Myatt: Humility, Tolerance, and Islam

David Myatt

David Myatt

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According to Myatt he has republished the texts below “since the problems and the attitudes described in them six years ago are still relevant – if not more relevant – now.”

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Humility, Islam and The Need for Tolerance
(pdf)

Contents:

§ Prefatory Note
§ Of Learning Humility and Tolerance
§ Of Respect for Islam
§ Terror and Al-Quran
§ Of Islam and Violence
§ Conclusion

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Islam, The West, Prejudice, and Islamophobia
(pdf)

Contents:

§ Prefatory Note
§ Prejudice, Extremism, Islamophobia, and Culture
§ Toward A Balanced View Of Islam and The West
§ Concerning Islamophobia

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Source:
https://davidmyatt.wordpress.com/2019/07/17/humility-tolerance-islam-and-prejudice/

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Just His Fallible Views

David Myatt

David Myatt

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Just My Fallible Views, Again
(pdf)

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Editorial Note:

We reproduce here extracts from letters (e-mails) sent by David Myatt to three correspondents in 2011 and 2012. One of those correspondents was journalist working for the BBC.

In our view the letters are primary sources in regard to Myatt’s understanding of and rejection of extremism and are eloquent rebuttals of the recent propaganda and disinformation by particular politicized individuals who have the chutzpah to claim that Myatt is still an extremist.

Some of the correspondence was included in Myatt’s 2013 book Understanding and Rejecting Extremism, ISBN 9781484854266 {1}.

RDM Crew
June 2019 ev

{1} A Gratis Open Access (pdf) version of the book is available from: https://davidmyatt.wordpress.com/rejecting-extremism/

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Article source:
https://davidmyatt.wordpress.com/2012/10/30/just-my-fallible-views-again/

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An Alien View of Planet Earth

Earth From Space

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Editorial Note: This historically interesting article was first published in 2001 on a now long defunct website devoted to promoting David Myatt’s “Folk Culture” philosophy. It also appeared on a Myatt “fan website” an archive version of which website exists and which archive version was used as our source. The article is historically interesting for two reasons. First, it seems that his “Folk Culture” philosophy became part of Myatt’s strategy to bring radical Muslims and National Socialist inclined nationalists together {1}; and second, that the numinous intuitions behind that “Folk Culture” philosophy were as we now understand {2} a precursor to Myatt’s ‘numinous way’, morphed as that ‘numinous way’ later was into his post-2012 philosophy of pathei mathos.

It should be noted that all the examples of human behaviour recounted in the article occurred in real life and were documented in mainstream media sources.

We have corrected a few typos in the archive text, altered the typographical layout, and converted the Julian date used by Myatt to the Gregorian date.

RDM Crew
May 2019

{1} https://web.archive.org/web/20040419195004/http://www.geocities.com/dwmyatt/myatt_islam.html
{2} https://regardingdavidmyatt.wordpress.com/the-development-of-the-numinous-way/

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An Alien View of Planet Earth

What opinion would an alien – a space-traveller from a distant starsystem – form of the peoples of Earth were this alien to land here, and travel from country to country? This alien is a shapeshifter, and so is capable of assuming any form, including human form. Thus can this alien watch and observe, without being seen.

Let us assume that this alien is highly intelligent, and that, like all the sentient beings on the alien home-world, this alien is rational and civilized: that is, polite, well-mannered, fair, honourable, self-disciplined, and possessed of a scientific-like curiosity.

During the travels of this alien, the following are among the many, many things observed:

* In a city, a gang of youths drag a young girl off a bus while other passengers, including men, look mutely on and do nothing, despite her pleas. The gang take her to an alley where she is gang raped.

* A fireman, risking his own life, enters a blazing building to rescue an unconscious man.

* In one family home, a large quantity of left-over food is thrown away, while on almost the opposite side of the world, a mother gives her starving children what little food she has, going hungry herself so that her children may eat.

* A man stuffs three newly born kittens into a plastic bag which he firmly ties closed, then throws into the nearby canal.

* Outside a noisy party in a house, a young man is attacked by four other men, who, having pushed him to the ground, repeatedly kick his head until he is dead. They then run off, laughing.

