Savitri Devi - The Call of the End

The Call of the End

by Savitri Devi

Chapter 12 of Souveniers et réflexions d'une Aryenne
(Memories and Reflections of an Aryan Woman)

Translated by R.G. Fowler

“And you, divine Death, where all returns and is erased, Gather your children to your starry breast, Free us from Time, Number, and Space, And return to us the repose that life has disturbed.”  —Leconte de Lisle (“Dies Irae” [Day of Wrath], Ancient Poems)

It is appropriate to repeat—and to insist on the fact—that the proliferation of man not only threatens slow but sure extinction of the big cats, true masterworks of Creation, the elephants and other noble herbivores, and the holy forests themselves, but also the most beautiful and the most gifted of the human races, in particular the one that interests us above all others, our own Aryan race. That is inevitable, at least without timely intervention to the contrary by legislators, supported if need be by force. That is inevitable, I say, for the simple reason that the lower races are, by nature, definitely more prolific. (It is the same with the various species of four-legged mammals: mice and rats multiply how much more quickly than lions and tigers!)

It is clear that a racial élite can continue only by keeping its blood pure. And it is clear that, even then, it cannot continue to play its natural role, which is to rule, on the political level as well as in all other domains, unless it forms part of a civilization which, contrary to the Democracies to today, “popular” as well as plutocratic, rejects any idea of priority granted to the greatest number. As soon as one accepts the principle of universal suffrage—one man, one vote whatever the man—as soon as one attributes to every man (no matter which race, be it the least beautiful or the least gifted, no matter even the level of personal degradation) an immense “value,” superior, by mere fact of being “a man,” to the noblest animal or tree, one endangers the human élite.

And the threat of impotence, deterioration, and finally death weighs on it all the more—is all the more alarming and imminent—since preventive sanitary technologies more effectively impede infant mortality and epidemics of all kinds from taking their toll on the weak of any race and holding in check the tendency of the lower races to breed like rodents. Because if nothing is done to slow down at all costs the rate of reproduction of those races, and if, in addition, one imposes or permits a higher and higher minimum level of education for them, it will automatically be they who will have the last word in a world governed by “the majority” of humans—or, rather, some demagogues without race and without faith, skilled at manipulation, and, behind those—the international Jew. Because it is he—the eternal enemy of any racism (except his own)—who is able, by spending a fortune, to create or remove the most varied demagogies.

In India, this process has already followed its course for decades, even for a century, since the moment when, themselves victims of the false belief in the “value of every man,” the British believed it their duty, not only to Indianize their administrative services, but to Indianize from the bottom, by giving more and more advantages to the inferior castes (i.e., races) of India at the expense of the Aryan castes. It is the English, and them alone—I never cease repeating it—who are directly responsible for the accelerated decadence of this vast country, not by “exploiting” it economically to excess, but by infecting its future leaders with their democratic and humanitarian ideas.

They are responsible for it in two ways. Initially, they installed hospitals everywhere, with their dispensaries, doctors, and medical research laboratories. They inaugurated, on a vast scale, combat against epidemics and, above all, against infant mortality—against the quick elimination of the weak—and, by all means, encouraged the Indians to continue this after their departure. And then, while as a consequence of this, the population increased at an alarming rate (it doubles every thirty years!) they applied to its enormous masses—of different races, but, in increasing majority, of inferior races—the same democratic principles which did not cease infecting Europe since 1789.

They trained in their schools the Indians (Hindus of all castes but, more and more, of lower¹ castes; Mohammedans, Christians) to whom they transferred the burden of power, initially under their colonial aegis, then without restrictions upon the “independence” that followed their departure. They introduced—imposed—the vote for all; they gave, as a voter, the same importance (if small it be) to the savage Kouki of Assam, to the Naga, Sandal, and Gund, as to the Brahmin with the fairest complexion and harmonious features, the blood brother of the best Europeans, and more cultivated than many of them. They chose to succeed them the Indians—educated in their schools—who were psychologically dead to the racist spirit of the Hindu Tradition and sure to continue their work of disintegration.

These Indians there now do the impossible for the promotion of the masses of lower races, increasingly more dense, more teeming, more invasive thanks to the retreat of mortality. They established legislation that gives everywhere, from the start, the majority of positions to the members of these masses as soon as they assimilate a minimum of literacy. The result is generalized disorder; incredible incompetence at all levels: a telegram sent “express” from Delhi takes four days to reach Jammu; the buses of Delhi depart at the convenience of the driver and arrive when they can, etc., etc. Another result is corruption at all levels, in all services. But that matters little.

