Lies, Lies, Lies
Onanism, self-centeredness, adolescent navel gazing, self-congratulatory mental masturbation; that vapid dredge of legion media, inundating, inculcating, indoctrinating; whatever one calls the plague, it continues to ravage. It is the monstrous beast our corners of dissent exclaim against; yet, so many solitary voices crying out in the wilderness screech an inane message: enjoy the decline. It is an adolescent Epicureanism ever seeking pleasure, satiety for momentary desires, discipline striving after the same, falling short of disciplina. Be better, enjoy more, have it now. The fact is undeniable that Game has helped a multitude of men improve themselves but often the motivations turn out to be less than they ought to be, or rather, the end is found too short. Ars longa, vita brevis* and not the reverse.
We’ve all been played for the fool. The feminine lunacy and the incumbent modernism seek to neuter men at every opportunity. The last century testifies to the death of honor, virtue, constancy, self-reliance, beauty, etc, in a word: Western Culture. As the philosophies of the 20th century honed their sights on masculinity, the wholesale deterioration of Western culture manifested as a symptom of the wider male castration; schools moved away from the rigors of intellectual training–where men outshine women–toward an eclectic experience to build up self-esteem; marriage lost any trace of its contractual and covenantal essence, having both eschewed social pressures and subsidized its abandonment; war betrayed its purpose of defense and conquest, a practice which at one time earned a man honor, glory and spoils, instead he finds perpetual occupations paired with every growing depression; one can wax long without explicitly naming the many and various forms of modern emasculation, or as man is want to number the stars, with the same facility, could number the methods of betatude indoctrination.
How many men work pointless, thankless, worthless jobs for a meagre penance; how many have their penance divided between state and alimony and child support; how many spill their own blood to get out? How cheaply has freedom been sold to a domineering system and whale of a domineering wife? What for? A mini-van and a sad existence. How many men look at the prospect for the future and find the points of the dilemma: depression or denial?
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, for he who swallows this pill with me today shall be my brother, be he never so vile, this day will gentle his condition; and Gentlemen in the West now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Red-Pill Swallow-Day.** Those few who manage the red-pill draught transform into a lucky, happy few, but the inculcation, after sempiturnal steeping, grafted to the core of its host resists all measure of eradication. Epicurean self-gratification keeps the parasite alive.
How can a man be satisfied who realizing the old life was purposeless transitions into a life which fulfils only the purpose of gratification? Only by believing the lie.
A PUA is no danger to society.
The truth behind the pretty lies: theft. Discreet theft by degree over a century. First the lie, then the theft. If you needed the red-pill then your education was a lie emboldened into a theft. Your inheritance has been taxed to such an extent that what remains does not resemble the mansion of ideas, of culture, of beauty, built up as the West over so many centuries. No, it is like a palimpsest describing a trip to a mansion with pictures–but the interesting bits have been occluded by foliage and sly staging–with a map–but its compass does not point true north–with description–but its intention is that the palimpsest destroy your appetite for this false reality; the aroma of the true mansion that would whet it for life is kept safely away buried under a mass of modernist theories and propaganda. Thoughts were never so complicated and difficult as in the 21st century.
There is only one solution: until now the kingdom of mind has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.*** Western Culture has been made to appear inane and vapid by those forces that wish to destroy it. Their successes have been great, their detractors small, weak, and silenced. The powerful always provide circuses for the masses to detract them from the truth just beyond the gladiators and races. Onanism is the creation of our own circuses. We have made ourselves powerful and wasted that power on pleasuring ourselves. Just as well for those who would have you remain weak betas.
The truth beyond the circus is in history. But not that history found in books on history and theories of books on history; no, in History. The poets and generals, scholars and soldiers, the good kings and insatiable tyrants. To get out of epicyclical self-pleasure we must seek outside ourselves.
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote a short essay on History, what it holds, how it might be had. His history is the perfect antagonism to all our self-focus and a testament to all the things in store for him who would dig through the ashes of the West for the spark of renaissance. History is the first step in reclaiming our birthrights.
There is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted to the right of reason is made a freeman of the whole estate. What Plato has thought, he may think; what a saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen any man, he can understand. Who hath access to this universal mind, is a party to all that is or can be done, for this is the only and sovereign agent. . .
. . .These hints, dropped as it were from sleep and night, let us use in broad day. The student is to read history actively and not passively; to esteem his own life the text, and books the commentary. Thus compelled, the muse of history will utter oracles, as never to those who do not respect themselves. I have no expectation that any man will read history aright, who thinks that what was done in a remote age, by men whose names have resounded far, has any deeper sense than what he is doing to-day. . .
. . .The advancing man discovers how deep a property he hath in all literature,–in all fable as well as in all history. He finds that the poet was no odd fellow who described strange and impossible situations, but that universal man wrote by his pen a confession true for one and true for all. His own secret biography he finds in lines wonderfully intelligible to him, yet dotted down before he was born. . .
. . .This in all ways does the soul concentrate and reproduce its treasures for each pupil, for each newborn man. He, too, shall pass through the whole cycle of experience. He shall collect into a focus the rays of nature. History no longer shall be a dull book. It shall walk incarnate in every just and wise man. You shall not tell me by languages and titles a catalogue of the volumes you have read. You shall make me feel what periods you have lied. A man shall be the Temple of Fame. He shall walk, as the poets have described that goddess, in a robe painted all over with wonderful events and experiences; — his own form and features by their exalted intelligence shall be that variegated vest. I shall find in him the Foreworld; in his childhood the Age of Gold; the Apples of Knowledge; the Argonautic Expedition; the calling of Abraham; the building of the Temple; the Advent of Christ; Dark Ages, the Revival of Letters; the Reformation; the discovery of new lands, the opening of new sciences, and new regions in man. He shall be the priest of Pan, and bring with him into humble cottages the blessing of the morning stars and all the recorded benefits of heaven and earth. . .
My Gift to You, Gentlemen
The essay in full is worth the time spent reading over it. With that in mind I have compiled the essay on its own as a PDF that I hope will be easy and pleasurable reading.
Veritas numquam perit,
*Mastery is long, life short. (Traditionally Art is long, life short, but Mastery is the true sense of the Latin ars now that ‘art’ has been raped by all the ridiculous bullshit in the modern sections of museums. More on this later)
**With apologies to Bill Shakespeare.
***With apologies to St. Matthew