* A man driving a motor-car fast on a narrow unlit country road hits a pedestrian who is hurled several feet into the air and who lands on the road, critically injured. The car driver carries on as if nothing had happened.

* A woman, arguing with her husband in their home, suddenly grabs a large kitchen knife and stabs her husband to death.

* A young man, walking home from work over a river bridge, sees someone struggling in the water below, and without hesitation dives in to pull the person to safety.

* A truck load of cattle arrive at a slaughter-house, where each one is killed, strung up on large hooks, and butchered, with various bits of their bodies thrown into various bins.

* A truck load of chickens arrive at another slaughter house where each one is killed, strung up onto a conveyor belt which takes them to an assembly line where their heads are cut off, one after the other, by rotating blades.

* Outside a small mud hut, a family sit silently on the parched drought-striken land, having eaten nothing for days.

* In a city at night in winter, a very well-dressed and corpulent man in an expensive car drives past a railway viaduct which shelters several homeless people huddled up against the cold. Nearby, two other homeless people lie stupefied on the ground, one stupefied from drugs, the other from alcohol.

* An elderly infirm man, sitting in his damp apartment, surrounded by mementoes from his past including several war medals gained for gallantry, is repeatedly punched by an intruder who wants to know where the man has hidden his savings.

* A group of men dig with their bare hands for a whole day without rest in order to find and free someone trapped under rubble following an earthquake, while others generously give what little money they have to help others who have nothing. Nearby, a young man, thinking himself unseen, steals some goods from what once was a shop.

* A young woman, recently qualified as a Nurse, sits – restraining her tears – by the bedside of an elderly lady terminally ill with cancer, holding the old lady’s hand while listening to stories of things that happened a long time ago…..

For a while, all these impressions perplex our alien. There is kindness; terror; brutality; compassion; indifference; hatred. And many other things. The alien briefly wonders if human beings, as a species, are divided in themselves, like the werewolves of human myth were divided, becoming savage, killing, beasts on certain nights, and yet at other times appearing quite normal, quite human.

But, slowly, the alien begins to understand the human condition. There is a covering, a very thin covering, of civilization, as there are some people who do use their will to control themselves and so live their lives by reason and some code of ethics. Thus it is that these humans strive to do, to enjoin others to do, good deeds, as they strive to restrain themselves and others from doing what is bad. But there are other human beings, many other human beings, who cannot or who will not control themselves, and who live according to their emotions, their instincts, just as the thin covering of civilization can be easily broken by some natural event, some great surge of emotion, some sudden occurrence.

The alien understands the struggle there has been on the planet the humans call Earth for civilization: the slow ascent up from their primitive, savage, animal ancestry, and how this ascent is of the proverbial two steps forward, one and three-quarters steps back, kind, and sometimes even of the one step forward, two steps backwards kind.

The alien understands how tenuous is the human hold on civilization, on reason, and how so few humans truely live rational, moral, lives where they strive to control themselves – and succeed in controlling themselves – by using their will. For the alien has found:

* people addicted to drugs, pleasure

* people immoral – no self-control and no ethics to guide them

* people live for the most part based on their feelings, their emotions, and not based on reason and self-control

* people squabbling like undisciplined, emotive, children, and injuring and killing each other for very little reason

* people keeping and slaughtering animals wholesale for food when there is no longer a need for many of them to do this

* massive, polluted, teeming cities which remind the alien of termite mounds

* the Earth itself ravaged, exploited, and polluted because of the irrational, destructive, desire people have for luxury, for convenience: putting their own temporary personal needs before the planet itself.

The conclusion the alien reaches is that human beings resemble an infection which has spread over the Earth, making the Earth ill, and decimating the other living beings which live on the Earth.

The conclusion is that the majority of the peoples of Earth are essentially barbarians – in effect, still primitive animals, driven by animal desires and feeling. Even though many of these barbarians live in what seem to be well-functioning, prosperous, cities and towns, surrounded by material goods, they are nonetheless still barbarians by nature, and often by intent.