What is essential is that now one says, abroad, “India” instead of “the Indies” and thus was born the illusion of an Indian “nation.” What is essential is that this “nation,” or rather this State—which the spirit of the degenerate, Judaized, humane, and pacifist British continues in fact to govern—is a Democracy and, what is more, a “secular” Democracy without official religion (because it refuses this title to immemorial Hinduism), even against any traditional religion, in the manner of the France of Emile Combes; a State in which, some dare to hope, the cult of Science and Humanity—of Science applied to the well-being and “happiness” of “all men,” will more and more replace the worship of the ancient Gods, according to the superannuated dreams of Auguste Comte. What is essential is that this State is a multiracial Democracy, in which all shades of lower humanity are in open or concealed, noisy or quiet, revolt against the few million Brahmins and Kshatriyas—even against those of them (as is case of so many Brahmins of the South) the ancestors of whom were originally granted the privileges and honors of the caste because of their extraordinary merits, without them being Aryan in race.

It is fortunate that in India the masses are profoundly conservative and gifted with an uncommon force of inertia. It is not impossible that, by sheer indifference, and without even vaguely realizing what they are doing, they resist successfully all pressures exerted on them to tear them away from Tradition, or what they have retained of it. They will resist perhaps even literacy—I wish to speak of the harmful effects that this has so often had on trustful and credulous populations of traditional civilizations. They will not inevitably lose faith in their gods and in everything in their way of life that they think attaches them, near or far, to the divine order.

I have, in these pages, alluded to the worship of Viswakarma that I saw practiced in 1958 by the factory workers of Joda, in Orissa. It is not impossible that, for a long time to come, even up to the end of this Dark Age—and not only in Joda, but in the vast, more and more industrialized agglomerations—the “hard-working masses” of India will continue to ritually bedeck with scarlet flowers—once a year, in honor of the Cosmic Workman—the monsters of steel and complex wheels which help them to “produce” always more. No Government, apparently, would object.

Besides, governmental objections little disturb the Indian masses, even workers (even more so peasants). One of the first gestures of the first Government of “independent India” was “to remove the caste system” and open the temples to the Untouchables—those whom it is good form to call, following to the expression invented by Gandhi, “Harijans” or “People of God”—as if all living things did not participate, more or less, in the divinity of Reality in itself, in the Hindu view of the world.

However, since my return to India in June 1971, I myself have observed that, on the whole, caste has no less meaning in the eyes of Hindus and no less importance in their lives than forty years ago. It is enough to convince some to open any large or small daily newspaper and to read the matrimonial advertisements. One finds there, for pages, sentences like this one: “Wanted: young Agarwala man” (it is a sub-caste of Vaishyas of the United Provinces) “for beautiful girl, seventeen years old, of the same sub-caste; good housewife and equipped well”; or “Wanted: young Saraswati Brahmin girl” (it is a sub-caste of Brahmins of Maharashtra) “for young man of same sub-caste, back from Europe, with brilliant prospects. Would like dowry in proportion”; or even: “Wanted: Brahmin girl of Chitpavan sub-caste” (also a community of Maharashtra) “Young, pretty, of robust health and fair complexion, versed in domestic arts, for young Brahmin of the same community, with fine features and a fair complexion, with prospective employment. The dowry can be small, if the girl is beautiful, of fair complexion; and if she is from an orthodox family” (i.e., faithful to the tradition). Could one not say in particular that the author of this last advertisement is “one of us”? And yet . . . He simply wrote as Hindu deeply attached to his ancient tradition. But it is true that the Tradition is the same. This Brahmin of 1971 has, without knowing it, a longing for immemorial Hyperborea. And there are, in India, millions like him.

Advertisements, similar to those that I have just quoted, cover whole pages. One finds also, of course, from time to time, the request of some father (or brother) with “broad” ideas (i.e., strongly influenced by foreign propaganda) in which it is specified that “caste does not matter.” There were already forty years ago such advertisements—one in a hundred—in the daily newspapers of the large cities. They emanated, for the most part, from “Brahmo Samajis.” The mentality they reflect is unknown in the villages of India, where ninety-five percent of the population lives.

As for the immense mass of the “Harijans,” the Government in vain opens wide the doors of the temples to them, but they do not care to enter. They know that it is against custom and that custom is sacred, whereas the Government is not. They continue to keep away as in the past.

