When looking at the political climate in present-day America, an outside observer may be forgiven for wondering why the concept of race is so much at the forefront. “We’re all human, after all. Why does it matter if one man is black and another white?”
(Note: I originally posted a draft of this article here. Below is the final version, edited for the purpose of communicating the same ideas to a more general audience.)
I admit that I spent many years agonizing over the prospect of death, looking at the stars and wondering why the reality of human existence includes the inevitability of complete mind annihilation. Trying to wrap my head around what it would feel like to be dead of course didn’t work; the state of death is the state of absolute nothingness. No, even a description like “absolute nothingness” is too lively. Death is… There are no words. Any attempt to describe it will fall short of the fact that in death there ceases to be anything that could be described, anything that could engage in the action we call “description”.
I was 12 years old when I first started grappling with the unimaginable terror of death. As a social outcast I had a lot of time to think on my own, to think independently. A severe case of depression, along with plenty of physical health problems, created in me the irresistible drive to philosophize, and the intense pain (both mental and physical) that saturated so many of my Earthly moments gave me no other choice but to develop an extremely high pain tolerance. I started to question the meaning of life, and ask myself, “Why am I here? What is my consciousness? Why is there something rather than nothing?” I put every ounce of mental power I had into answering a set of questions that the great majority of other children hadn’t even thought of, for they were distracted by social fun and mundane tasks.
One of the most cognitively available and easiest solutions to my anxieties, of course, would have been to subscribe to a religion such as Christianity which claims that an entity called “God” created the universe, and that the prospect of death needn’t be worrisome, since those individuals who do Good in this world get a ticket to an afterlife of satisfaction and pleasure: “Heaven”. But I rejected this worldview. In fact, I made it part of my identity that I was an “atheist”, spending countless hours looking down on the great swathes of people I considered commoners who had taken the emotionally easy way out. Thus religion didn’t come to my psychological rescue, and instead I remained stuck in a deeply tormented state, sometimes many hours per day trying to figure out what the goddamn point of the profound misery of life was, and why it had to end with my consciousness entirely extinguished. Somehow the only thing that I found more disturbing than living my agonizing life was dying and having my mind eradicated for the rest of eternity. When I cried it was generally at the idea that my father would eventually die, or that I would at some point be gone forever.
From ages 12 to 21, roughly 9 years, I remained in this psychological state, categorically speaking; while I still had propensity for the same emotions, the frequency with which they took hold of me, and the level of terror that they caused, gradually decreased. It was only after around age 21 that I actually began to lose the fear itself, to forget what it meant to be terrorized by the inevitability of the Great Nothingness.
Well, first I’d like to switch gears for a moment.
Mark Twain wrote a book called The War Prayer in 1905, but it wasn’t published until after his death in 1910. He briefly considered releasing it while he was still alive, but his family and publisher discouraged him because they thought it might be seen as “sacrilegious”.
When asked by someone close to him whether he would publish it despite suggestions to the contrary, he reportedly replied:
No, I have told the whole truth in that, and only a dead man can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after I am dead.
In a similar story, David Hume had Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion published posthumously, fearing severe social backlash, given that the book is a thinly veiled intellectual attack on what was at that time a deeply entrenched orthodoxy upheld by vicious Statist violence and power.
But what happens when you kill yourself without dying?
I’m sure plenty of people have wondered how Richard Spencer summons the courage to advocate for white identity and a revitalization of traditional Western values in a world where the Social Justice Warriors have taken the reigns of society. He speaks his mind at great personal risk, not only to his social reputation and emotional well-being, but to his physical health, indeed to his life itself. He speaks the truth on topics where most do not dare to even venture.
The answer, in his own words, is:
I crossed a Rubicon long ago that I’m willing to die.
That is, he needs not confine his truth to a posthumous publication, for he’s banished fear not by extinguishing every thought and every emotion through the physical annihilation of his brain; instead he’s abolished fear while still living and breathing. His willingness to die for his cause suggests a whole emotional engine that’s been switched on: He fears neither bodily harm nor death, neither social rejection nor assassination. He’s internalized Death in the context of Life.
