An American Tragedy
This great and deeply moving piece by the brilliant Oliver shouldn’t dishearten us. Today, 30 years later, things are not nearly so bleak.
by Revilo P. Oliver
ON A DAY in 1986 that I shall not specify, a singularly perspicacious and devoted American died. I know no one man who did more to avert the doom of our nation and race. He died at an advanced age, embittered and lonely.
He was a man of means and spent generously on behalf of a thankless and perhaps worthless people. Since I was probably the only acquaintance who shared his opinions and never asked him to subsidize anything, he accorded me a measure of confidence.
He was a man of keen discernment. He may have been the first American to perceive what was at stake when John Dewey’s gangsters began the liquidation of the nation’s finest educational institution, the one-room schoolhouse, in which a small number of children of varying ages were treated as individuals, not made into problems, were taught the rudimentary elements of our culture, not indoctrinated with subversive fictions, and the younger learned much from hearing the older pupils recite.
In the 1930s there was a good deal of controversy over the nugatory question whether or not John Dewey was a Communist agent; the real question was the insoluble one whether or not, in the adytum of his own mind, he knew that he was. Few perceived the consequences, and in the minds of the planners, the purpose, of hauling children around in buses to get them away from the influence of their parents, herd them into masses in which they would associate with the dregs of mankind, subject them to “counsellors” expert in unhinging the human personality and making psychiatric cases out of normal children, and replace the rudiments of humane literacy with poisonous piffle of a “social science” that would induce proletarian squalor. Even when educasters like George Sylvester Counts began to talk openly of “building a new social order,” and the boob-hatcheries were known to inject into the minds of their young victims the Jews’ “One World” pus, bovine Americans blinked uncomprehendingly and took pride in how much they were being taxed for new school buildings.
Wellington said that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton. America was lost in the play pens of “progressive” schools.
The man of whom I speak resisted strenuously the advance of institutionalized barbarism, but in an ochlocracy (called ‘democracy’ by a cunning perversion of language), the unthinking masses are easily herded to the polls to vote for their own enslavement.
He took great pains with the education of his own children, devising means to counteract the insidious effects of wealth by giving them some of the responsible work that children on farms did as a matter of course in the 1920s and 1930s, and he sent them to Christian schools and colleges, which supposedly were less corrupted with proto-Communist “intellectual” bilge. But here, too, he failed.
He was one of the very few Americans who were concerned about the future of their nation, and while the others were gabbling about Communism as a fallacious ‘ideology,’ he saw that the nation had been attacked by a swarm of venomous parasites, who used various ‘ideologies’ as poisons to anaesthetize and paralyse their victims.
In his youth he perceived the absurdity of the grotesque superstition called Christianity, but in the 1920s and 1930s it seemed to be a waning cult of irrationality that would gradually fade away, except, perhaps, among the very lowest classes. In the meantime, however, it seemed not only innocuous, but useful as a crutch for the psychically lame and feeble, who do not have the spiritual strength to stand alone in a pitiless universe. The religion, furthermore, had been injected into the tradition of our Western civilization, which, however, had neutralized some of the poison of the alien hoax, and had made it ostensibly consistent with our racial morality. If the great tradition was to be saved from the attacks of our race’s eternal enemies, it seemed most feasible to defend that tradition as a whole and without trying first to purge it of a potentially dangerous but seemingly quiescent infection. Furthermore, Christianity, although invented by Jews, professed inflexible hostility toward the parasitic race, and was advertised as a prophylactic against Jewish poisons, including Communism, of course.
It was reasonable, therefore, to assume that the superstition, which still had influence over the masses, could be used effectively in defense of our civilization and race. Even in 1969, when I wrote Christianity and the Survival of the West, I still entertained hopes that Christianity would contribute to our cause or, at least, not be an impediment to the survival of our race and to the recovery of our country, which then seemed possible. And as late as 1978, when I authorized the second edition, although I saw that Western Christianity had been liquidated, except in a few and politically insignificant enclaves, I had not yet realized that the Jesus-hokum was becoming once more what it had been in its origins, a major and potent weapon in the hands of our enemies.
I shared, therefore, the opinions of the man of whom I am writing here. In the late 40s, 50s, and early 60s, he attended the annual or special meetings of most of the many patriotic organizations, attending some of them inconspicuously in person, but most of them by sending an agent, a kind of private detective, whose responsibility was to observe and report objectively. And at all of those meetings, Christianity was taken for granted as the indispensable basis of a patriotic movement, although with varying degrees of explicit affirmation. When the Birch business attracted public attention, he met Robert the Welcher and recognized, as I had not, the man’s duplicity.