Despite everything, the poison of the Anti-Tradition, the virus of a new mentality that is anti-racist and above all anti-Aryan—opposed to that which governed Hindu life for sixty centuries—was injected into the heart of a growing number of young people of both sexes and all castes. It was injected already during the time of the English, and, as I have so often repeated, by the English themselves, their professors as well as by their missionaries—or by the Jews of the high degrees of Masonry who agitate behind and through them, generally without their knowledge. It may be that Hindu civilization resists it even to the end of this last age of our Cycle. It may be that in the long run, it ceases to resist and succumbs. It all depends how long our cycle must still last—and especially on the speed of proliferation of the non-Aryan Hindu castes.

Their revolt,² which is felt today everywhere among their educated members, is, and will continue to be in a multiracial “democracy,” directly proportional to their numerical increase, i.e., to the success of preventive hygiene measures and treatments which favor them. The current Indian Government, with the deeply anthropocentric views inherited from the humanitarian if not Christian West, can only continue to apply such measures, the suppression of which would seem to them “monstrous,” pure and simple.

The Aryan Indian, certainly, will remain in India. But he will have (like Aryans everywhere where they multiply alongside the populations of lower races enjoying “rights” equal to his) less and less power. The democratic system, if it is not eventually destroyed by violence, will prevent him from acting, even from affirming himself in speech and in books.

It would thus be necessary that, with immense and irresistible impetus against the current of the Dark Age, India repudiate democracy and anthropocentrism and revert to living in the atmosphere of the ancient racism of hierarchized castes—the Aryan, the Brahmin and Kshatriya, at the top, having all temporal power and spiritual authority, that which rules and that which legitimates. But if, as all would believe, the “twenty-fifth hour” has truly sounded, no one before Kalki Himself can raise and guide such a force. That which our beloved Führer, Precurser of Kalki, succeeded in doing amidst a Nordic majority, with the collaboration of more than one million S.S. combatants, élite warriors and worldly mystics, completely devoted to the Aryan cause, nobody else will succeed in doing under equivalent conditions; nobody, except Kalki, the last “man against Time” who will close the cycle.

* * *

And what I say about the retreat of the Aryans is not confined to India. It is an observable fact in any country with a multiracial population in which the State is opposed to promoting superior ethnic elements, instead of encouraging them at all costs and by all means. It is, in particular, an obvious fact in any country with a multiracial population in which the State clings to a democratic regime, where power lies with the majority. It is a fact which, by an ironic turn of events, threatens more and more to impose itself even in Great Britain, as an increasing multitude of non-Aryans of the most various races, and people without any race, invades (peacefully) its territory and multiplies there.

Barred from visiting England since my participation in the Hitlerian camp in the Cotswolds in August 1962, I cannot, unfortunately, give here the results of any recent personal observations. I can, however, affirm that the situation created there more than nine years ago by the presence on British soil of nearly two million Africans, Jamaicans, and Pakistanis—not to mention the Jews who arrived since 1933—was already alarming, if not tragic. And according to what I have been able to learn, since then conditions have gotten worse, no measures having been taken to expel of all these foreign elements.

Well they have, it appears, tried—or made a pretence of trying—to exert a somewhat more rigorous control on the entry of these Commonwealth subjects into England. But that is not the solution to the problem. Non-Aryans, and especially Africans and Jamaicans (the latter, originally, African Negroes), multiply at a rate nine times faster than the Aryan average in Europe. Thus it is clear that it would surely not be sufficient to prohibit all new immigration to stop the danger that threatens the very substance of Great Britain.

But suppose that not even one non-Aryan, Negro, or Jew, or Indian Sudra converted a relatively long time ago to Islam (because these, in general, are the “Pakistanis”) disembarks or lands in England from today, even to stay temporarily. That would not change practically anything in the situation in the long run, i.e., that which constitutes already the tragedy of the racial problem in the country that foolishly took up arms to fight Hitlerian racism. It would change nothing because, I repeat, the non-Aryan immigrants already installed in England—who work there, live there with their families, who, for the most part, have acquired citizenship—multiply much more quickly than the English, because the advantages, in particular the medical advantages, that are lavished upon them do nothing but support their increase in population. All new immigration being, let us suppose, prohibited, the numerical proportion of the Aryan population to the non-Aryan population of Great Britain during next decades, and a fortiori during centuries to come, would not change any less in favor of the non-Aryans, and among them, the Negroes: the people who multiply the most quickly.