The alien further concludes, that there is a good probability that in a few centuries time, the covering of human “civilization” will vanish, with a widespread return to a savage barbarism, and with humans themselves becoming extinct in a few tens of thousands of years.

So it is that the alien departs from our solar system, leaving space-markers advising other star-travellers to avoid the homeworld of the savages who roam the planet those humans call Earth.

David Myatt
2nd of February 2001, 12:50 UT

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Article Source:
http://www.webcitation.org/78ilw2FWV

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Related archive article:
https://web.archive.org/web/20040419194953/http://www.geocities.com/dwmyatt/human1.html

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Image credit:
NASA/NOAA NGDC.
Composite view of planet Earth at Night,
acquired by the Suomi NPP satellite
in 9 days in April 2012 and 13 days in October 2012.


Absque Vita Tali

David Myatt

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Absque Vita Tali,
Verbum Quoad Litteram Est Mortuum

Outside, rain and the un-warm wind of December, with no Sun – no Summer – to warm and bring that joy of wakeing to see the sky deep full of blue so that one smiling is eager still, as youth again, to egress forth toward the sea.

Now I in a rainy month – and approaching my three score and ten – possess both an internal and an external knowing of just what the passing of earthly Time doth to we fragile biological beings, for:

I am an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces

And yet the flow of Life flows on, here – there – when the outer husk, failing, dies, so that I reminded of what I pastly wrote to a friend, having now been so gifted with the gifts of one more solar year:

“What, therefore, remains? What is there now, and what has there been? One genesis, and one ending, of one nexion whose perception by almost all others is now of one who lived and who wrote ἐξ αἰνιγμάτων.”

τό θ᾽ ὑπέργηρων φυλλάδος ἤδηκατακαρφομένης τρίποδας μὲν ὁδοὺς
στείχει, παιδὸς δ᾽ οὐδὲν ἀρείων
ὄναρ ἡμερόφαντον ἀλαίνει. [1]

For there does seem much worth now, a special new species of slowly-joy, to so and so shadowly wander, supported by a stick, since Time itself, unmeasured, stills and one is able to feel the numinous as if flows through, with, such presencings of Life as one meets, greets, passes. As when that other day I walked to wander – never now far from home – and that young unknown stocky man, girlfriend beside and smiling, bade me compliments of the season. Such life there, such potential there, in both, and one was glad to be alive, still, even if no Sun broke forth in warmth. Or glad as when in slow walk in woods nearby wind shook trees to breathe again one’s wordless connexion with this living Earth, so strong so strong it became as if one could go back there to where one’s loved ones lived, unbroken by such selfish deeds as might have saved them or at least made happier their so short time on Earth. And I was so happy, so happy there remembering those good times, shared, with them.

There has thus grown, within because of age, both a new knowing of how needful is our need for compassion and of a new if sad perception: of just how many many centuries we forgetful biological beings may need. But all I can do now is walk, remembering, hoping: my words, my dreams, a bridge.

For I am no enigma, my life bared by writings such as this. For words live on to tell just one more story, of redemption. But who will read them when life lives within this husk no more?

David Myatt
December 2011

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[1] Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 79-82:

Thus, he of great Age, his foliage drying up
And no stronger than a child, with three feet to guide him on his travels,
Wanders – appearing a shadow in the light of day.

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Article Source:
Meditations on Extremism, Remorse, and The Numinosity of Love (pdf)

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Words Of A Modern Mystic

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David Myatt

David Myatt

Memories Of Manual Labour

Recalling happy memories of past years is perhaps a useful therapy during those seemingly long night hours when one is confined, in a foreign land, to a hospital bed and cannot, for a variety of reasons, enjoy the peace of sleep. During two such occasions, not that long ago, I found myself dwelling on my years of outdoor manual labour; on some four decades of cycling English lanes, tracks, and roads; and on the years spent running in the hills of South Shropshire and in places such as the Lake District.

In retrospection, this dwelling on such times quite surprised me, given my past married lives, my past predilection for the company of women, and the very many times I had been subsumed with love, or a passion, for a particular lady and had enjoyed with and because of them nights, days, weeks, sometimes months, of blissful happiness. Perhaps, I wondered, such a dwelling during such conditions revealed something about my character. Of how I am an outdoor, country, person by nature who by choice would choose to work alone; and someone perhaps too selfish, and too self-absorbed, to be a happily married man.

