What Is White Trash

But first, what’s not White trash? It is not White people who are:

  • Alcoholic
  • Criminal
  • Druggie
  • Fat
  • Illiterate
  • Irresponsible
  • Knocked-up
  • Lazy
  • Loud
  • Poor
  • Resigned
  • Rude
  • Slovenly
  • Smokers
  • Stupid
  • Tatted
  • Ugly
  • Uneducated
  • … or any combination of the above.

Such people are what the words above already describe them to be. I’m with vintage Donald Trump on that expression:

“What does that mean? You don’t joke about being White trash… that’s a pretty stinkin’ statement. I don’t like it as a joke. You shouldn’t use that expression anymore either. How stupid can you be?”

One exception. With its historic origins in the U.S. South, today that expression fits one specific failing of character. Here is an example of White trash: I see a little girl, like an angel, maybe five years old, running free with her golden hair in the sun. And running with her is Diversity.

White trash is that little girl’s negligent parents, who are imprinting her with intimacy with other races. White trash is a person who shits on his European heritage.


Dr. Helen comments on a London School of Economics study that shows happiness peaking at the age of 23 and again at 69:

Notice that the theme here seems to be that people are happiest when not raising a family. Everyone in-between is probably dealing with a lot more stress.

What is this “happiness” they speak of? I’m alive and of alert mind, so I scan the landscape with cold hate every single day, but also with gratitude for the small things that make life a gift. The years between 23 and 69 are life’s in media res. At twenty-two, I had dropped out of college and worked two full-time restaurant jobs. And yet, having that smoke with the guys after work on a moonlit summer night made it a good year.

Nobody chooses his birth year and today neoliberalism aims to destroy everything we build, everything we value. So under the present deal, there are things that need to be done and snares to be avoided. Happiness is not the real thing, it is the sunlight that warms your skin when you strike the balance of performing your duty and enjoying your freedom. Other than that, there is silence, trees, and the open sky. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.


Teen Pop Melody: What Do You Have?

You probably wanna be a little buzzed when reading this post.

If you’re a teenager of the 1950s, you have:

  • … many songs. Houellebecq noted in Elementary Particles that the 1950s teen culture was the heyday of romantic love, something about the era’s harmony of innocence and freedom. Not my time, but I associate the vibe with Bobby Vinton’s “Roses Are Red.”

If you’re a teenager of the 1960s, you have:

  • Beach Boys “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”

If you’re a teenager of the 1970s, you have:

  • Peter Frampton “Baby, I Love Your Way”

If you’re a teenager of the 1980s, you have:

  • [I have ordered my men to tie me to the mast lest the sirens of teenage highs and lows compel me to overload WordPress servers with ballads from that decade.]

If you’re a teenager of the 1990s, you have:

  • Mazzy Star “Fade Into You”
  • Guns N’ Roses “Don’t Cry”

If you’re a teenager of the 2000s, you have:

  • Avril Lavigne “I’m With You”
  • Fuel “Hemorrhage (In My Hands)”

If you’re a teenager of the 2010s, you have:

  • … what do you have?


If you remember the 1980s, you will discharge one manly tear when watching this video:

What The Talented Tenth Are Running From

You saw this photo at Château Heartiste first. It shows a self-identified Christian of Central African Republic eating the leg of a slain Muslim enemy.


There are people of the African diaspora whom W.E.B. Dubois dubbed the “Talented Tenth.” Anticipating the death of liberalism, here are some of the scenarios that might be open to those members of the brown bag caste who want to keep their descendants from reverting to certain African norms:

More anti-racism. In perpetuity, the arrangement under which blacks are granted first-class citizenship over Whites with all of the benefits and none of the responsibilities of running a civilization, as Whites across all social classes have all of the burden with none of the positive incentive.

Mate with Whites. A question about the mudshark-era organ harvesting of White wombs: what if honor-lynchings come back? Another question: what does a Mulatto father do about his light-skinned daughter gravitating to wild bucks? Answer: under patriarchy, whatever needs to be done. Finally… is Philip Chism an improvement over the cannibal?