Getting back to my story:
What changed is that I learned how to attract women. From ages 12 to 21, I operated largely outside the social sphere. I didn’t try to initiate sexual relationships with girls, because of health problems that ruined my libido and social anxiety that made it almost impossible to start a conversation, let alone try to engage in sexual escalation. But around age 21, I encountered a beast that finally made it impossible to keep ignoring my problems: testicular cancer. Again forced to face the frailty of human existence, I decided that it was time to make my existence into something worthwhile, to stop letting myself fall ever deeper into depravity and depression. I spent several years focusing on personal development, physical health, and making up for lost time when it came to interaction with the opposite sex.
I turned it all around, from curing dozens of physical-health symptoms that I had accrued, to fixing my discipline and emotional health. My sex drive came back in full force, and I developed a normal craving for sexual contact. I consumed PUA materials voraciously, and I started my journey. Soon I had gotten a deep taste of success, and everything began to fall into place.
Not coincidentally, it was at that time that I started to lose my fear of death.
Now, I want to connect this story to a certain aspect of sociological evolution that the West is going through at the moment, where men are being incentivized to act and feel more feminine than in traditional culture.
Consider the following classic quote, originally used as part of a speech to convince the attendees of the Second Virginia Convention to deliver Virginian troops for the Revolutionary War (the war of American independence from British hegemony):
Give me liberty or give me death!
As a heterosexual man, the more desirable feminine women you attract into your sexual orbit and the more you maximize the sexual intensity, the more you start to understand that statement deep down in your bones.
Men who have lost their masculinity—men who think that being sexually submissive is a subjective value beyond rational criticism, that traditional gender roles are antiquated, and that expressing one’s masculinity encroaches on rights of women; these deeply feminized males, who have tapped into a degenerate softness of character, have spinelessly submitted to capricious and dangerous female power, and have limited their sexual escapades to only the most overtly nurturing and nice… Such feminized men are unable to understand the sentiment channeled by that phrase. They are, in short, afraid of the “death” part of, “Give me liberty or give me death.”
I believe that the biological structure of male psychology is such that this process is hardcoded. The forces of evolution have installed into the male psyche a basic idea: “If you haven’t had excellent sex with a variety of desirable women, you shall fear death. When you’ve quenched this deep thirst, however, one of your rewards will be a certain satisfaction in life; the specter of Death will no longer control you.” The obvious reasoning is that the goal of our human existence, as the survival machines at the base of the evolutionary process, is to procreate. If you breathe your last breath before you impregnate a woman, you’ve lost the Game of Life. Or, rather, if you don’t convince the genes that you’ve done so (even if the lie makes itself abundantly clear as you dispose of the used condom in the trash), you better not expect psychological peace, as it won’t be forthcoming.
You may say, though, “What about Elliot Rodger? He never had sex, yet clear wasn’t deterred by the prospect of death. In fact, the celibacy was what drove him to commit suicide.”
That’s true, but I think the sentiment is fundamentally different. He chose to kill himself, to throw in the towel after igniting a small flash in the pan of murderous destruction. Sure, some people become suicidal due to celibacy. But it’s a Black Pill type of suicidal tendency; it’s a willingness to end one’s life for nothing, to die in vain. The willingness to die that comes with having a flood of extremely intense sexual experiences is different; it’s an active version. When week in and week out you push yourself to the limits of your strength with weightlifting, and when you hold yourself to the highest standards possible within the sexual sphere, always pursuing greater heights of physical intensity, mental focus, and mutual experience, you recognize not that life is a worthless piece of shit that might as well be extinguished, but rather that a functional society is a wonderful gift that must be defended to the death. You learn the true meaning of, “Give me liberty or give me death!” Free from fear, yet adverse to senseless sacrifice, you march forward with the unshakable mental fortitude to stick to your principles at any cost. As Roissy once stated (paraphrased), “It’s not alpha to step into the path of a bullet.” No, it’s alpha to stick steadfast to your deep-rooted principles, and to feel no fear as the bullets begin to fly, and as you duck behind cover and put your hand on your firearm.