Suffice to write, now, that the memories that brought the most inner peace were those connected with outdoor work. Of those Summer days in Shropshire when – in the large garden of my employer – we would all sit down to enjoy our outdoor lunch prepared by his wife. Of days spent, over a decade later, on a farm in warm or hotful Sun, alone in a twenty-five or thirty acre field, forcing bamboo canes – many six feet in length – by hand into often hard ground next to recently budded trees planted in rows.

Of the dry dusty days of laying irrigation pipes and setting up the ‘rain gun’ sprinkler system with its large hose reel, enjoyed especially when the pump was the old Ford tractor with water drawn from the nearby river home to Kingfishers and bounded by many weeping Willow trees. Of, in early Spring, those cold days when the few of us out in the fields would sit around an open fire to eat our lunch.

Of those six straight weeks worked without a day off one Spring when, delayed by bad weather, we were finally able to prepare the soil and plant. Of those flash floods that flooded the lane beside one of the fields of the farm and of the car that became stuck, requiring two of us to bodily lift the lady driver out and carry her to dry land to later on fetch the tractor and tow her car from that lane back to the unaffected main road. Of the days spent one Autumn using a hand-held ‘thumper’ to erect new fence posts.

Of the hours, the days, the weeks, spent alone in fields hoeing the weeds out by hand from between the planted trees with my 1950s hoe whose long hickory handle years of use had made smooth. Of – years before, on another farm – the restful needful lunch (washed down by local cider) that followed hours of mucking-out pig sties by hand using a shovel and a barrow wheeled up a plank onto a trailer, hitched to a tractor, which when full I drove away then tipped to form or join another pile ready for the muck-spreader…

Had I then – during those years – the understanding and the self-insight I believe I now posses perhaps my life would, could, should, have been quite different and I would not have caused the suffering, and the deaths, that I caused. But was that person, so happily working in such places, the real me?

Yes, I do feel so, now. How then – why then – did I always seem to (after months, a year, or several years) drift away from such work back to occupy, preoccupy, myself with some political or some religious machination? It is just too easy, too trite, to say or write that I was a ‘complicated’ person. More truthfully, I was flawed, unhealthy. Suffering from extremism: for that infection wrought an inner dissatisfaction, and so greatly disturbed my psyche that I felt I had ‘a duty’ to do, and pontificate about, certain things. For that infection caused me, as so many others, to have that hubriatic certainty-of-knowing that engenders violence, hatred, terror, and oppression. I, as so many, had exchanged that real outdoor world – which centuries of toil had created – for some idealistic, ideological, dream we carried around in our head:

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw

Our land, the dead land, while we extremists wreck havoc among the living land that provides us with the means to live and which, were we only to know it, nurtures the numinous from whence derives the culture that keeps our human hopes, our very humanity, alive.

For me – as for many others century following century – pathei-mathos was a cure. Yet there is not, and cannot be, any absolution: I was an ideologue, a leader, a fanatic, who enthusiastically taught, proselytized, persuaded, propagandised, and incited. Thus I alone was responsible for what I said, what I wrote, and what I did – for the suffering caused – during my extremist decades, just as I alone was responsible for the hurt my selfishness, my self-absorption, personally caused to others: wives, lovers, partners, family, relatives, and friends.

There appears to be, however, one small consolation, at least for me. Which is that such outdoor work – and reflexion upon it – slowly provided, slowly built within me, the insights and the feelings that led to that ‘numinous way’ I refined, after 2011, into my philosophy (or perhaps more correctly, into my weltanschauung) of pathei-mathos. Insights and feelings greatly added to in 2002 when I began work on another farm, and which work first led me to seriously doubt my commitment to the Muslim way of life, and write letters containing words such as these:

“There is a lovely, simple, pleasure here in this field. Spring is most certainly here: in the meadow fields, seedlings of the late Spring flowers push up through the tufts of grass whose frost-bitten ends are joined by shoots of new growth. Already some flowers bloom in the grass: there, a Dandelion; there: almost two circles of Daisies. And, to compliment the calls and songs of other birds, the loud repeating call of the Parus major.