Individual patronage. On an individual basis, negotiate a patron-vassal relationship with amenable Whites.

White Man’s Burden. The uplifting of Africans to European norms was a 19th century project that faltered with mid-20th century’s liberation of American blacks and welfare-driven dysgenics.

Black eugenics. The more ruthlessly implemented, the sooner the cannibal is bred out of their gene pool. Advocate for a paternalistic society that combines Jim Crow-style enforcement of K-selected cultural standards with Margaret Sanger’s biological measures.

Found a new nation. Forming an autonomous nation based on a Mulatto or similar identity, marrying solely among their fellow caste members. Haiti offers a cautionary tale here: its post-colonial Mulatto class was slaughtered by pure-blooded Africans, so the founders of this new nation would have to set a bottom standard on membership in this community.

Take responsibility for their fellow blacks. Stop mooching from Whites (integration is mooching too), accept their African destiny, and lead their people in harmony with their better nature.

A Few Thoughts About Stephen King’s Novels

“Genre writer” is taken as a pejorative due to the implied slight that the author does not make you think; his work is sensory-level escapism. Still, good genre writers do their craft well and Stephen King was masterful in evoking a sense of dread. Especially the interior monologues of people who are slipping toward madness or evil. I read most of his work as a teenager so my judgment comes through a filter.

But a few weeks ago I picked up a copy of Salem’s Lot (which I read at 14) and opened to a random paragraph near the end of the book. It was a lengthy description of the jittery thoughts of a vampire-fighting priest who was turning into a vampire himself. My suspension of disbelief was smooth. In other words, well written.

His current shitlibbism, as well as its form during his mid-1970s to early-1980s creative peak, has roots in Baby Boomers’ notion that liberal is nice, conservative is mean. That notion comes from their dread of Eisenhower-era growth of unaccountable forces in society. But Boomers misdiagnosed things, deflecting the fear of power grabs from the intelligence-military complex and its private-sector partners onto the scattered voices of resistance to that cancer. Most people fell for it, with figures such as Joseph McCarthy and George Wallace being frozen and polarized into stand-ins for threats to freedom.

But perceptive observers feel the malice, even if they feed their unease into a fake ideology. Firestarter is one of his less-well-known novels but it identifies the deep state and MK Ultra-like operations.

Another fallacy of the ascendant liberalism of his generation was a failure to put the criminal class into perspective. King hated White criminals, going hard on them in The Stand. That’s another manifestation of his “liberal = nice” thinking. Don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone, and few appreciated the role of one’s own reasonably contained criminal class in securing liberty within a multicultural country.

Not completely sure what to make of his three feminist novels. Other than The Body (better known as its film interpretation Stand By Me), Dolores Claiborne may well have been the closest he’s come to literature. It was weighed down by garbage motifs of the period, including the “molester dad” meme, which was injected into popular culture in 1984 by the TV movie Something about Amelia and ran through 1994’s Forrest Gump. Gerald’s Game was similar in that respect.

His third feminist novel Rose Madder was so over-the-top in its nods to sapphic doctrine that it seemed downright lazy (it came off as affected by the Julia Roberts film Sleeping with the Enemy). Reading it was a Lilith Fair experience. Or was he was parodying that strain of political correctness?

Physical Bravery And Young Age

Set in medieval France, the historical drama La passion Béatrice opens with the lord of a manor and his teenage son returning from English captivity after a failed military campaign. But the lord’s homecoming is not what everyone had expected. He directs his first of many acts of wrath at his son, whom he torments for having frozen up in battle as the opposing armies charged toward each other. The boy’s older sister comforts him later, cooing “you were too young, not ready for war.”

Fast-forwarding to another war, two weeks ago in Germany a 26-year-old man was forced to watch a stranger rape his girlfriend at knifepoint, as reported:

A refugee from Ghana has been arrested for dragging a young woman from her tent and raping her while she was on a camping holiday with her boyfriend. The young couple […] were approached by a machete-wielding man at about 12.30 am on Sunday last week. The boyfriend was forced to watch as the attacker violated his 23-year-old lover.