It is also necessary to take into account the inevitable mixtures of races—all the more frequent (and more revolting) as the perversity of the men and women of the advanced Dark Age grows. One must also add the influence of a whole literature intended to awaken and maintain a morbid sexual curiosity. Today—indeed yesterday, ten years ago and more—it is not (and was not) rare to see in the streets of London some beautiful English blonde pushing a baby carriage in which rests (or rested) one or sometimes two small Euro-African mongrels. One sees (and saw) some in the small cities. (I saw some in Corydon, Cheltenham, and elsewhere).

It would be possible to put an end to these shameful unions—against nature—and this production of mongrels, only by changing from top to bottom the mentality of a youth up to now increasingly indoctrinated with antiracism, while taking radical measures for the definitive removal, if not the physical suppression, of undesirables actual or potential. If one were to keep them alive to use their labor, one would have to sterilize all the mongrels without exception, as well as the Aryan women guilty of crimes against the race—because those, once impregnated, even only once, by an alien seed, are no longer trustworthy. One knows of cases where the child of an extremely acceptable husband dangerously resembles the former lover (himself unacceptable) that his mother had left quite a long time before his conception.

And it would be necessary to oblige all Negroes, Jews, and other non-Aryan elements to leave the national territory, at least to live there only in exceptional circumstances, and, in this case, subjected to laws and regulations which keep them in their place—such as the famous “Nuremberg Laws” (of 15 September 1935) which protected the racial integrity from the Germans under the Third Reich.

But for that to be possible, Great Britain would need a dictatorial Government just like that of Germany in 1935, and inspired like it by the ancient faith in the excellence of the purity of blood. Can it ever hope to have one?

Such a Government could, beyond the Rhine, in 1933 take power “by legal means,” i.e. “democratically,” while resting on a majority of voters (and what a majority!) under universal suffrage. It could because the German people, without having the racial homogeneity of which the Führer dreamed, had at least sufficient biological unity to feel its interest related to that of Aryan blood. If nothing is done—and done shortly—to remove non-Aryans from any participation in the public affairs of Great Britain, it is clear that, considering their number, which is shooting up, they will play an increasingly decisive role in the policy, domestic and foreign, of the country, and in its cultural life. (Theatre, cinema, and television already seem, and for a long time, to have become the “private preserve” of the Jews, without whose approval nothing is played.)

The Aryans will have to finally abdicate the position of command that the virtues, inherent in their race, had given their fathers, in a time when democracy was conceived of as only between equals, and when there were neither Negroes nor Jews in England.³ They will be able, certainly, to remain pure of blood. And for that, it will still be necessary that they take great care that the spirit of their children is not contaminated by the influence, more and more insistent, of the multiracial schools, of the radio, of television—cinema, the press, books (in particular textbooks), in a word, of all the means of diffusion that the majority, hostile to all “racial pride,” will more and more firmly have taken in hand. What is certain is that their number will decrease more and more, and especially will decrease in proportion to that of the men of other races who will be called without any right, “English people” (like so many Indians of nowadays, Dravidians even mongrels of aboriginals, who, without any more right, are proud to belong to the “Aryajati”—the Aryan race, that of the biological elite of their land.)

Finally, in a few centuries, they will be a hundred thousand, fifty thousand, twenty thousand, dispersed all over the British Isles, then over-populated with mongrels of various hues. They will be submerged in some hundred or two hundred million robots with generally dark skin, with the most varied features, a termite mound directed by the diabolical intelligence of some Jewish technocrats. They will be, in this termite mound, the only creatures worthy of the name “men” in the sense in which we employ it. But the world then will have nothing to do with such creatures.

Perhaps they will cultivate a tardily awakened Aryan consciousness. Perhaps they will arrange, in spite of the distances, from time to time, to meet in small groups and discuss nostalgically “old England”—now more dead than the Athens of Pericles. Perhaps, during one of these pitiful meetings—on the occasion of some historical anniversary—a man will rise who is simultaneously well-informed and gifted with intuition, who will explain to his brothers in race the remote and deep causes of their decline.

