Ragnar Redbeard - Might Is Right

Here and now is our day of torment! Here and now is our day of joy! Here and now is our Opportunity — to eat or to be eaten — to be lion or Lamb! Here and now it is war to the knife — no escape — no retreat. Choose ye this day, this hour, for no Redeemer liveth!

Every attempt made to organize the Future must necessarily collapse. The present is our Domain and or chief duty is to take immediate possession thereof upon strict business principles.

Strive therefore against them that strive against you, and war against them that war against thine. Lay hold of shield and buckler or their equivalents, stand up! Be a Terrible one in thine own defense. Raise up also the Clenched Hand and stop the way of them that would persecute you. Say unto thine own heart and soul: “I, even I, am mine own redeemer.”

Let them be hurled back to confusion and infamy, who devise thine undoing. Let them be as chaff before the cyclone and let the Angel of Death pursue them, nay overtake them. In a pit, they have hidden a trap for thy feet: into that very destruction let them fall. Then, exultant, “sound the loud timbrel.” Rejoice! Rejoice! in thine own salvation. Then all thy bones shall say pridefully “who is like unto me?” — Have I not delivered myself by mine own brain? Have I not been too strong for mine adversaries? — Have I not spoiled them that would have spoiled me.

This circling planet-ball is no navel-contemplating Nirvana, but rather a vast whirling star-lit Valhalla, where victorious battlers quaff the foaming hearts-blood of their smashed-up adversaries, from the scooped out skull goblets of the slain in never-ending war.

And behold it is good! It is good! It is very good!

And in that invigorating struggle strength is renewable. Fitness to reign, propagate and possess, can there alone be tested with mathematical precision (in nature’s majestic Judgment Hall), that is to say on the plains of Conquest where foeman look into foeman’s eye and death lurks, like a ravenous leopard, in every bush.

They who claim Mastership on any other basis than conquest are Upstarts, Usurpers and ought therefore to be deposed without pity, and without mercy in accordance with the cosmic decree of ethnic displacement. Death I say! — Death! to ev [op cit]

Life is a duel and only the Fittest can possibly hope to succeed. If you would Survive O reader! (in the highest meaning of that word) go to, and put some splendor in your deeds. Beware of false philosophies that equalize you with slavelings and dastards! Beware of fattened priestlings and tax-collecting statesmen!

Beware the tongue that is smoothly hung, and never forget for one moment, that your greatest enemies upon earth, are those crafty courtiers who eloquently, cunningly flatter you, that they may first win your heart, and then skin you alive. The modern Mephistopheles is the soft-toned preacher in his pulpit — the editorial sophist in his net-work of lies, — the political crocodile on his “planks” and his platforms.”

A trinity of hell-hounds are they! Oh! Would that they had but one neck and I was — Judge Lynch!

America! America! in spite of all the surreptitious bonds that in thy sleep have been laid upon thee yet pregnant thy womb is with men of Nerve — men of Valor — men of Might. Lo! the hour approacheth when in dire travail thou shalt give birth unto Thunderbolts, and Joves to handle them.

Behold that time cometh! Nay, it is at hand! But it will not be a period of pure delight. No! No! — it will be a day of wrath, a dreadful day — a day of Judgement, Tribulation, Triumph.

And Democracy! Democracy! thou leprous thing! — thou loathsome disease! — thou plastic demon! — thou murderer of man! Many nations have bowed down to thy infection, and perished from off the earth, but America! America! shall wipe thee out, — thou blight-some malady — thou human rinderpest!

Verily! Verily! a new nobility shall be born unto thee O America! — a breed of Terrible Commanders! — of Grim Destroyers — A nobility unpurchasable with the minted tokens of money-changers — a nobility of Valor, of Power and of Might — a nobility honourable, clear-sighted, clean-skinned, unconquerable. .

Through the future shines the sun of splendid struggle. Heroic Natures there lead on, as they led at Illion. The Natural Man steps forth once more in all his daring grandeur, Smashing unclean Idols, defying Gods and Laws and slave-made Morals.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF POWER.

Condensed:

How did government of man by man originate?

By force of arms. Victors became rulers.

But among us government force is abolished?

That is a popular delusion. It is stronger than ever.

How is it that we do not see it clearly?

No need of compulsion with inferiors ever eager to obey.

How can the Mastership of man be destroyed?

It can never be destroyed. It is essential.

But for one man to reign over another is wrong?

What is ‘wrong’? The Strong can do as they please.

Who are the ‘Strong’?

They who conquer. They who take the spoil and camp on the battlefield. All life is a battlefield.

How did subjectiveness originate?

The first slave was a defeated fighter, afterwards tamed by hunger and blows. His descendants being born and trained to submissiveness are more tractable. All the Servile Classes are posterity of beaten battlers.

Then vassalage still flourishes as of yore?

Certainly. In the pitiless strife for existence, all weaklings and feeble-minded persons are justly subordinated.

But we are taught ‘all men are created equal’?

You are taught many a diplomatic Lie.

How can a slave recover his liberty?

By re-conquering his conqueror. If he feels that he not man enough then he must submit, cut his own throat, or die fighting unsubdued.

But freedom may be granted to him?

‘Freedom cannot be granted, it must be taken’.

Then Strife is perpetual, inevitable, nay, glorious?

Yes! It is intended as an ordeal, a trial by combat. It unmistakably divides the guilty from the non-guilty.

But that is a harsh philosophy?

Nature is harsh, cruel, merciless to all unlovely things. Her smile is only for the Courageous, the Strong, the Beautiful and the All-Daring.

You have no comfort for the ‘poor and lowly’, the ‘innocent ones’, the ‘downtrodden’?

The poor and lowly are a creeping pestilence — there are no innocent ones, and the downtrodden are the justly damned — sinners in a hell they’ve made.

You praise the Strong, you glorify the Mighty ones?

I do. They are Natures noblemen. In them she delights: the All-Vanquishers! the Dauntless Ones!

It has taken countless evolutionary epochs to make man what he is, the most ferocious hirsute beast of prey that inhabits the caverns and jungles of earth.

Can his osseous mechanism and pathological instincts be summarily extinguished or reversed, merely by connecting him, per an electric wire, laid through the sewers of Rome, to the feeble dynamos of Bethlehem, and Tarsus? Can his structural anatomy, intended for conflict and slaughter, be transformed in a day, a year, or even in “a million, million of suns?”

To overmaster and devour his neighbor, in the reasoned effort to obtain food and booty, land, love, renown and gold is bred into the very marrow of his bones. Therefore all efforts made by Reformers and Messiahs, to transfigure him into a “lamb” are fore-ordained to fathomless failure. Indeed it would be much more reasonable of them, to attempt the transfiguration of a grizzly bear into a parlor poodle or propose the transformation of a bald-headed eagle into a gently cooing turtle-dove.