological Adversary which every sapient creature does battle with when he fights to impose his will on his twisted and imperfect body. In this way, effeminacy is constitutive, but not definitive, of Woman. My critique of modern femininity, though it can be read between the lines to come, is a work in progress, to be released at a later date.

In short, this effeminacy is the inherent materiality of the modern human type. This materiality has two overlapping components: radical empiricism and baseless religiosity. It is related to, but distinct from, the materialism which is natural to womankind, which I have mentioned before but intend to treat separately. This affliction stifles all spirituality in favour of formless religiosity, as seen by the constant appeal to science for justifications of faith. Modern man constantly needs external proof, to reassure himself that he is right and good. He is utterly possessed by the demos, swayed by popular opinion, and so dependent on social approval that he is unable to know himself and his own nature.

Modern Protestant apologetics take this form very explicitly, though many of the Christian churches often fall prey to the modernist disease. Similarly, neo-pagans spend an exorbitant amount of energy attempting to justify their individualist, hedonistic lifestyles as something other than animosity towards the Church and poorly-concealed daddy issues. The pursuit of Truth is the understanding of the Universe, not the fragile and egoistic scramble to justify and obscure Truth by interpretation, forcing it to become what the individual believes the Truth should be.

The need to justify one’s own angst, by whatever material or pseudo-scientifical means, irreversibly jades the modern man. His worldview, rather than being defined by his perception of Virtues, high ideals, and strict adherence to perfect Forms and the rituals which orient us, is utterly dependent on debased and material interpretations.

This is the heart of feminist theory, where materiality is used as a blade to hack away at every male institution and ideal, to reduce it to animal instinct and the mere twitchings of appetite. Freud did this, vulgarly as his type do, by reducing all relationships to sexual urges and their frustration. In his “Civilization And Its Discontents”, he claims we are too repressed, and would be healthier and happier if our sexuality was less fettered. Nearly one hundred years has shown us the folly of this school of thought.

This does not dissuade the modern man, who is as ignorant of the origins of his ideology as he is ignorant of his own inner Nature. So it is from here that the invasion into private male institutions is launched. The warrior culture which described the Mannerbund (echoed faintly in modern military culture) can’t have, as its basis, any kind of loyalty to an ideal or to a spiritual brotherhood. Not to these craven creatures. The modern human imagines that a suppressed homosexuality animates these men. It must have been the same homosexuality which the ancient Greeks practiced, and in no way might this interpretation be biased by modern man’s ignorance of that ancient warrior-cult.

There can be no homo-eroticism, no romantic ideal of the perfect warrior, no admiration of one’s peers and burning desire to possess, not the man himself, but what the man is. This can not be to the nu-male, who can only imagine base and material desires because he has never turned his eyes to the night sky and searched for the graven images of his heroes.

He has never worshipped anything which was not flesh and blood, and never coveted anything immaterial. He aspires not to heroism, but merely to celebrity and to wealth. And from his own perceived “manhood” and his faith in the idol of equality, he imagines all other men do, too. So must all men desire only gold, pleasure, and to have their first name known by the masses (who, to him, impart all truths and know all Goods).

So must all men covet sex, rather than an ideal of Love. So must all men strive for earthly power, rather than communion with the Form which lives within them. So must all men be craven beasts, barely grown from their primitive forbears, cooperating only out of necessity, feeling no genuine compassion, and striving only to help themselves.

The nu-male judges thusly, because he known no other truth. He projects as fiercely as he can to stave off the crushing angst that separates him from the Form of his Nature. To train? To embrace pain? To acknowledge that he carries within his breast that black heat which is Hatred, and to know that it is not evil?

This is more than he can bear.

This is anathema to a creature who has worshipped weakness his entire life. Who considers offending another an act of violence, and who would rather be remembered as an inoffensive man than be forgotten, or worse, criticized.

If I impress anything on you, dear reader, let it be this: the nu-male knows only supplication. Self-sufficiency is a material thing for him, and the highest and most noble goal of his youth. It is a divorce from his family and a self-imposed banishment from the land of his ancestors, devised to satisfy his own vanity that he is, ultimately, the master of his own destiny.

For this folly he is willing to bleed himself dry of the blood his ancestors fought so mightily to give him, to turn himself not into a warrior son in a proud line stretching back to the dawn of man, but into a rootless, cosmopolitan “citizen of the world”. He sets out on his own not because he carries the Warrior’s prediliction towards adventure in his heart, but because he desires to fit in with the masses of strangers rather than with his own kin, and to be self-sufficient only in the plebian sense that any adult may claim to be.

In short, he will strip off and throw away every inherited marker of identity. This will lead him to a form of religiosity which includes every fanciful thing which will help him re-define himself, though of course he will consider this to be “finding himself” for the first time. From his zodiac sign and associated pseudo-prophecies (handed to him by magazine writers and internet demagogues) to his custom-tailored “sexual identity”, he will create an artificial persona, and lock himself in to the mode of “becoming” for the rest of his life. This is a form of consumerism which enable him to stand out in the crowd he wants so desperately to accept him, his garish colours and gimmicks making him feel special and useful, for the time being.

Most appallingly, his religiosity is based on a twisted parody of sacred mysticism wherein he is judged only by a god whose portfolio is filled with the virtues of modern liberalism. The god of tolerance, multiculturalism, ethnomasochism, and pacifism will judge this coward by the depth of his bows and the plaintiveness of his grovelling towards any foreign invader or armed enemy.

Make no mistake, dear reader. This creature is an atheist, however violently they may claim otherwise. Their god is material and coherent, unknowable but inconsequential, and concerned only with politics and popularity. This god is the Demos, the massed and teeming billions, the carrion god of maggots swarming along the corpse of the West, whose only commandment is to feed on the rot and grow fat with the decay.

This consumption is the material counterpart to his spiritual possession.

When I recently read “The Last Messiah” by Peter Wessel Zapff, I was enthralled. His words, bastardised by necessity of translation into English (for I do not know Norwegian) still shook my core and moved me greatly. His Archer by the Waterhole spoke to my very blood, and his conclusion gave me no small pause to ponder:

“The life of the worlds is a roaring river, but Earth’s is a pond and a backwater.
The sign of doom is written on your brows – how long will ye kick against the pin-pricks?
But there is one conquest and one crown, one redemption and one solution.
Know yourselves – be infertile and let the earth be silent after ye.”

~Peter Wessel Zapff, “The Last Messiah”

I disagree fundamentally with Zapff. Humanity has not overevolved our Earth, but our cities. Our intelligence has not made us unfit to continue living, only to continue living as we now do. But Zapff, I think, has made a prophecy. There is no Messiah for this new, effeminate human type. There can be no great leader, no saviour, and no champion to a culture bred to believe that all greatness is mere chance and all hierarchy is oppression. Their figurehead can have only the most profane kind of authority, a holiness of the most animal variety. When this generation who despises themselves, their race, and their ancestors so much are finally given a figurehead who tells them what they themselves believe so earnestly, they will flay him alive, so he can lead them into the void.

And why shouldn’t they? It’s no sin. After all, he’s only a man.

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