“Here,” he will undoubtedly say to them, “we pay the price of the madness of our fathers of the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries; those who, in what was formerly our Empire, encouraged the propaganda of the Christian missionaries, obligatory vaccination, and the adherence of the ‘well-read’ to democratic principles; especially those who, moreover, obstinately refused the hand offered to them sincerely by the greatest of all Europeans: Adolf Hitler; those who, in response to His reiterated offer of alliance and His promise to leave us the domination of the seas, unleashed against him the Second World War, drowned His country under a flood of phosphorus and fire, and burned alive nearly five million of His compatriots, women and children, under burning debris or in shelters where liquefied asphalt from the streets penetrated in burning torrents. We pay the price for the crimes of Lord Churchill and company and all those who believed in them and fought National Socialist Germany, our sister, defender of our common race. These men, you will say, were in good faith, but were short-sighted. It is possible. But that does not excuse them before history. Stupidity is itself a crime when the interest of the nation, and especially of the race, is concerned. One cannot do what our fathers did—to their shame and ours—and escape punishment!”

The punishment will be, as Prime Minister of Great Britain, some Christian with woolly hair and a simian visage—a descendant of immigrants from equatorial Africa ennobled for “services rendered” and perhaps named “Winston,” in remembrance of the grave-digger of the former British Empire. The punishment will be  living in the midst of a brownish and snub-nosed England—also, at least in the main, woolly haired—of which the former inhabitants, the legitimate inhabitants, the Aryans—Normans as well as Saxons or Celts, will count as little as American Indians on the reservations count today in the USA.

Then, perhaps, some of the groups of true Englishmen, more obstinate than others in their resentment of defeat and betrayal, more combative or only less despairing, will burn, every 8th of May, some effigy of Churchill, intentionally grotesque, his fat face bloated and big-lipped, provided with his legendary cigar, and painted like a clown, his large belly stuffed with sawdust. The 8th of May, indeed, will be finally recognized as the anniversary of the shame of England as much as the misfortune of the “sister Nation,” formerly hated, since then loved with all the passion that accompanies a remorse that one knows is in vain. Perhaps these same English, and others, will make a public cult of Adolf Hitler, the Savior that their ancestors once rejected and that their ancestors of today—our contemporaries—still insult. Perhaps there will be, among the less and less numerous Aryans of the whole world, a minority—militant, serene, almost happy in its unshakeable fidelity—that will render him worship—while waiting to become (it or its descendants) the bodyguard of the Avenger of whom he had a presentiment, but that he was not: Kalki.

But all the tardy repentances and all the retrospective devotions will remain without effect, both in Europe and among the Aryan minorities of other countries, in particular the more and more Judaized and Negrofied America. Nothing will be able to snatch the youngest of the noble races of humanity from the fate that must befall it in consequence of the crimes committed or tolerated by too many of its representatives, under the influence of cheap anthropocentrism. These infamies will be followed by “counter-shocks,” slowly no doubt, but all the more irresistibly as those who committed or tolerated them were more responsible (or should have been) while being less detached, more centered on themselves and their limited concepts, than on “The Universe”—the Cosmos and the Essence of the Cosmos.

There are infamies of all kinds, whose wages accumulate for millennia, crimes against all the animal aristocracies, against the powerful bison and the deer full of grace, against the great cats and common felines, tigers in miniature; crimes against the massacred forest; against the impassive sea, soiled with all the rubbish of invading industry; crimes against all the human aristocracies, in particular against the Aryan race itself—in Europe, against the Germans; in Asia, against the purest Aryans of India—in the name of Christ or Christian “values”; in the name of democracy or Marxism; always in the name of some faith or philosophy invented and diffused by Jews.

It is already too late to regret the past. It was necessary to think of it before the Second World war—and not to unleash it!—before the excessive industrialization of the West and then the world; before the intensified massacre of the forests and the big cats and all the horrors committed or permitted on animals, always innocent; on animals incapable of being “for” or “against” any possible ideology—in the name of the interests of man, whether his well-being or simply his amusement. It was necessary to think before the irresistible progression—the geometrical progression—of the multiplication of the two-legged mammal at the expense of quality, the ultimate source of all evils and degradations.

It is already too late today, not to mention a time when the degeneration of man, under the generalized reign of the Chandala, will be an accomplished fact. For the élite there are only a few things to be done. It has to only keep, against wind and tide, its faith in eternal non-human values; only to curse those men whom the Powers of the abyss chose as instruments of their inevitable victory; and, with all its powers, all its thirst for beauty and justice, to call for Kalki, the last hero “against Time,” the Avenger of all His glorious precursors; He who must succeed where they all failed, and to bring to an end this Dark Age.