So why is it that the West is systematically making the male population more feminine, and putting so much energy into fighting what they call “toxic masculinity”?
The answer is simple:
It’s far easier for the parasitic State to control men who have been converted into poor substitutes for women. A feminized population of men can be more readily herded, controlled, and indoctrinated. Groupthink is able to proliferate more effectively and take hold of a population when men willing to speak the truth whether or not it’s safe to do so become an engendered species. There are few things that would threaten the bureaucratic order of modern Statist society more than a large number of men who aren’t afraid to speak their mind and stick to their principles, and who won’t be silenced through bully tactics, manipulative gossiping, or even threats to their life. In short, it’s in the best interest of the parasitic governmental order to breed feminized men, as they’re simply far easier for the supposed authority figures to herd, whether into soul-crushing jobs within industries entangled with a nightmarish labyrinth of nonsense regulations, or straight into a slaughterhouse.
Toxic masculinity? Yes, toxic for the SJW-fueled State.
Almost every Western person who spends a long time in Japan trying to learn Japanese encounters the slow progression from slight distraction to overt frustration in the face of the constant knee-jerk compliments that Japanese people launch their way. You speak a single short phrase, often in a way where you’re not very satisfied with your pronunciation or delivery, and then they say something to the effect of, “Oh wow, your Japanese is excellent!” The first several times you’re complimented, you might find it enjoyable; but once it’s happened thousands of times, accompanied with fake-sounding emotion, both after you speak in a way you’re proud of, and when you speak in a way you find deeply unsatisfying, it starts to get grating, until eventually you end up triggered every fucking time a Japanese person replies, “Oh, you speak Japanese! You’re incredible!”
When a child learns the conjugation system of their native language, they start with isolated language forms and then move onto subconsciously distilling the patterns into a systematized tacit understanding of how to conjugate any given verb. For example, they may hear “eat”, “sleep”, “sit”, “slept”, “lie down”, and thousands of other verbs, all as individual cases; upon determining the individual meanings through context and subconscious reading of the intentions of the speaker(s) communicating with them and others around them, they begin to pick up on patterns, and are eventually able to use not only the exact linguistic components that they’ve directly experienced, but also form ones that they’ve never heard. At first, “jumped” is a floating disconnected word that refers to a certain thing, but then later it becomes understood that it’s the past tense version of “jump”; at that point the child may convert “chase” to “chased”, without ever having heard the latter. Most important to emphasize is simply that native speakers learn by (1) taking a pile of unconnected linguistic forms, and then (2) subconsciously distilling the data into a system.
Many people are able to make the commonsense observation that the prevalence of pornographical content, especially the great swathes of high-resolution videos containing super-stimuli versions of naturally arousing visuals, along with depictions of what in traditional culture would be considered “weird fetishes” (to say the least), has led to an epidemic of psychologically hazardous addiction, where men lose their orientation in reality, end up with standards burned into their arousal systems which are exceedingly unlikely to manifest in physical reality without turning to prostitution, and so forth. And of course one needn’t understand the underlying psychological and perhaps physiological mechanisms to merely notice that men who are addicted to pornography often slip into unhealthy behavioral patterns. While the actresses who appear in the videos generally do so out of desperation and to their own psychological torment, and the utility for the men who watch the videos doesn’t seem to extend past a sort of hedonism reminiscent of sinking ever lower into a fluffy couch while gorging on ice cream and the latest sitcoms, without being addicted yourself it’s difficult to come to any other conclusion than: The directors and marketers are morally corrupt or apathetically nihilistic profiteers, the women who appear in the videos are to be pitied, and the men who watch the content are fueling a disgusting capitalistic machine that exploits psychologically damaged women while digging themselves into a hedonistic hole.