It is good to be here, with an unobstructed view of the sky, and I watch the clouds, borne as they are on a still cool breeze that begins to chill my hands, a little. But there is Sun, warm, when the altocumulus breaks. On the horizon in the North, beyond the tall old Oak, small Cumulus clouds drift toward the hills, ten miles distant. Thus am I again – for these moments – at peace with myself, this world, listening as I do to a large flock of Starlings who chatter among themselves in the trees across from the drainage ditch, there by the copse of Ash, Oak, and a few young Beech […]

Work, yes there must be work: toil enough to keep that balance. And work with these my hands, outdoors where lives the silence that I love as I feel the weather, changing, bringing thus an empathic living for me, in me, and for this life that lives around, emanating as it does in this grass, those trees, the clouds, the soil, the water, those flowers, the very sky itself.”

But, as so often with me, the insights, the feelings, were swept away by not only my tempestuous inner need to do what I considered was then my duty but also by a life-long love of, a desire for, challenges, pontification, and conflict. Such insights, such feelings, were always – sooner or later – so swept away. Until that fateful day one May.

“The defining moment, for me – in terms of understanding myself, in terms of understanding politics and the error of my decades of extremism – was the tragic personal loss of a loved one in May 2006. In the hours following that event I just knew – tearfully knew without words – my own pathetic failure; what I had lost, what was important. Thus there came upon me that day a sense of overwhelming grief, compounded by a remembrance of another personal loss of a loved one thirteen years earlier. For it was as if in those intervening years I had learned nothing; as if I had made the life and the dying and death of Sue, in 1993 – and of what we shared in the years before – unimportant.

I have no words to describe how insignificant, how worthless, I felt that day in May 2006; no words to describe, recall, retell, the remorse, the pain. Suffice now to recount that my life was never, could never be, the same again. Gone – the arrogance that had sustained me for so many experiential decades. Gone – the beliefs, the abstractions, the extremisms, I had so cherished and so believed in.” No Words Of Mine Can Describe The Remorse

How stupid, how very stupid, I have been: for almost all of my adult life. That it required the shock, the personal trauma, of the suicide of the woman I loved to break my arrogance, my selfishness, my self-absorption – and cure me of my need for challenges, pontification, and conflict – most certainly reveals a lot about my character. That apparently jumelle nature of a person who found peace, contentment, in working outdoors with his hands but who also could not, in his weakness, resist that arrogant desire to zealously interfere in the lives of others, to propagandise and proselytize; an interference, a proselytism, born of a hubriatic certainty that he ‘knew’, that he ‘understood’, or that he had discovered the right way (political or religious) of living for others, and therefore had some sort of duty to act, wrecking havoc and causing suffering as he did so, always making excuses for himself. For every and any cause does so hallow havoc.

See with what heat these dogs of Hell advance
To waste and havoc yonder World, which I
So fair and good created, and had still
Kept in that state, had not the folly of Man
Let in these wasteful furies [1]

David Myatt
February 2014

[1] Paradise Lost, Book X, vv. 617-620

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Article source:
David Myatt. Sarigthersa: Some Recent Essays. 2015. ISBN 978-1512137149

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One Insight: Honour And Beauty

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One Insight: Honour And Beauty

Here, an insight: Honour creates Beauty – and it is beauty that I desire: to be surrounded by beauty, without and within. Our modern world is ugly: it has made ugliness into an art, a business, a cult and a way of life.

Our environment is for the most part ugly; the attitude of many, many people is ugly – concerned as they are for the most part with mundane things, with profane things, and all to ready and willing as they are to do what is not honourable: to gossip, to be petty, to put their own ego, desires, before what is honourable, and subsumed as they often are with the ethos of ugliness that pervades our modern world. They do not feel beauty; they do not desire beauty; they are, for the most part, content to live, breathe, desire, be part of, the ugliness of the modern world and its dishonourable way of life. For instance, most of the music, the “entertainment”, the art, of this modern world is ugly; the buildings, the cities, the towns, are ugly.