Every time that one passes through an over-populated countryside, where quickly built houses and fields destined to nourish the human multitude extend indefinitely in place of destroyed forests, just try to put oneself in contact with the impassive and hidden Principle of action and reaction and pray intensely: “Return, O patient Lord of the earth and the jungle, its former king! Treat man, individually and collectively, as he has treated you—as he still treats you!”

* * *

It will be objected that I am unjust towards the human élites, the creators of culture. One will point out that, without a certain encroachment on the jungle, savanna, or forest, therefore without restriction of the natural domain of wildlife, there would never have been either cities or monuments, nor all that one includes under the name of “civilization”—the arts being all more or less related to one another, as with certain fundamental techniques.

That is true, and no one could deny it. Or rather, that was true, in times when one could still think that it was worth the trouble to cut down some trees to set up, of the top of a promontory, or on some other “high place,” a perfect temple—or to build, in the midst of a plain, one or several pyramids with powerful symbolism, whose measurements corresponded to those of the Earth, if not the solar system. That was true in times when, an integral part of Nature, man had not yet risen up against it, in the laughable pride of his advantages over other living species; times when, in the best societies, which all were more or less traditional societies, the most eminent spirits, far from exalting, like Francis Bacon or Descartes, the idea of the “domination of man” over the Universe, only dreamed of expressing allegorically, in carved, painted, sung, or written works, or by rhythmic sound and dances, their intuitive knowledge of cosmic truths—their vision of the eternal.

Then, human creation—always, moreover, contained within certain limits—was harmoniously inserted into the natural environment. It did not damage it, did not desecrate it. It could not be otherwise, since what was then held to be “art” was only what René Guénon calls “objective art,” i.e., works whose norms are directly related to the artist’s knowledge of the norms of the Universe, visible and invisible, human and non-human. Thus were born the colossi of Tiahuanaco, the pyramids of Egypt and America, the Greek, Hindu, or Japanese temples, prehistoric or relatively recent paintings in the depths of caves—Altamira, Lascaux, Ajanta—the Byzantine, Romanesque, or Gothic cathedrals, the great mosques of the world; and all music, sacred or initiatory, from Antiquity to Bach and Wagner; and the sacred dances of India and the entire world. Nothing that transports one’s soul from its native milieu—on the contrary, all that expresses it, translates it into the language of the eternal, attaches it to the whole.

But all that was yesterday; it was above all in times of old. It dates to before—and, in general, a long time before—the appearance of human insects and their sudden multiplication, in not just mathematical but geometric progression, resulting from techniques for the protection of the weak.

I repeat: quality and quantity are mutually exclusive. People whose number increases in geometric progression—doubling and in certain countries, tripling, every thirty years—can only ruin the earth—the landscape and the soil itself, upon which they suck like leeches. They need dwellings absolutely; no matter what; quickly built dwellings, costing as little as possible; ugly. Ugliness is not taken into consideration, provided that, in the technically advanced countries, buildings offer more and more comfort; that they allow an increasingly automatic life. In the other countries, it will suffice that they are lined up, very similar, built in series, on the site of uprooted forests. Corrugated iron, broiling hot, will replace cool thatch. And fragments of rusted cans, crudely assembled, will form walls instead of palm fronds, which will become rarer. Thus these cut-rate dens are inferior, certainly, to the most primitive African or Oceanic huts and ancient caves. But they have the advantage that their manufacture can go hand in hand with the rate of human proliferation.

As for the work of art, visible reflection of the eternal, intended to last millennia—the pyramid, tomb, temple, or colossus carved from the living rock, or raised like a hymn in stone in the midst of a plain or high on an escarpment—that has not been a question for ages. Man does not build any more under the direction of the wise, to embody a truth inexpressible by words, but under that of entrepreneurs avid for quick profit—perhaps under that of the State, friend of the masses—to house the greatest possible number of people, no matter what people. The landscape is sacrificed, the forest torn away, and its inhabitants—the big cats, the reptiles, the birds—driven where they cannot survive or killed offhand. Man, formerly an integral part of Nature (and sometimes its crown), became the torturer of all beauty, the enemy of the universal Mother, the cancer of the planet.

Even the superior races do not create any more symbols. They replaced, or replace more and more, the temples and cathedrals with factories and medical research centers. And they “decorate” their public places with caricatures made of cement or iron wire. The music that their young people like, that they allow to fill the length of their days with their transistors, as background music of all their activities, all their conversation, all that can remain to them of thought, is a bad imitation of Negro music.

