I have never felt like a man. I have never seen the common thread that links me to the men around me, not even when I was a child. While the other boys would collect cards and play video games, I would read books and build models. As a teenager, I was always uncomfortable with the way which other boys talked about their developing bodies, as well as their developing tastes for girls. I found it crass and disrespectful.
This was when I first began to think of myself as a different kind of creature, something outside of the narrow, modern definition of “man”. And slowly, that feeling grew and took root. It was only recently, when protests at my university made worldwide news, that I became acquainted with the language which would help me define my new identity. My identity as a “not-man”.
I am, of course, speaking of the Jordan Peterson debacle. The “trans-non-binary” debate that was heard around the globe. Suddenly, with these ideas out in the air around me, I had the words I needed. I was able to realize that not being a “man” did not mean I had to be a woman. I could be something else, something different from both. And with this knowledge of the spectrum of human identity at my disposal, I was ready to come out.
I am not a man. Man is too feminine an identity to describe my lived experience. If there is a spectrum between “man” and “woman”, then a spectrum which extends beyond both is possible, as well. I identify as an Alpha Male. Modern “man” is too cowardly, too puerile, too ignorant and selfish a creature to describe me. Modern man is in all ways feminized and materialistic. He is greedy and short-sighted, concerned only with those things which are less than five feet away from his stomach, his wallet, or his genitals.
I hate modern men. It is the kind of hot, nauseous hatred that churns in my stomach when I have to interact with them. When I have to hear their conversations, their mindless drivel and their arrogant boasting. They are so lacking in virtu, so empty of the blood and fire which their ancestors fought so desperately to preserve and to pass on. And they have extinguished this drive through their own free exercise of that troublesome human need to be “free” of all systems which order, orient, and sustain human life.
This is my “coming-out” story. My hatred of those who usurped the name “man” and dragged it so thoroughly through the muck and filth of the age. Those who seek to redefine the awe-inspiring heroism of their mythic, ancient forbears and make it palatable to the fragile modernist sensibilities of degenerates and imbeciles. And I intend to make painfully clear how much vitriol I hold for these neutered, hairless cowards and their entire way of life.
This is perhaps the most fundamental, and therefore the most appalling, sin of modern man. The renunciation of his virtu and the embrace of the ideal of the “nice, harmless man” archetype. Modern man is so terrified of his own potential, of his own power, that he will debase himself for the adulation of strangers, like any common porn-whore. He seeks this attention specifically because he knows he does not have the fire within him to be great, so he chooses friends and acquaintances who will laud him for being “nice”. He will spend more time whinging than he will improving himself. He will whine about how women do not like him while being transparently interested only in sex (a feminine characteristic which I will deal with shortly). And he will in all ways allow his happiness to be affected by the thoughts and feelings of those around him.
He is, in short, utterly possessed by the daemons, and at their mercy. A slave to materialism, to money and status, he is in all ways atheistic and irreligious, to the point that any kind of healthy routine or admirable habits are too close to ritual for him to consider them. His life is in shambles, and he has tried every possible medical intervention rather than fight al-jihad al-akbar and confront his own failings. Perhaps most appallingly, he is a pacifist to the point of being scared by the mere presence of a weapon. He has taken private offence far more times than he has ever been in a physical fight, and he would rather be killed with clean hands than defend his own life, or the life and honour of his wife. Notice I did not mention his children, because he becomes more and more likely each passing year to be either neutered, childless, or both.
Modern man has made the pursuit of glory into a spectator sport. He is a “fan”, not a participant. He barely has the drive to compete, let alone to conquer. And he is willing to bow and worship at the altar to his sport-playing idols: his television dominates whichever private room, whatever meagre “man cave”, he is allowed by his wife to have. He will even wear their holy vestments in the form of expensive, foreign-made jerseys with the names of other men written across his back like a slave, for a slave he is. But at least this fanaticism about “sport” has the veneer of respectability afforded to it by the necessity of training. At least athletes still seek to embody a kind of glorious, perfect masculine form. The simulations of this glory, this alpha-masculinity, which are peddled to our youth in the forms of video games and superhero movies are only saved from being the worst and vilest cuckoldry by the dross of postmodernism that buoys them up with endless “antiheroes” and brooding, rebellious iconoclasts: at least the superhero has a pretense of heroism, rather than setting modernity’s atomized self-hatred on a pedestal to be emulated.
