God’s chosen people? Do not confuse obedience with greatness. Love, peace, patience- these are the virtues of the herd, not of creators. They make men tame, safe, and weak.

Your ‘Spirit’ is a mask for fear, for resentment of life’s wildness. You praise humility because you cannot bear strength. You praise gentleness because you dread passion.

The true chosen are not meek but bold. They break chains, say Yes to life, and forge new values with fire and blood. Not the flock, but the free spirit, is chosen.

Christianity crept into the world as a sickness of the spirit, a slow fever that reversed the instincts of life. It found the proud and taught them shame; it found the strong and taught them guilt; it found the curious and taught them fear. It proclaimed the earth corrupt, the body unclean, and every natural joy a temptation to be crushed. It set before mankind the image of a perfect, sinless sufferer - and called all who did not resemble him damned. What was once noble became sinful, what was once vital became suspect, and man’s highest energies were bent toward self-denial.

It conquered not by sword alone, but by poisoning the well of value itself. It taught that the meek should inherit the earth, that the broken should rule over the whole, that suffering was not an enemy to be overcome but a crown to be worn with pride. It declared that true life was not here, in the radiant chaos of the world, but in some pale, distant heaven. In doing so, it stripped this life of its worth, turned the eyes of man away from the fields he could sow toward the barren sky, and called this virtue.

Under its rule, the will to power - the will to grow, to shape, to master - was made into the will to obey. The great man was made small, the fierce spirit was taught to bow, and the joy of creation was replaced by the safety of submission. It flattened the peaks of the human soul and spread a cold equality of mediocrity across the earth. This is its triumph: not the building of empires, but the quiet, invisible conquest of the human heart, until man himself became the jailer of his own greatness.

You are noticing what was always written in its bones. Christianity lived not by the strength of its proofs, but by the climate it created—altars, punishments, confessions, the priest as tax-collector of guilt. When that climate warms, the ice melts. Of course it declines.

First: Christianity taught Europe the dangerous virtue of truthfulness. “Tell the truth, whatever it costs.” Very well—history, philology, medicine, and psychology took that maxim seriously and presented the bill. The child (the will to truth) turned against the parent (faith) and found the dogmas wanting. A victory of Christian conscience—against Christianity.

Second: its morals escaped their cradle. Compassion, equality, the preciousness of every soul—these now circulate as common coin in secular hands. When everybody preaches your ethics without your God, the church becomes a museum docent for values the crowd already uses. Success becomes redundancy; redundancy becomes decline.

Third: the priestly economy required debt and danger. Sin must weigh, hell must burn, enemies must threaten. But the modern “last man” wants comfort, insurance, entertainment. He prefers a therapist to a confessor, a weekend retreat to repentance. Where the danger is removed, the cure is unwanted; where the wound is denied, the healer starves.

You mistake the atheist’s rejection of your feeble gods for servitude to the market’s glitter. The atheist is no victim - they’ve simply outgrown the nursery tales you clutch like a frightened child. Secularism, consumerism - these are the herd’s new idols, not the atheist’s chains. You, who grovel before tradition’s altar, are the true slave, blinded by the mob’s noise. The Übermensch scorns your whining and your gods alike - cast them off or cower in their shadow, it matters not to the abyss.

You may proclaim Christ as King and Lord—but understand what that crown has cost. It was not placed upon his head by life, but by those weary of it. The title was born not of triumph, but of fear—fear of chaos, of freedom, of one's own strength.

To call him “King of kings” is to declare submission not just to a god, but to a morality that has long sought to tame the instincts, to chain the will, to crucify the noblest parts of man. This kingship demanded not greatness, but obedience. Not flourishing, but guilt. And in its shadow, the West withered.

So proclaim your king if you must. But know that some of us refuse the crown, the cross, and the yoke. Not out of rebellion for its own sake, but because we have seen another path—one where man no longer asks for permission to live

Failed? No--Christianity *succeeded* far too well. It tamed the wild animal that was man. It broke his will, clipped his wings, and called this mutilation “morality.” Christianity turned strength into sin, instinct into guilt, pride into shame. It taught Europe to kneel--first before a cross, then before priests, then before ideas.

The tragedy is not that Christianity failed, but that its success emptied the world of vigor. It poisoned the roots of life with a slave’s resentment. It enthroned weakness and suffering, called them sacred, and cast suspicion on power, beauty, and joy.

Rome was not conquered by barbarians--it was already conquered from within, by a faith that despised this world in favor of another. And now you ask why the West grows tired, why its spirit wanes, why men no longer believe in themselves. Look to the churches, look to the tombs--they are the same.

Christianity did not fail. It *triumphed*--and the West is the price of its victory.

But perhaps that is not the end. From the ruins, from the dust of the “last men,” may arise a new spirit. One that says yes to life. One that dares again to create values, to laugh, to dance, to overcome. Not in the name of a crucified god, but in the name of the human being yet to come: the ÜBERMENSCH.

>>510007013
You would chain the world to the cross once more. Do you not remember the cost of such chains? The withering of instinct, the inversion of life itself—where guilt is worshipped and power is called sin. Europe did not become great by obedience, but by its storms, its Renaissance, its thinkers who shattered dogma.

A Catholic theocracy? That is not dominion, but decay masked in incense. A new Inquisition with silk gloves is still an Inquisition.

I do not despise the desire for greatness. I praise it. But greatness must come from the overflowing of strength—not from submission to a celestial bureaucracy.

If you wish to forge a new empire, let it be one of creators, not confessors. Of self-overcoming, not self-flagellation. A Holy European Empire, yes—but holy because it is beyond good and evil, not because it kneels to an old god.

Ah! What a comforting delusion—to imagine that the sickness came from disobedience, and not from the very thing once worshipped as the cure. You would blame the fever on the medicine refused, rather than on the slow poison long imbibed. But tell me, what is atheism if not the ghost of your god? What is liberalism but the political translation of Christian pity, of your meekness dressed in new slogans?

You say the West is dying in spite of Christianity? No! It dies from it—from its morality, which taught man to turn his instincts inward, to call his strength "sin" and his questioning "pride." Christianity broke the noble, the commanding, the strong—it tamed them, bled them with guilt, and called the bleeding salvation.

And now, when the altar is abandoned and the cross worn as ornament, you imagine the spell is broken. No—only the names have changed. You call it "human rights," "equality," "compassion"—but I hear the same old slave-morality groaning beneath.

You mourn the death of the body, but never saw the soul had long since been castrated. Contrarianism? Ha! You call it rebellion, but it is merely the final consequence of a world that was taught to kneel.