It’s not clear what sidelined the boyfriend while his adversary went to the ground with the girl, what impromptu weapons were available to him, and what opportunity he had to attack the rapist. He could have grabbed a rock or a branch. Toss a handful of dirt into the African’s eyes while rushing him. Yell for help from other campers. It’s easy, from the position of a spectator, to construct a different ending to the story and I indulged in imagining the following alternate scenario, which begins with the Ghanian holding a knife to the girl’s throat:

GHANIAN: “Yoo watch fiki-fiki. Yoo moof, I cut your bitch”

GERMAN: “Stab away. She’ll be dead to me with nigger stink on her anyway.”

The German picks up a camping axe and approaches the interloper. The Ghanaian runs. An hour later in the couple’s tent, baby Hans is conceived.

By the way, as cold as it sounds, that fictitious “stab away” reply would not have been out of line even if the hostage were his daughter rather than mere girlfriend. But the young man didn’t follow my ex post facto armchair-quarterback script. Instead, maybe his brain short-circuited at the sight of sharp steel and he watched the action as though from behind a screen. Someone who grew up sheltered from any and all violence will freeze up when faced with an imminent prospect of physical pain. And that incident shows why shielding boys from common schoolyard rough-and-tumble is wrongheaded. I recently shared related thoughts on bullying.

A reader at Vox Popoli who is a retired military officer noted: “German boys always struck me as wimpish until the military got hold of them.” I don’t think his categorization of them as wimpish was intended as a slight. There is in fact something “not ready for war” about well-bred K-selected boys until they are mentored. They require time and guidance to mature. They don’t have that opportunistic aggression-for-aggression’s sake you see in r-selected types.

But at 26, the camper is not young. Certainly not by the traditional standards of infantrymen, with 22 being the average age of the U.S. combat soldier in Vietnam. Youth alone does not explain that instance of cowardice, as history is full of children who performed superhuman acts of heroism. Just three generations ago, boys as young as eleven fought as riflemen against professional and mercenary SS units in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising. Boys and girls even younger than that served as couriers and nurses’ aides under fire.

In fact, youth is typically associated with recklessness, bravery’s wild cousin. In Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum, a middle-aged character has a rueful interior monologue (to my recollection twenty years after reading that book) in which he rationalizes his own reluctance to join the ongoing political riots as being a function of his mature perspective. So has a 26-year-old German today “aged out” of bravery, relative to boys a decade younger than him who comprised Wehrmacht units at the Battle of the Bulge? No; mid-twenties isn’t “mature,” and the VP commenter already answered that question — the military never got a hold of him.

“The military” can be read literally, as well as metaphorically to refer to any communal structure that provides male mentorship to boys. Without that mentoring, they risk ending up as cake batter that failed to rise. An illustration: the mild-mannered young man in Scent of a Woman, who required Al Pacino’s guidance to bring out his innate integrity. The camper’s situation was compounded by the fact that he was not merely abandoned by his fathers, in which case he’d at least been free to figure certain things out by himself. Rather, his environment in a conquered and Allied-occupied Germany was by design hostile to the germ of masculinity within any native boy there. From his first day in Kindergarten, he learned shame and grew up to despise his original sin of existing.

“In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.” ― C.S. Lewis

A necessary aside: not everyone there is a coward. This is a proper moment to break away from the all-too-familiar accounts of submission because the preponderance of such stories creates a false sense of determinism. We are at war and with each new set of open eyes, the war is becoming less and less one-sided.

So not all is passivity among Europeans. In another incident, also in Germany, a group of Pakistanis sidled up to a family of five on a train and asked the man’s two little girls to sit on their laps. The child-molesting human garbage attacked the father when he told them to leave. They also beat his wife and their thirteen-year-old son, both of whom tried to shield his body. Brave men are out there, in Germany and everywhere else. The father stepped up to do his job and the teenage boy showed more mettle than the camper who is twice his age.

Even the most red-pilled of us is capable of getting angry, and the above news item made me livid. Anger is a sign of life.