There are a few places where beauty lives, today: A concert, perhaps, where sublime, numinous, music presences for an instant what elevates us beyond ourselves; a woman of empathy, whose face, whose eyes, whose manner, radiates both a warmth and a reminder of our own fragile humanity. A sunny day in Spring or Summer in rural England or Germany when, atop some hill, ones sees, feels, senses the connexion that we are with all life and especially with the ancient land of our ancestors. A simple shared and wordless moment when two lovers become one, through their uncomplicated loyal love, through the immediacy of a shared momentary experience… But these are isolated, increasingly fewer, incidents, among the tawdriness, the urban sprawl, the egotism, the obsession with materialism, the dishonour, the disloyalty, the profanity, the commonness, of modern life.

Beauty is not the norm – the ideal, the archetype, the goal – as it can and should be.

Why do I admire – why have I steadfastly admired, for thirty-five years – National-Socialist Germany? Because I found, and find, in it an intimation of beauty – a desire to bring beauty, joy, back into the lives of ordinary people; a desire to raise them up from the ugly. And what was wonderful, inspiring, remarkable was that this was done within the confines, within the constraints, of a modern nation with its cities, towns, industries: and that it involved all of the people, not a minority, not an elite. National-Socialism was a means whereby the beautiful could be felt and known – a means whereby beauty was once again presenced in the lives of ordinary people. A means whereby a connexion was made to those things which can and do elevate and evolve us, and which thus create an inner beauty. This is the simple, profound, beautiful message of National-Socialism.

How did those National-Socialists do this? Through honour; through duty; through loyalty, through understanding the importance of beauty and of our connexion, through our folk and homeland, to Nature.

So many lies have covered this beauty; so many lies to try to distance us from that truth; so many lies to try and prevent us from seeing, understanding, striving to follow, that beautiful, inspiring, example. And yet – the truth lives; the beautiful, numinous, archetype is there, and will always be there so long as some of us remember, and recount to others our remembering.

David Myatt
December 114yf

Editorial Note: The article was first circulated by Reichsfolk and then published on various “right-wing” internet forums in 2003, including Stormfront and Skadi. It was subsequently translated into many languages, including a Dutch version as given below.

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Een inzicht, eer en schoonheid

Hier is een inzicht: uit eer komt schoonheid, en het is schoonheid welke ik nastreef: om door schoonheid omringt te worden, van buiten en binnen. Onze moderne wereld is lelijk: het heeft lelijkheid tot een kunst verheven, een business, een cultus en tot een manier van leven.

Onze omgeving is voor het grootste deel lelijk; de houding van velen, vele mensen zijn lelijk, bezig als ze zijn met voor het merendeel moderne dingen, met overbodige dingen, en maar al te snel klaar om bereid dat te doen wat oneervol is: te rodelen, om mooi te zijn, om het eigen ego en de eigen wensen voor dat wat eervol is te plaatsen. De manier waarop ze vaak opgaan in de lelijkheid welke onze moderne wereld doordringt is pervers te noemen. Zij voelen niet de schoonheid, ze streven de schoonheid niet na; zij zijn, voor het meerendeel, gelukkig te leven, ademen, wensen en deel uit te maken van, de lelijkheid van de moderne wereld en zijn oneervolle manier van leven. Bijvoorbeeld, de meeste van de muziek, de zogenaamde entertainment, en de kunst, van de moderne wereld is lelijk; haar gebouwen, steden en dorpen, worden tot lelijkheid verheven.

Er zijn een paar plaatsen waar de schoonheid leeft heden ten dag: Een concert, wellicht, waar sublieme, overweldigende, muziek welke ons wij voor een moment boven onszelf getild worden; een vrouw van empathie, wiens gezicht, wiens ogen, wiens manieren, zowel warmte uitstralen als ons herinneren aan onze eigen breekbare menselijkheid. Een zonnige zomerdag in een landelijk stuk Europa wanneer, boven op wat heuvels, iemand de connectie met al het leven, en special de oude landen der onze voorouders, voelt. Een simpel gedeeld en woordeloos moment wanneer twee geliefden eender worden, door hun ongecompliceerde trouwe liefde, door de urgentie van een direct gedeeld kortstondig moment… Maar dit zijn ge- isoleerde, steeds minder voorkomende, incidenten, onder de stedelijke nonchalante houding, het egoisme, de obsessie met materialisme, de oneervolheid, de onloyaliteit, de individualistische gemeenschappelijkheid, het modern eleven.

