The Spartan Creed

THE SPARTAN CREED 

By 

Tyrtaeus

I would not say anything for a man nor take account of him 

for any speed of his feet or wrestling skill he might have, 

not if he had the size of a Cyclops and strength to go with it, 

not if he could outrun Bóreas, the North Wind of Thrace, 

not if he were more handsome and gracefully formed than Tithónos, 

or had more riches than Midas had, or Kínyras too, 

not if he were more of a king than Tantalid Pelops, 

or had the power of speech and persuasion Adrastos had, 

not if he had all splendors except for a fighting spirit. 

 For no man ever proves himself a good man in war 

unless he can endure to face the blood and the slaughter, 

go close against the enemy and fight with his hands.

Here is courage, mankind’s finest possession, here is

the noblest prize that a young man can endeavor to win,

and it is a good thing his city and all the people share with him

when a man plants his feet and stands in the foremost spears

relentlessly, all thought of foul flight completely forgotten,

and has well trained his heart to be steadfast and to endure,

and with words encourages the man who is stationed beside him.

Here is a man who proves himself to be valiant in war.

With a sudden rush he turns to flight the rugged battalions

of the enemy, and sustains the beating waves of assault.

And he who so falls among the champions and loses his sweet life,

so blessing with honor his city, his father, and all his people,

with wounds in his chest, where the spear that he was facing has

 transfixed

that massive guard of his shield, and gone through his breastplate as

 well,

why, such a man is lamented alike by the young and the elders,

and all his city goes into mourning and grieves for his loss.

His tomb is pointed to with pride, and so are his children,

and his children’s children, and afterward all the race that is his.

His shining glory is never forgotten, his name is remembered,

and he becomes an immortal, though he lies under the ground,

when one who was a brave man has been killed by the furious War

 God

standing his ground and fighting hard for his children and land.

But if he escapes the doom of death, the destroyer of bodies,

and wins his battle, and bright renown for the work of his spear,

 all men give place to him alike, the youth and the elders,

and much joy comes his way before he goes down to the dead.

Aging, he has reputation among his citizens. No one

tries to interfere with his honors or all he deserves;

all men withdraw before his presence, and yield their seats to him,

the youth, and the men his age, and even those older than he.

Thus a man should endeavor to reach this high place of courage

with all his heart, and, so trying, never be backward in war.

Translated by Richmond Lattimore

Messenger of the Gods

 “He is a medium, German policy is not made; it is revealed through Hitler. He is the mouthpiece of the Gods of old… He is the Sybil, the Delphic oracle... So you see, Hitler is a medicine man, a spiritual vessel, a demi-deity or, even better, a myth.” 

 Dr. Carl Gustav Jung - interview with H.R. Knickerbocker, 1939

Talking Frankly

 

A video-biography with David Irving talking about his life, family, writting career and persecutions as an advocator of true history.

SEE ALSO:

Thought-Provoking Perspectives on 20th Century History

Goering, a Biography

Follow The Trail of The Fox

Hellas, Rome and the Continuation of Their Legacy

By

Dr Ricardo Duchesne*

For some decades now, historians in the West are being trained to

portray the history of Europe as a long history of migrations and racial

mixing -- to make students believe that the current immigration trends

are in line with past patterns.

Even the best historians abide by the dictates of diversity. Take this

otherwise excellent book, The Beginnings of Rome: Italy and Rome from

the Bronze Age to the Punic Wars (1000-264 BC) ----- from the start it

says that "Italy has always been a variegated country...a patchwork of

different peoples, languages and cultures". "The resulting patch work

was the product of successive movements of population in prehistoric

times".

Yet, in truth, the peoples of prehistoric Italy were overwhelmingly

members of the "Indo-European 'Italic' languages". It sounds very

diverse when you read about the Volscians, Latins, Samnites, Romans,

Marsi, Umbrians, Sabines...with the Greeks in the south and the Celts in

the north.

Don't be misguided. These are all members of the 'Aryan' Indo-European

race. You can categorize them as the "Italic" group of the IEs who

colonized Italy in the second millennium.

Yes, there were also pre-IE "survivals forming part of a 'Mediterranean'

substratum" who came originally from Anatolia, the farmers who migrated

into southern Europe 8,000 years ago. These farming peoples, it needs to

be clarified, were also Caucasian, selected for *additional* white

traits in the new climes of Europe.

What about the famous Etruscans? They were not IE, likely Semitic,

Phoenician.

After WWII, to counter Mussolini's fascism, and the idea that Italy was

"overrun by Aryan invaders", historians pushed the idea that the

Etruscans were the most important cultural shaper of prehistoric/ancient

Rome.

But the book I referenced above, to its credit, demonstrates that "the

Etruscans had only superficial effects on Roman life and culture".

The most powerful cultural-racial influence came from the Italic IEs,

and the Greeks who had been colonizing southern Italy and by the fifth

century had created a "Great Greece".

Since the Greeks in southern Italy were the most advanced IEs in contact

with the Greek mainland, they came to provide a powerful cultural model

for an aristocratic civilization in Italy, starting with the Homeric

ideals of personal esteem in warfare, feasting with warrior companions,

pursuit of honor and prestige.