Every human group upholds the three ideals listed below for the purpose of turning the wimpish boy into into a man. Those ideals are realized through social institutions, which in the West are being intentionally corrupted by liberalism:

Mentorship — When you visit a martial arts school or a little league baseball practice and you see non-Whites under instruction of White coaches there, you are witnessing a fatal compromise on a Männerbund structure for mentoring boys in the image of their elders. Diversity disrupts harmony. Blacks have their all-black inner-city boxing gyms. Whites have to price-out the diversity with sports like lacrosse and hockey.

Culture — As T.S. Eliot put it, “Culture may even be described simply as that which makes life worth living.” A living spirit whose great books for boys transmit masculine role models and foster a purposeful sense of identity. Culture is home. That’s why they wreck Boy Scouts and blue collar fraternities such as firefighting and construction work by pushing women and diversity on them.

Destiny — A sense of having a past and a future. The kids who fought in the Warsaw Uprising knew that they had a home and a destiny of their own, which they fought to secure for themselves and for me with their young lives. Sure of their righteousness in the inferno of urban warfare, they sang:

We’re the children of Warsaw going into battle
For your every cobblestone, we’ll give our blood
We’re the children of Warsaw going into battle
On your command, we’ll bring wrath to the enemy

Freezing up when an armed rapist grabs your girl is the fruit of political systems whose aim is to destroy White nations and with them, everything that the millennia of Western history have irrepressibly created even through the worst times along the course of our highs and lows. Our key objective in this war, in Germany and everywhere else in the West, is to secure our freedoms of association. You give a damn for, you fight and kill for, you give what you have and you do your best for, and you willingly die no matter your age, for what is yours.


Image source: Wikipedia. “The Little Insurrectionist,” Warsaw

Whom In This Photo Do You Hate?

If you said “nobody,” you’re not telling the truth. You see two, maybe three principal actors in this photograph and one of them is lower to you than a bug. It is a snapshot from a morality play with a hero who represents your aspirations, a villain representing those who want you gone, and a neutral party where pretense to neutrality is a lie.


What happened:

Ian Crossland, EDL leader, told MailOnline their minute’s silence was disturbed by protesters. He said: “We were holding a minute’s silence for the victims of the Westminster and Stockholm terror attacks. But members of Unite Against Fascism were screaming ‘Nazi scum’ and spitting at us. Yes, I look angry, but who wouldn’t be if someone screamed and spat in your face?

“In the picture she [Saffiyah Khan] is laughing at me while I am telling her to get out of the demonstration and respect the silence. She’s laughing because she’s managed to disturb the demonstration, she’s completed her aim. She’s since claimed that we were abusing a woman in a headscarf. But that’s not true. We only shouted at them after they disrupted the minute’s silence. She is adjusting her story to suit her own ends. There are two sides to every story.”

The divorced 44-year-old father of three, who runs a building company in Sheffield, has been an EDL member since 2013. He said the EDL were protesting against the radicalisation of Muslims in Birmingham mosques.

One side talks about protesting racism and the other side talks about protesting terrorism. But those are just words you say because you might not tell yourself, certainly not the cameras, what the ancient hind-brain counsels: incinerate the toxic biomass.

The feeling of hate is your instinct directing your sympathy toward one or the other party in the photo because they represent your future. When two incompatible destinies occupy one land, as physics is guide, one or both of them will have to go.

In this case, it’s either the smirking welfare recipients protected by a “liaison officer” or the people who saw that their tolerance gave them nothing in return but their backs against the wall in their own home.

What Is Progress?

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doing things I used to do
They think are new
– The Rolling Stones

In response to my maxim “Progress. There is no such thing,” reader Your Favourite Gamma (YFG) leads off a long comment with thoughts and some questions about progress:

You also mean (say your thought on history) that there is no fundamental change. So that means that:

1) Human reality doesn’t get better with the passing of time
2) Human reality doesn’t change, not more than superficially

Yes, time is one-way linear and meaningless change itself is a given. But where irreversible change is either willed or thought to be predetermined by history’s laws toward an idealized destination, it’s called Progress. Progressives, as those who subscribe to this Marxist-derived theory of history and its associated political activism call themselves, see history as a march, its retrograde cycles notwithstanding, toward a goal. From the Left wing perspective, which is the one that has wielded the most influence in the past 160 years, that goal is human equality.