Schoonheid is niet de norm, het ideaal, de ruggengraad, het doel, wat het kan en zou moeten zijn. Waarom bewonder ik, en heb ik stavast bewonderd, voor 35 jaren, het NationaalSocialistische Duitsland? Ik vond, en vind, daarin een uiting van schoonheid – een wens om schoonheid, vreugde, terug in het leven van gewone mensen te brengen; een wens om hen van lelijkheid te verhevenen. En wat prachtig was, opmerkelijk en inspirerend was, dat dit binnen de grensgebieden, binnen de beperkingen, van een moderne natie met zijn dorpen, steden en industrie werd gedaan: het ging eenieder aan, niet een minderheid, niet een elite. NationaalSocialisme was een middel waardoor de schoonheid gevoeld en gekend kon zijn, een middel waarbij de schoonheid nogmaals present was in de levens van de normale mensen. Een middel waarbij een connectie gemaakt werd naar die dingen welke ons kunnen verheven en evolueren, en daardoor dus innerlijke schoonheid waar maken. Dit is de simpele, diepgaande, mooie boodschap van het NationaalSocialisme.

En hoe deden deze NationaalSocialisten dit?

Door eer; door plichtsgevoel, door trouw, door het begrijpen van het belang van schoonheid in van onze verbintenis, door ons volk en vaderland, naar onze aard.

Zo vele leugens hebben deze schoonheid gemaskeerd; zo vele leugens welke ons op afstand willen houden van de waarheid; zo vele leugens welke trachten te voorkomen dat we zien, begrijpen en streven hetgeen te volgen, dat mooi en inspirerend is. En toch, de waarheid leeft; de schoonheid en de ruggengraad is er, en zal er altijd zijn zolang een aantal van ons zich het herinneren, en het doorgeven aan anderen om te herinneren.

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Related:

° Myatt: Selected National Socialist Writings (pdf)
° Vindex: Destiny Of The West (pdf, facsimile of the 1984 text)
° David Myatt And Reichsfolk

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David Myatt: Forty Years Of Learning

David Myatt

David Myatt

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Q. How would you summarize what you have learnt from your forty years as an activist?

One of the conclusions of such retrospection as I have undertaken in the past few years is of understanding the deeds and the intolerant striving of my extremist decades as reprehensible. Another conclusion concerns my own reprehensible character. Yet another concerns my hubris, or perhaps more correctly my stupidity born of arrogance and fanaticism resulting in a failure, a refusal, to learn from our thousands of years old human culture of pathei-mathos. For such a learning would have placed me and my extremism – me as a masculous talking-mammal – in a supra-personal context, providing a knowledge of those deeds and that striving as having the opposite effect of what I intended or arrogantly believed they would achieve, and of only inflicting, causing, more and more unnecessary suffering.

This supra-personal context is the Cosmic Perspective: of the reality of our individual selves as but one fragile mortal short-lived biological life-form on one planet orbiting one star in one galaxy in a Cosmos of billions of galaxies; of our nations, our national cultures – and everything we manufacture or bring-into-being or presence, from ideas to ideologies to religions to cities to industries to products to archetypes – being not only by their φύσις subject to change and transmutation but also having a certain limited life span, be such in terms of years, decades, centuries, or millennia; of how our pride in our achievements or in our presencings, individual or collective – and such achievements/presencings themselves – should be considered in the context of the possibility of sentient life, some probably more advanced than us, on other planets in our own galaxy and in the billions of galaxies in the Cosmos; of how all life on our own planet, just like ourselves, is fragile, changing, and subject to extinction; and of how what we, as individuals, do or do not do affects or can affect other living beings.