I do not know how much money the man lavished on support of the “crusades” and “leagues” of the various dervishes who professed patriotic purposes and open or implicit resistance to the Jewish occupation of the United States. In all of these he was bitterly disappointed, not merely by the futility of the effort, but by the character of the holy men, whose lack of intellectual and financial integrity was matched by their personal habits as either homosexual perverts or as so mulierose they could not be trusted with young women as pupils.
The destructive force of the Jesus-business became obvious only when the Jews used their boob-tubes to promote howling dervishes who added histrionic talent to the evangelical techniques for neutralizing the neocortex and exciting the lembic substrate of the brain to induce wildly emotional irrationality and hypnotic conviction. The amazing success of these highly skilled con men in enthralling mentalities that had been weakened in the public schools soon made it clear that, however kindly one felt toward some minuscule enclaves, the only defence against our enemy’s refurbished weapon was to expose the absurdity of the superstition they had foisted upon our race so many centuries ago, a kind of spiritual “AIDS,” which had sapped and was destroying our racial immune system.
Recognizing this, and finding at the time no organized attack on the Judaeo-Christian blight, the man distributed I know not how many copies of such works as William Gayley Simpson’s Which Way, Western Man? and Robert Klark Graham’s The Future of Man to intelligent persons who seemed receptive. Especially for the latter, he had access to a large number of men of scientific training to whom his favor was important. In almost every instance, the result was like lighting the fuse of a wet firecracker. Most of the recipients, if they read the books given them, confessed that the arguments were irrefragable, but pointed out that it was tactless or hazardous to say so in public.
It required courage to attack the Christian myth because the man’s wife, of whom he was very fond, had from childhood been addicted to the psychic narcotic. From the cradle, she had been told about Santa Claus and Jesus, and that she must be a good girl to deserve the favor of both. But soon she was told, “Aunt Mamie gave you the doll-house; this beautiful doll is from Aunt Susan and that one from Cousin Thelma; and Uncle Osbert gave you the tricycle.” That ended one imposture on her credulity, but the other was continued by constantly assuring her that sweet Jesus was floating around somewhere overhead, was keeping a loving eye on her, listened sympathetically whenever she talked to him in the proper way, and would expunge her sins whenever she said “Pretty please!” with contrition. And although the imaginary Big Daddy never gave any visible or palpable sign of his existence, and never did anything for her, she grew up with the habit of imagining him as her supernatural confidant and protector, who would eventually welcome her to his joyous Heaven for an eternity of unmitigated felicity.
Christians think it a pious duty to distort the minds of their children, just as some savages distort the skulls of their offspring by compressing them with splints when the bones of the head are still plastic. This abuse of children is sometimes so effective that one not infrequently encounters mature men who are highly educated and possess a keen critical faculty they apply to scientific or historical problems, but maintain their illusory dependence on the omnipotent spook of whom they were told in infancy and of whose existence they have no valid evidence whatsoever. And some Christians who come to their senses in adult life are like Byron’s Prisoner of Chillon and pine for the dungeon from which they were liberated.
The result of the inevitable clash of beliefs was dolorous indeed. The wife deplored her husband’s open apostasy from her divine familiar and naturally hated the vile wretches who, inspired by Satan, were luring him to a damnation in which he would be broiled on a redhot griddle forever and forever.
His children, who were generally respectful with their eyes on the will, professed, perhaps hypocritically, the Jesus cult, and, horrified by his lack of veneration for God’s Own, privately called him a crackpot and showed their filial devotion by expressing to their friends a hope that it would not be necessary to have him confined as insane.
The efforts on which he had concentrated all his interests for decades had failed totally, and each day he watched the American people rush mindlessly ever faster to their doom. It is becoming ever clearer that the Christian shamans are about to begin an intensive campaign, shaking their fetishes and yelling their Jesus-jargon, to inspire their “Moral Majority” of dupes to help drive the boobs into the trap they made for themselves. Then the Jews, who have finally got their “Genocide” hoax enacted by the Senate they bought, will begin open terror, such as they are now using in Canada, to teach their Aryan curs to heel when their masters speak. Americans can see in the vicious persecution of not only Keegstra and Zuendel in Canada, but even of Christie, the attorney who dared to defend men guilty of the crime of not believing whatever they are told by Yahweh’s Master Race, and in the supine degradation of the pavid Anglo-Saxons who once had Canada as a country of their own, a neat example of what they will soon undergo-and richly deserve.
The man to whom I pay this final tribute ended his days in the blackest despair, convinced that Americans had become so imbecile that there was no hope for them, and that he had wasted the greater part of his life on efforts to save a people that no longer had either the will or the intelligence to live. But what was most painful of all was that he was isolated. As he often told me on the telephone, he had no one to whom he could talk about anything that really mattered. And then he died.
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