In their long march toward effecting equality, Communists envisioned a classless society of selfless workers in an industrial landscape from William Blake’s nightmares. One century later, Multiculturalists updated the Left wing ideology by moving the domain of struggle from class to race, their stated ideal now being equality across races taken to its ultimate conclusion of blending out all race differences to brown. A monster’s dream of a bulldozed humanity, in both visions.

But Leftists don’t think of themselves as monsters. They profess to lofty aspirations for mankind, centered on the elimination of conflict and selfishness. I’m talking about the idealists here, not the Left’s three-parentheses leadership (we’ll get to the cynical part in a bit). There is a susceptibility in some of us to believe in leftism. Generation after generation sees its true-believers, so that thirst can’t be dismissed outright, even if only because their stirring music — from “L’Internationale” and the USSR national anthem to John Lennon’s ode to lobotomy — comes from and in fact even quenches a certain receptivity toward the revolutionary spirit in many of us, no matter the butchery of leftism.

Yes, my own anti-Left bias colors my prose, and so be it. I have second-hand knowledge of the hell of Communism (my own first-hand experience behind the Iron Curtain in the 1970s was idyllic but by that point revolutionary Bolshevism was just a dead ritual) and we are all living the nightmare of revolutionary Multiculturalism right now. So I stand by my bias.

But in the interest of clear abstraction, let’s take a look at one compelling sketch of the difference between the Progressive (Left wing) and the Traditionalist (Right wing) worldview. Czeslaw Milosz describes the two Weltanschauungs below in “Witness of Poetry,” a collected series of his 1983 Harvard lectures:

After all, this is a century of utopian hope. In its name people have been dying, in its name people have been killing each other — and that hope has taken the form of a revolution whose goal is to replace the ominous power of money with a state monopoly and a planned economy. The vertical orientation, when man turned his eyes toward Heaven, has gradually been replaced in Europe during the last few centuries by a horizontal longing: the always spatial human imagination has replaced “above” with “ahead,” and that “ahead” is claimed by Marxism. The Russian revolution unleashed great energies and great expectations everywhere. There were, however, many disappointments in store.

Note Milosz’s aside: “that ‘ahead’ is claimed by Marxism.” It begs a question: is there a vista of possibilities about an ‘ahead’ that is claimed by a competing, not-Marxist vision? Maybe the Thousand-Year Reich, maybe something else. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

What about some aspects of progress that are self-evidently good and permanent? For example, children no longer work as chimney sweeps. Correlated but certainly not equivalent trade-offs between the 19th and the 21st centuries: instead of being forced into dangerous labor, they are now drugged with pharmaceuticals and electronics, they have small families, no freedom, and no conceptual framework of the universe and their place in it, except for being told that they have no past and no future. And we’re talking about the kids who weren’t contracepted out of existence to begin with.

Some of that progress, such as that which liberated little boys from dying of black-lung disease at the age of twelve is driven by linear advances in technology rather than political, and that gets its own discussion in the latter part of this post.

Back to Milosz’s model of the two axes. Progress, idealism, philosophy, Communism and the aspirations behind it — what are they if not mist inside a dreamer’s mind? For one, the implementation of the exalted visions in its historic iterations consistently reveals itself to have been a means to a cynical end — the Soviet nomenklatura lived like feudal lords and Sidwell Friends doesn’t matriculate 18-year-old Guatemalan rapists.

A conversation I had at some point in my childhood:

ME: Do our leaders believe in Communism?
ME: Does anybody?
DAD: Nobody who matters
ME: But what about all those red banners at the May Day parade?
DAD: Think about Communists as gangsters who took over a country and are forcing people to act like they believe in Communism so that they can keep their power.

So it is with Progressive ideology. Like peeling an onion: under the layers of egalitarian language you find the robber-barons co-opting Leftism as acid to dissolve competing social structures, on down to the most organic social unit, the family. Their goal is one world, one race, one elite. Those oligarchs, in turn, are supported by jealous nobodies who proselytize the egalitarian creed to knock down those they envy, by opportunists who angle for rank under the new order, and finally, by sincere idealists who believe in Progress.