IEs are naturally inclined to create Republics because of their fierce

aristocratic pride and unwillingness to submit. Even after they

conquered Greece in the 2nd century, the Romans felt a strong cultural

bond with the Greeks.

Without the Romans, the Greek legacy would have been diluted by the

Orientalization which occurred with Alexander's expansion in the East.

Once the Roman empire experienced its own Orientalization and began to

lose its Republican ethos in a state of decadent affluence, it was for

the IE Germanic peoples to preserve this legacy.

*Ricardo Duchesne is a retired professor and author of Uniqueness of

Western Civilization,  Canada in Decay, Faustian Man, and Greatness and

Ruin.

The Will of God

 

"As in dreams I designed,

as my will it decreed,

strong and fair stands it in sight:

lofty, lordly abode!"

Carl Hermann Bachmann

(1834-1937)

as 

WOTAN

Der Ring des Nibelungen

The Invincible Sun of December 25th

Sol Invictus was the Roman embodiment of the sun’s enduring power—the unconquered one. Rising to prominence in the 3rd century AD, the cult emphasized renewal, victory, and cosmic order during a time of political crisis.

The god’s status was elevated by Aurelian, who in AD 274 established Sol Invictus as a state-supported deity, built a grand temple in Rome, and instituted official games in his honor. Sol was depicted radiate-crowned, driving the solar chariot across the sky—an image of invincibility and stability.

The festival Dies Natalis Solis Invicti (“Birthday of the Unconquered Sun”), celebrated on December 25, marked the sun’s return after the winter solstice. In Late Antiquity, solar symbolism proved enduring; its themes of light and rebirth resonated widely and were adapted within a changing religious landscape.

Sol Invictus stands at a crossroads of Roman tradition—where power, light, and renewal were bound to the turning of the year.

Source: Truth & Trends 

The Wild Ride of Yule

ASGAARDSREIEN

by

Johan Sebastian Welhaven

Sounds through the air at night a train

on foaming black horses.

In storm-driven rush the wild throngs go;

they have only clouds for foothold.

They go over valley, over field and moor,

through darkness and weather; they notice it not.

The traveler throws himself terrified on the road.

Hear what roaring — it is the Wild Ride of Asgard!

Thor, the strong, with lifted hammer,

stands high in his chariot, at the front of the host;

he strikes on his shield, and red flames

light up the nightly procession at the front.

Then horns blow, then there is a clamor

of bells and jingling riding gear;

then the swarming host howls and the people listen

with growing fear in their trembling huts.

The Wild Ride of Asgard in battle array rides

in harsh nights of autumn and winter,

but especially it travels at Yuletide;

then it holds revel with trolls and giants,

then it sweeps low over meadow and path

and races past the noisy countryside —

so watch yourself, farmer, keep custom and order;

for the Wild Ride of Asgard is soon at the farm!

When the ale works in the living-room beam

and awakens the heathen Yuletide customs,

and the fire casts its glow from the hearth

on drawn knives and wild eyes,

then a shudder goes through the tumult often;

then are heard the nightly host’s rides,

then the wall creaks, then the mug dances;

for the Wild Ride of Asgard makes a ring around the house.

There was a wedding at Upper Flage

that lasted through three holy Yuletide days.

Among the bridesmaids was no kinswoman of the bride,

and among the young men no kin of the groom.

There stood a splendor in the polished hall

of laid tables and precious metal,

there was a treasure, as has come to be told,

of copper on the walls and of silver on the tables.

And merrily drummed the drums and fiddles,

and the groom stepped his dance manfully;

he led his bride between young men and girls —

then, suddenly, Grim fell over.

And blood streamed widely from his breast.

The harder the two others wrestled

and held each other by the scruff.

At last the groom was set down on the ground,

and the knife already at his throat.

But Wolf held back and stood stunned,

and quavered and trembled like aspen leaves.

For through the air in the gloom rushed

a whooshing train on snorting horses;

it sped over the forest toward the bridal house,

and intended to visit the bloody feast.

Then horns blew, then there was a clamor

of bells and jingling riding gear.

Now it was near — it came over the moor —

there was a scream: “It is the Wild Ride of Asgard!”

Then there was a storm between earth and heaven,

that threw terror into every breast;

it hurled along in increasing throngs,

it struck with wings, it seized with arms.

Then it was Wolf who was dragged by his hair,

and flung in the air and taken from the farm,

yes, taken over forest, over mountain peaks —

he was not asked again, he was not to be found.

When the tumult died down at the scene of terror,

Grim lay curled up from his death struggle,

but the groom was led inside from the snow

and set upon a couch in the guest room.

His head wavered, his bloodstream flowed,

he hovered a while between life and death;

but he was tended and well bandaged,

and by spring he had regained all.

Now he sits bent and well old,

and can gather his kin about the hearth,

now he often sits with tales in the company

and shortens time for young and old.

So it was that last Yuletide eve,

when the youth cried: “Tell, tell!”

Then his eyes flamed, then he looked back,

then he recounted his wedding days.