Ancient Athens sought to keep their decadent city standing by building a statue to the goddess Νίκη on the Acropolis, her wings removed so she could never leave their city. This is the spirit behind Macchiavelli’s infamous quote from The Prince: “fortune is a woman, and the man who wants to control her must treat her roughly”. This is not the spirit by which the Greeks and Romans sought to please their goddess. Which led Spartans to forfeit bribes so that they might win a fleeting moment of glory and a worthless crown of laurel leaves in the Olympic games. By which the Romans left boxes empty in the Coliseum, so that the spirits of the departed might gather to witness blood spilled in pursuit of Lady Victory’s favour.
In short, the cuckoldry of modern man is his lack of familiarity with violence. His inability to fight and his disgust with the disciplined life of the warrior culture has, in all ways, led him to favour bribery and brute force over excellence and sacrifice in his dealings with the gods.
What roils in my guts the worst is the inherent androgyny of the modern man. He has no idea how to dress himself, or cook for himself, or do any of the mundane everyday things which he requires. Instead he prostitutes himself, selling his precious time and labour to earn the money which he requires to pay other men to fix his plumbing and maintain his property. He has no useful skills and scoffs at the idea of doing any physical labour, but will bankrupt himself to taste artisinal foods and to own possessions of fine craftsmanship. The irony is entirely lost on him because he is barely a step above an animal, and if he were able to order and correlate all the scattered contents of his mind, his sudden bout of madness would not be distinguishable from his usual mental state.
Even in his pursuit of masculine ideals, modern man is materialistic and lacks any idea of transcendence and of forms. In physical training, he is concerned for aesthetics more than for strength or function. In pursuit of power, he seeks wealth and corporate authority rather than personal mastery and deep understanding. Even in his desire for fatherhood, he is only willing to have one or two children, and the question of spiritual virility (making disciples rather than sons) is entirely lost to him. His dominance over what is feminine manifests imperfectly as formless misogyny and sexual perversion, rather than the elevated desire to protect and empower (though the wiles of modern women do share a large portion of the blame for giving modern man this aversion, that will require a separate essay to elaborate upon).
However, it is modern man’s materialism that is the purest manifestation of his femininity. The implicit materialism of women is, of course, a necessary part of their nature. Men have the sacred bond of spiritual fatherhood by which they may pass on the secrets of family, cult, and tribe, even if they sire no sons of their own. Women have no such “bond of sacred motherhood” or “blood-sister” relationship. Though they are blessed with the power and responsibility to shape society, to form associations and negotiate where the competitive and stubborn male instinct would otherwise lead to hostilities, women reproduce entirely sexually. It is only natural that woman’s vested interest in her material children leads to a materialism concerned with providing for them. Of course women worry about money and food, and of course they look to men who can help provide these things. Of course the material comfort of their entirely material offspring is such a powerful desire of theirs. Do you not remember your mother making you tea and bringing you medicine when you were physically ill, while your father gave you hard advice and principled guidance when you were vexed by an emotional problems? These are complementary roles which humans require together, as both material and spiritual creatures.
Modern man however, has elevated feminine materialism to a new, debased art form. Whenever he has kept his manhood rather than neutering himself, he has renounced his spiritual virility in favour of a merely phallic one. His sexual proclivities (vulgarly elevated to an entire “sexual identity”) are a core part of his being, more precious to him than his family or his faith. Indeed, he will forsake both if they do not approve of his “lifestyle choices” because his own bodily pleasure is his highest aim. Even if he is a strapping, bold young man with many sexual partners, is not the moment of the sexual act a moment of androgyny? A moment where the boundary between man and woman blurs and a third, indeterminate other begins to exist? Womanizers, in conclusion,also subordinate themselves to the feminine principle by requiring female attention to be whole and to feel secure in their meagre identity.