Behind the solemn notes of “Imagine,” it’s banking cartels all the way up. The idealist finds himself deeper than ever in the very “ominous power of money” that the wreckage was supposed to do away with. Or as Zbigniew Herbert wrote about Leftist dictatorships in blank verse, translated here: a wet pit the murderers’ alley the barrack called the palace of justice.

Don’t we learn from history? Apparently not. The lessons of the Holodomor didn’t sour anyone on the proverbial breaking of eggs to make the omelet. The slaughterhouse churns on, the face-pierced great-granddaughter of mid-Western farmers holds up a “Refugees Welcome” placard, thinking that she’s doing something new. There are things that pass from one generation to the next reliably, but wisdom is not one of those things.

And where you don’t learn, you double-down. Where Progress usurps competing transcendent values and the direction of Progress is equality, then it is easier to keep faith in the omelet that you committed yourself to making, than it is to account for the broken eggs. The more elusive the omelet, the more the eggs need breaking.

But there is another reason why we’re fooled to chase the mirage of progress generation after generation, and that reason is our innate thirst for the transcendent. Like Milosz wrote above, there has to be something more than the power of money — material determinism, in other words. This yearning is acute when the great chain of being is cut and you lose sight of the vertical axis to Heavens. With your roots severed and your upward-gazing eyes blinded, you stand alone in the world of dead matter. In Hell, which is what spiritless life is to the European soul.

Faith in Progress is the shipwrecked man drinking sea water of thirst. Our craving for light never leaves us, which is why some call the devotion-like commitment of liberals to Leftism a religion. I disagree with them, having previously explained why in absence of true religion, liberalism is not a religion, but an episodic outbreak of mass hysteria.


So that covers political Progress. In his comment, YFG also calls out technology:

Where progress means change we have to say that there is progress, and not let our dislike of it alter our foresight. When you have a generation of laboratory-made humans of average IQ 140 or 150, all having access to as-yet unthought technology, all rules that still barely apply today are going to wear off. No way, and maybe no right for anyone, to establish if it will be a better world or life; what’s beyond question is much is changing deeply (and I see you hate it).

While the constancy of human nature makes for history as an endless succession of cycles, the advance of technology is linear and therefore by definition progressive, lower case. On face-value Yes, over the long run science and technology builds upon itself. But how does that relate to progress with regards to the human condition?

Here is one way, a snapshot of technology’s interplay with sex as related by commenter Days of Broken Arrows at Le Château:

Way back when in the 1990s, you could walk into any shopping mall and the young girls who worked there would be standing at the entrances of their stores, bored out of their skulls, just waiting for someone to talk to them.

It was pretty easy pickings. Even the most transparent lines would work if they were bored enough. (Few people went to malls on Monday nights, so this was a particularly good night to meet retail girls.)

So, for example, if they worked at a women’s clothing store, you could strike up a convo and possibly number-close with a line as lame as “I’m looking for a shirt for my sister.” I have no sister, but used this line dozens of times.

The bottom line is that something is always better than nothing. And when they had nothing to do, it was pretty easy to be something to them, so long as you were somewhat entertaining.

If I was in my twenties now, I wouldn’t know how to compete against iPhags. I see this now with the girls who work at the gas station near me. They barely pick their heads up from those phones to ring up your order. Maybe this is the reason younger guys have taken to porn and video games.

Are addictive electronics progress, in the most generic meaning of the word? Sure: while history is cyclical, time’s passage and technological innovation are linear. But are those things capital-letter Progress, a permanent human advancement toward a new plateau of being, for good or ill? That depends. Is man’s changed relationship with the world a permanent condition? Before giving that hypothetical question a Yes or a No response, ask: how permanent can any arrangement be, if it short-circuits reproduction? It’s almost as if linear advancements spur Darwinian cycles of self-correcting human adaptations.