No doubt, the last great Aryan collective creation of the West was begun by Third Reich Germany: by the architects of the new Chancellery and the Stadium of Nuremberg, by the sculptors Arno Breker and Georg Kolbe, by the interpreters of Wagner—in particular, the extraordinary conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler. It was the result of an extraordinary spirit of all Germany, under the inspiration of the supreme Artist—Adolf Hitler—a counter-current to world decadence. This spirit was abruptly stopped, at the end of only six years, by the English declaration of war against Germany, immediately followed, as one knows, by the coalition of hatred, under the open or subtle direction of the Jews.

All that the non-German West has recently produced of true greatness—in France, for example, the work of a Robert Brasillach, a Henry de Montherlant, a Céline, a Benoîst-Méchin, a Saint-Loup—was more or less touched by the spirit of the Reich. There hovers, moreover, from one end to another, a profound pessimism, like a prescience of inevitable death; the “decline of the West” that Spengler already announced.

And the East is no better. It lives on its stock of traditional wisdom; it performs its immutable rites; it cites its sacred Scriptures, the contents of which are older than pre-history, since they are the Truth itself—non-human Truth. But it does not seem to have the force on which to draw to regenerate itself from top to bottom. (It is, I remind you, a minority of Hindus, just as it is a minority of Europeans—and a minority without political influence, alas—that has understood what eternal bond exists between Hitlerism and the Doctrine of violent action with absolute detachment as preached by Lord Krishna to the Aryan warrior Arjuna in the Bhagawad-Gîta.)

On the other hand, today in 1971, I find in India more echoes than ever when I express my impassioned longing for the avatar Kalki and of the end of the Dark Age. Others await it like me, they too without feeling that there is anything to deplore in the thought of the end of man—with the exception of those whom the last divine Incarnation will welcome as collaborators, considering them worthy to open with Him the Golden age of the next Cycle.

There is, indeed, no reason to be sad at the idea that the innumerable uglinesses that we see spread everywhere on all continents will one day be definitively swept away, along with those who produced, encouraged, or tolerated them, and continue without ceasing to produce new ones. Nor is there even reason to be sad for fear that old and beautiful human creations—the Pyramids of Giza, the Parthenon, the temples of South India, Ellora, Angkor, the cathedral of Chartres—could well be swept away at the same time, in the colossal fury of the End. The uglinesses that man has accumulated, the desecrations of the Earth he has committed, even the best races, in this century of universal degradation, neutralize by far all that the genius of the Ancients produced that is greater and more beautiful. They make us forget the winged bulls of Babylon and Assyria, the friezes of the Greek temples and the Byzantine mosaics, and tip the balance in favor of the disappearance of the human species.

Moreover, eternal works have no place anymore in the world of today. One no longer even sees them. Horrible buildings of glass and steel—“for offices”—erected recently in very center of Athens, around the Plateia Syntagmatos,⁴ entirely hide the Acropolis from view to whoever stands at this place. The setting of a city of four thousand years is destroyed. Mount Lycabettus, three quarters denuded of its beautiful pine forests, is no longer Lycabettus in the eyes of those who knew and loved it fifty years ago.

And so it goes everywhere. It is—or it will be, tomorrow—on the planetary scale, the realization of the sacrilegious dream of Descartes and all the devotees of anthropocentrism. It is the triumph of the immense human anthill on the savanna, on the desert, all terrestrial spaces where the superior man still could, being alone, and, through visible beauty and contact with the innocence of Life deprived of the word, commune with the eternal.

When will the inevitable Avenger arrive? He who will reestablish Order and restore “each being to its place”?

Is this the devotion that I carry to him which made me—and always made me—love so much all the Forces that look down on high and seem to want to crush this insolate earthworm that is man? Is it, in particular, that which, in April 1947, made me greet the sight (and subterranean roaring!) of Mount Hekla in full eruption as one greets in India the divinities in the temples, and, in an ecstasy of joy, sing in Bengali the hymn of Shiva: “Dancer of Destruction, O Lord of the Dance!”⁵ That which drove me to walk all night long beside one of the seven lava flows, under a sky of pale violet, flooded with moonlight, striped with the aurora borealis, green fringed with crimson, crossed by a long black cloud of volcanic smoke—the sky against which the craters (there were several) launched their jets of flame and their incandescent fragments of rock? That in which, in the uninterrupted rumbling spewing from the bowels of the trembling earth, and sometimes bursting in sudden craters of fire, one recognizes the sacred Syllable “Aum!”—the same that I had heard, and that I would hear again, always with adoration, from the mouths of lions?