The most vile, and the most deserving of vitriol, is the predatory orientation of the modern man. So desperate is he to feel like the womanizer (who he considers the height of masculinity, though he may outwardly claim to loathe his misogyny) that he is willing to lie, cheat, and force his way into a woman’s bed. This is the type of the ubiquitous “male feminist” who has sold his entire sex downriver for a chance at losing his virginity.
So desperate to ingratiate himself to women is he, that this nu-male adopts their ways as his own. He camouflages himself in feminine actions and modes of behaviour, both to deceive his prey and to deceive himself. The pride which Aryan men cultivated is anathema to him, and he is ashamed of his of spirit, virtu, and power. Rather than engage in al-jihad al-akbar to understand his own power and to control the chaos within himself, he denies it. This misunderstanding, this ignorance of good and evil, underlies all perversion and all disproportionalities of character. Believing himself harmless, the nu-male does great harm to everyone around him. He is a black wolf that believes himself to be a spotless white lamb. I trust that at this point anyone who pays even cursory attention to the news will have seen this play out enough times that it does not require any specific examples.
In his quest to become “nice”, harmless, and unobtrusive, modern man expresses his boundless love. He loves everything and everyone. He “loves” women, he loves animals, and he loves himself. And certainly, he loves all cultures, religions and lifestyles. Of course he does! It would not be very nice to exclude anyone, now would it?
Notice what is left out of this list. Read between his lines, and apply what you know of this charlatan to our example. His love of women is really an undirected anxiety which he quells by striving to dominate (or be dominated by) any romantic conquests he may happen to stumble into bed with. His love of animals (and, implicitly, of nature at large) applies only to small, useless pets that he uses to simulate an adult responsibility. His consumerism pollutes the earth while he whinges about global warming. And importantly, he loves abortion too much to love children. That is why he got a useless teacup-sized dog to fawn over and care for. Having a child of his own? That would require him to have a stable relationship and a regular income, both challenges for the overgrown man-child that he is. And of course, a child would leave another carbon footprint on this earth, and really, there are too many people already. And oh, how he hates people. He loathes crowds and traffic and his morning commute. He loathes his coworkers and his bosses and his politicians. He hates children, and he hates parents. He hates men who are more man than he is, and he hates men who are less man than he is too (though whether a specimen who is less of a man can even be found is doubtful). He hates whoever he is told to hate. He hates them with perfect obedience and without question. He hates people, but he loves the mere markers of their identities. Or at least, he claims to.
And this is the crux of the issue. A man who never acts is a man who defines himself entirely through words. Without ever having his mettle tested, without ever tasting his own blood and swinging his own fists, he is free to construct his own image of himself and his character, free from those pesky moments where he finds his persona and his actual personality to be at odds. Moments when he should have stood up, or swung a fist, or said something. He is too anxious and broken to risk actually taking action, and he is too mild an easily influenced to trust his opinions. What he claims to love will change day by day, to become whatever his friends, his media, or his politicians tell him he should adore. His feelings do not belong to him, and the prospect of taking control of his own life terrifies him so much that he is willing to live on his knees, more a slave than ever was any man clad in irons. When you, dear reader, go to judge whether a man is one of these nu-males, or one who deserves the name “man”, remember this:
“In the world it is called Tolerance, but in hell it is called Despair…the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.”
Dorothy L. Sayers
Judge a man not by the words that come out of his mouth, or by the colours he wears, or the flags he flies. Judge a man by what turns his gaze dark and makes his fists clench. Judge a man by what he refuses to allow, what he refuses to tolerate, and by what he is willing to fight against. Judge a man by his actions. By what he is willing to die to protect, and by what he is willing to sacrifice himself against.
Judge all men most keenly by what they hate.
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One of the last sons of Perseus.
Zachariah is a Spartan of Doric descent, educated in Canada as a bioethicist.
His pursuit of transcendence has led him to tireless training, strict fasting, voracious reading, and regular pilgrimages back to the birthplace of his ancestors in the shadows of the Taygetus mountains.