How Self-Preservation Becomes Self-Destruction

Our righteous work is marked by the preservation of the beautiful, the wise, the strong, and the virtuous. This preservation flows outward from the individual, but does not have the individual at its heart. The center of our righteous work is found in the entire people of whom we are a part, not in ourselves as solitary people.

Though the common people may hate us, fear us, even think us doing the work of the Devil himself, they are nonetheless our charge. The lamb knows not what he does when he wanders into the sharp-toothed darkness of the forest. It is the shepherd’s duty to know, and to act in accordance with the cruel knowledge of the world that his flock will never have to bear. The crook chokes the ewe, but it saves her from the wolf, and the shepherd does not resent her for her bitter bleating. The shepherd who tires of his constant labor, who abandons his club and his crook, who leaves his flock to die because he believes himself his life’s own center, starves to his death in hollow silence. No, the shepherd’s center is his flock, for his life is lived on the wool of their backs and the meat of their bellies.

Many of America’s first and most ardent White nationalists failed because, in them, their knowledge of the center could not hold.

Their lives were lived in a time just prosperous enough to leave them totally alone in their realizations. The common people had no cause to believe them, for they led lives of material plenty. The cracks in liberal democracy’s veneer of perfection were still hair-thin, all but invisible to those eyes that did not seek them out. Indeed, the laity had more than enough cause to disbelieve. These first White nationalists were seen as madmen, thought to be driven only by irrational and unfounded hatred of the Other, only by an ignorant fear of the unknown. They were cast aside again and again, their efforts to teach the common folk chastised, their words harshly rebuked.
Their lives were lived in a defensive posture, their circle of spears set tightly about them. Their lives were lived in retreat after retreat, seeming to all who observed as if they fled from nothing at all.

All too many of them sank irretrievably into bitterness. In these circles, the common people were called lemmings, the herd, sheeple, or other, crueler terms. Gradually, their desire to save their people throughout the world began to decay. The anguish of rejection became resentment, resentment became enmity, enmity became misanthropy. Eventually, they desired nothing more than the salvation of only their own handful of hard-hearted men. Their circle of spears grew ever smaller, its criteria for entry ever more esoteric, and after a long, long death rattle, their movements died.
From this parable, the following lesson can be taken.

The very fact that you are here means that you are the shepherd- the master of your common men. They do not oppose you as equals. No, they petition you as supplicants.

It is your right and your duty to act accordingly.

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