Was this the more or less obscure awareness of those who were themselves of the race of He-Who-Comes-Back-Age-after-Age, and, like Him, defenders of the beauty of the Earth—Avengers of the Strong against all the anthropocentric and therefore egalitarian superstitions, and in particular against Christianity, then lately imposed on proud Germans? Was it this awareness, I say, that drove the Vikings of Jutland, ancestors of my mother, to sing their hymns to Donner and Thor in the midst of the fog on a North Sea in fury—joyous to hear, in the rumbling of the thunder, the answer of the Gods?

Perhaps. What is certain is that I have always been for untamed Nature, against man; for the lion and the tiger, against the hunter, who is sometimes very ugly and, in any event, even if he might be beautiful, less beautiful than they who live on the edge of global decadence. What is certain, as well, is that I have always been for the superior man, for the strong, the conqueror (at least when, unlike the European invaders of the New World,⁶ he does not employ his force to spread some doctrine of leveling, justifying all interbreeding) against the pacifist, engorged on his pleasures; against the hairsplitter; and against the “scientist” working “for humanity” at the expense of innocent animals; I have always been for the SS against the Jew, and his servants more contemptible than him.

It was forty years ago, or almost, that I came to India to seek (for want of anything better) the tropical equivalent of Aryan and pagan Europe—of the ancient World, where reigned an enlightened tolerance and the worship of the Beautiful, synonymous with the Truth, drawing its very essence from the Truth. I came and remained, I left and I returned, always as a disciple of Adolf Hitler, the modern Visage of He-Who-Comes-Back, always animated by the spirit of “combat against Time,” which he himself incarnates, along with all his glorious predecessors, and Kalki, the Victor who must one day succeed him and them.

Now there is nothing more to do, my comrades, than to live with my burning hope for the end of this humanity that rejected us, our Führer and us. It is not worth the trouble to save it. May it go to the devil, buried under the ruins of its hospitals, its laboratories, its slaughterhouses, and its “night clubs”!

I quote you the words that Leconte de Lisle addresses to the virgin Forest, burned, uprooted, cut down by man: 

Tears and blood will sprinkle your ash,
And you will spring back to us, O Forest!

These, for me, are words of anticipated joy.

I also remind you of the words of Goebbels at the hour of the collapse of the Reich for which we lived: “Après le déluge: nous!” [“After the deluge: we!”]. It is no more than a wish to call all our forces the “Deluge”—the End, for which we take personal responsibility to bring about, by wishing for it day and night.

I would wish it; I would invite it, even if one persuaded me that none of us—including me, of course; including those whom I admire and love the most—would survive it. The world is too ugly without its true Gods—without the sense of the sacred in the heart of life—for the Strong not to aspire to its end.

My comrades, join with me, and sing together with Wotan, the Song of the End: 

“Eins will ich: das Ende, das Ende!”
(“I will one thing: the end, the end!”)

A world without man is, and by far, preferable to a world in which no human élite will rule anymore. The roaring of the lion will again be heard everywhere, in the middle of the night, under a sky resplendent with moonlight or dark and full of stars. And once more living things will tremble before a King worthy of them. 

Started again (after a fashion) on 20 April 1969, in Montbrison, (France), after the loss of its beginning—80 pages of a first manuscript, impossible to rewrite; continued in Athens from September 1969 to August 1970, then in Germany, then in Ducey (Normandy) from October 1970 to May 1971, then in Poona (India), this book was completed in New Delhi on 12 September 1971. 

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¹ Thanks to the “Communal Award” which I have discussed above, in Chapter 2.
² This revolt is shaped, in particular, in the South of India, by the struggle of the “DMK”—Dravida Munetra Khazgham—against the Brahmins, Sanskrit culture, the worship of Rama (the deified Aryan hero), and, in general, against all that in life and institutions recalls the Aryan presence.
³ There were no Jews in England from 1290—when King Edward I expelled them—until the middle of the seventeenth century, when Cromwell, who received enormous sums from their bankers, called them back.
⁴ “Place of the Constitution.” 
^5
6 With the diffusion of Christianity, interbreeding took place—in Latin America especially—to an extent without precedent.