As to YFG’s scenario of lab-assisted super-babies, I’m not saying “never” because anything can happen. In this case though, going with historic track-record of lab eugenics, I will venture a guess that crude nature still outperforms numerically. Gene manipulation, knowing what we know now and cautiously projecting this knowledge to an unknown future, strikes me as too boutique to have an impact on humanity in its sheer numbers. After all, we’ve had cheap lab eugenics since the 1970s. Any woman can avail herself of blond 6’2″ medical student’s donated sperm at a clinic, yet single mothers aren’t incubating Übermenschen, as a visit to Walmart confirms.

Or to make that point differently, leave a female to her devices, and eugenics is a toilet-stall fuck at a club. Contrary to the jaded Red Pill truism, women are the true romantics after all. Their gutter love keeps us from reaching escape velocity on post-humanity.

In the past several paragraphs, I laid out my skepticism on the prospects of meaningful technology-driven progress, limiting my argument to reasonably conceivable advances in technology. What lies beyond “reasonably,” I’m leaving alone in this post. With this next metaphor, I want to illustrate how humanity resists “improvement,” including improvement by technological means.

To see mankind in relation to Progress, both political and scientific, picture an animal. It can be a bull or a wolf, a noble lion, or the most noble creature of all, the frog. That animal is a model of mankind, of a race, or a nation — and to compound the metaphor, imagine it as a self-regenerating creature, just as a human groups regenerate by way of potentially endless birth of new babies.

This animal has a sustainable default condition, which is called health. It can be temporarily made a bit more excellent with a scientific diet and training like a young athlete. And then, there is the animal’s actual condition, which will almost invariably be some degree degraded from optimal, given life’s stings. That beast can be injured, fall sick, or be killed — but it cannot in any meaningful or permanent way be improved beyond simple health, nor can conditions that depart too far from the environment of his native habitat sustain the animal at a salutatory equilibrium. The girls with iPhags and the boys on porn — society will either displace them or a new so-called bigger mouse-trap (technologically or as a social adjustment) will enter the picture as an adaptation to the crippling technology.

We generally know what it takes to keep fauna alive and healthy, But since that animal was, from the beginning, a metaphor for the human condition, thoughts turns toward a tangent that requires a separate post: what is best in life?

Does it look like 24×7 minimum latency no lag?

Ted Kaczynski foresaw the dystopian direction of technology but I consider measures to suppress its development futile. Fortunately though, I also see the ill effects of technological progress (as reasonably anticipated, given present knowledge) to be self-correcting. In an age of nuclear-tipped ICBMs, Stockholm is conquered by chartered flights from Somalia. Yet if unimpeded by Swedish policemen, one hundred Swedish men with baseball bats and the will to swing them can retake the capital. Technological progress is an irritant to which man makes adjustments and it’s always back to muscle. For all of its transformative power, technology is still a club wielded by apes.

The natural human condition is face-in-the-dirt, and be it a primitive tribe or a civilization, men overcome their bestial reality through their unceasing daily labor according to each people’s aptitude and temperament. Every human group reaches to elevate life itself above it being a flicker of light among disease and death. To those chastened by the blood-gorged experiments in Utopia or to those who who never fell for it, Progress is false salvation. The New Man is a phantasm and there is no possible Earthly existence bereft of material trifles, conflict, pain.

Clarity on transcendence might come to you with the morning’s breeze whispering about the endless rhythm of seasons. As the decades pass and your body fades and after you did what had to be done, peace will be the sight of one generation after another of the familiar faces of children discovering the games they think are new.


Everything above was materialist commentary and Christianity changes everything. Someone called it “the real transhumanism.” Just a few words about faith: it makes no sense to evaluate a religion opportunistically, as you would with a political affiliation. Why, for example, convert to some war-religion for its short-term release if that religion is not metaphysically true. It is Pyrrhic victory to gain something in this world for the price of your soul in the next.

Christianity is simply either true or it is false, and that objective fact trumps whatever your attitude toward it might be. When you are convinced beyond mere understanding that it is as real as your very consciousness, then you exist outside of the tumult and the noise because none of this ultimately matters. God is the highest reality and you see your time on Earth as a trial in which you are compelled to carry out your worldly responsibilities from which, as it is clear to me, the 14 Words are inseparable.