For the Cosmic Perspective is an empathic awareness of not only our place in the Cosmos but also of the affective and acausal connexions that bind all life, on this planet and elsewhere in the Cosmos, and be such life sentient or otherwise. And it is this empathic awareness which, according to my mutable understanding, can provide us with a personal appreciation of the numinous sans the abstractions, the theology, the cosmogony, the dogma, and sans the God/gods, of an organized religion.

My hubriatic error in those extremist decades was essentially two-fold: (i) to aspire to bring-into-being some-thing that would not and could not, in centennial terms (let alone in millennial or cosmic terms) endure; and (ii) to use violence and incite hatred, intolerance, and killing, in order to try and presence that causal some-thing. My perspective, for example, during my neo-nazi decades was very limited, sometimes egoistical. Egoistical in that I enjoyed the striving, the conflict, the incitement, the excitement, and even the violence. Limited, in that my foreseeing was of the next meeting, the next fight, the next demonstration, the next piece of propaganda to produce, my next speech, and of the victory I and others dreamed of or believed in; a victory that would be at most a decade or two ahead.

Of course, I believed that what we or others after us might bring-into-being would endure, most probably at the cost of further conflict; and endure for decades, possibly a century or more. But the reality always was of me and my kind striving to stop or somehow try to control, to shape, the natural flux of change; to preserve, whatever the cost, what we or others after us might bring-into-being.

For we believed we would or could do what no one in human history had been able to do: make our presencings immortal, or at least immune to the natural cycle of birth-life-decay-death. A natural cycle so evident in the rise, the flourishing, the decline, the decay, the death, of empire after empire; national culture after national culture; city after city; language after language; and of a people of a particular size and in a particular area naturally changing, moving, emigrating, immigrating, and thus naturally melding with others. In brief, we (with our simple causal-only perception) hubristically believed or felt that we could, and would, not only master and control Nature and the very forces of the Cosmos but also that our interventions would endure far beyond our own lives. In retrospection, this was fantasy, with the rise and fall and destruction of The Third Reich being just one of the many examples from reality that should have informed us about that fantasy.

           In contrast, my understanding now is that the Cosmic Perspective reveals a particular truth not only about the Anthropocene (and thus about our φύσις as human beings) but also about how sustainable millennial change has occurred and can occur. Which change is via the progression, the evolution – the development of the faculties and the consciousness – of individuals individually. This is the interior, the a-causal, change of individuals wrought by a scholarly learning of and from our thousands of years old human culture of pathei-mathos, by our own pathei-mathos, and by that personal appreciation of the numinous that both the Cosmic Perspective and the muliebral virtues incline us toward.

This aeonic change voids what we now describe by the terms politics and religion and direct social activism of the violent type. There is thus a shift from identifying with the communal, the collective – from identifying with a particular contemporary or a past society or some particular national culture or some particular causal form such as a State or nation or empire or some -ism or some -ology – toward that-which has endured over centuries and millennia: our human culture of pathei-mathos.

For the human culture of pathei-mathos records and transmits, in various ways, the pathei-mathos of individuals over thousands of years, manifest as this sustainable millennial culture is in literature, poetry, memoirs, aural stories, in non-verbal mediums such as music and Art, and in the experiences – written, recorded, and aural – of those who over the centuries have appreciated the numinous, and those who endured suffering, conflict, disaster, tragedy, and war, and who were fundamentally, interiorly, changed by their experiences. And it is this shared human culture of pathei-mathos that extremists of what[ever] kind, and those who advocate -isms and -ologies, scorn and so often try to suppress when, for however short a time, they have political or social or religious power and control over the lives of others.

It is this human culture of pathei-mathos which – at least according to my experience, my musings, and my retrospection – reveals to us the genesis of wisdom: which is that it is the muliebral virtues which evolve us as conscious beings, which presence sustainable millennial change. Virtues such as empathy, compassion, humility, and that loyal shared personal love which humanizes those masculous talking-mammals of the Anthropocene, and which masculous talking-mammals have – thousand year following thousand year – caused so much suffering to, and killed, so many other living beings, human and otherwise.

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Source:
Some Questions For DWM, 2014 (pdf)