“It is necessary to have “watchers” at hand who will bear witness to the values of Tradition in ever more uncompromising and firm ways, as the anti-traditional forces grow in strength. Even though these values cannot be achieved, it does not mean that they amount to mere “ideas.” These are measures…. Let people of our time talk about these things with condescension as if they were anachronistic and anti-historical; we know that this is an alibi for their defeat. Let us leave modern men to their “truths” and let us only be concerned about one thing: to keep standing amid a world of ruins.” ― Julius Evola, Revolt Against the Modern World: Politics, Religion, and Social Order in the Kali Yuga.
“We are born into this time and must bravely follow the path to the destined end. There is no other way. Our duty is to hold on to the lost position, without hope, without rescue, like that Roman soldier whose bones were found in front of a door in Pompeii, who died at his post during the eruption of Vesuvius because someone forgot to relieve him. That is greatness. That is what it means to be a thoroughbred. The honorable end is the one that can not be taken from a man.” ― Oswald Spengler, Man and Technics: A Contribution to a Philosophy of Life.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Magically, the Niding Pole was intended to disrupt and anger the earth sprites (Landvaettir, Land-Wights or earth spirits) inhabiting the ground where the accursed's house was. These sprites would then vent their anger upon the person, whose livelihood and life would be destroyed. Niding Poles were also used to desecrate areas of ground. This technique is called álfreka, literally the 'driving away of the elves', by which the earth sprites of a place were banished, leaving the ground spiritually dead...
On the Niding Pole, the horse skull invokes the horse rune Ehwaz, using the linking and transmissive power of the rune for the magical working. The horse is sacred to Odin, god of runes and magic..."
From Rune Magic: The History and Practice of Ancient Runic Traditions, by Nigel Pennick.
Monday, September 28, 2009
July 19, 2009
The head Nazi-hunter’s trail of lies
Simon Wiesenthal, famed for his pursuit of justice, caught fewer war criminals than he claimed and fabricated much of his own Holocaust story
Since the early 1960s Simon Wiesenthal’s name has become synonymous with Nazi hunting. His standing is that of a secular saint. Nominated four times for the Nobel peace prize, the recipient of a British honorary knighthood, the US Presidential Medal of Freedom, the French Légion d’honneur and at least 53 other distinctions, he was often credited with some 1,100 Nazi “scalps”. He is remembered, above all, for his efforts to track down Adolf Eichmann, one of the most notorious war criminals.
His reputation is built on sand, however. He was a liar — and a bad one at that. From the end of the second world war to the end of his life in 2005, he would lie repeatedly about his supposed hunt for Eichmann as well as his other Nazi-hunting exploits. He would also concoct outrageous stories about his war years and make false claims about his academic career. There are so many inconsistencies between his three main memoirs and between those memoirs and contemporaneous documents, that it is impossible to establish a reliable narrative from them. Wiesenthal’s scant regard for the truth makes it possible to doubt everything he ever wrote or said.
Some may feel I am too harsh on him and that I run a professional danger in seemingly allying myself with a vile host of neo-Nazis, revisionists, Holocaust deniers and anti-Semites. I belong firmly outside any of these squalid camps and it is my intention to wrestle criticism of Wiesenthal away from their clutches. His figure is a complex and important one. If there was a motive for his duplicity, it may well have been rooted in good intentions. For his untruths are not the only shocking discoveries I have made researching the escape of Nazi war criminals. I found a lack of political will for hunting them. Many could have been brought to justice had governments allocated even comparatively meagre resources to their pursuit.
It is partly thanks to Wiesenthal that the Holocaust has been remembered and properly recorded and this is perhaps his greatest legacy. He did bring some Nazis to justice; but it was in nothing like the quantity that is claimed and Eichmann was certainly not among them. There is no space here, however, for my forensic examination of his claims as a Nazi hunter. I will confine myself to some famous episodes before and during the war that are at the heart of the Wiesenthal myth.
He was born in 1908 in Buczacz, Galicia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and now in Ukraine. After the first world war, Buczacz changed hands frequently between Poles, Ukrainians and Soviet forces. In 1920 the 11-year-old Wiesenthal was attacked with a sabre by a mounted Ukrainian who slashed his right thigh to the bone. Wiesenthal regarded the scar as part of a long line of evidence that he was protected from violent death by an “unseen power” that wanted him kept alive for a purpose.
His background was ideal for any aspiring fabulist. Like many from Galicia, Wiesenthal would have spent his childhood immersed in the Polish literary genre of tall stories told over the dinner table. In a place such as Buczacz in the 1920s, truth was a relatively elastic concept. At 19 he enrolled as an architectural student at the Czech Technical University in Prague, where he found his metier as a raconteur and appeared as a stand-up comedian.
His studies went less well. Although most biographies — including that on the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s website — say he graduated, he did not complete his degree. Some biographies say he gained a diploma as an architectural engineer at Lvov polytechnic in Poland, but the Lvov state archives have no record of his having studied there and his name is absent from Poland’s pre-war catalogue of architects and builders. He claimed fraudulently throughout his life that he did have a diploma; his letterheads proudly display it.
Similarly, there are large discrepancies in his dramatic stories of the second world war. He was in Lvov when it fell to the Nazis in 1941. He claimed he and a Jewish friend called Gross were arrested at 4pm on Sunday July 6, one of the few dates that remain constant in his ever-shifting life story. Whenever he is so specific, however, he is usually lying.
Frogmarched to prison, they were put in a line of some 40 other Jews in a courtyard. Ukrainian auxiliary police started shooting each man in the neck, working their way down the line towards Wiesenthal. He was saved by a peal of church bells signifying evening mass. Incredibly, the Ukrainians halted their execution to go to worship. The survivors were led to the cells, where Wiesenthal claims he fell asleep. He was woken by a Ukrainian friend in the auxiliary police who saved him and Gross by telling them to pretend they were Russian spies. They were brutally questioned — Wiesenthal lost two teeth — but were freed after cleaning the commandant’s office.
The story of this sensational escape — one of the most famous of Wiesenthal’s war and one that has helped to establish the notion of his divine mission — is in all likelihood a complete fabrication. Certainly the Ukrainians carried out brutal pogroms in Lvov in early July 1941; but there was then a pause and they did not start again until July 25. According to testimony Wiesenthal gave to American war crimes investigators after the war, he was actually arrested on July 13 and managed to escape “through a bribe”. By subsequently placing his arrest on July 6, his story fitted the timing of the pogroms.
By the end of the year Wiesenthal was in Janowska, a concentration camp outside Lvov. Given the task of painting Soviet railway engines with Nazi insignia, he made friends with Adolf Kohlrautz, the German senior inspector at the workshop, who was secretly anti-Nazi. On April 20, 1943, Wiesenthal was apparently selected for a mass execution again. The SS at Janowska picked him among some Jews to be shot in a grim celebration of Hitler’s 54th birthday. They silently walked towards a huge sandpit, 6ft deep and 1,500ft long. A few dead bodies were visible in it. Forced to undress, they were herded in single file down a barbed-wire corridor known as the hose to be shot one by one at the edge of the pit.
A whistle interrupted the gunshots, followed by a shout of “Wiesenthal!” An SS man called Koller ran forward and told Wiesenthal to follow him. “I staggered like a drunk,” Wiesenthal recalled. “Koller slapped my face twice and brought me back to earth. I was walking back through the hose, naked. Behind me, the sounds of shooting resumed but they were over long before I had reached the camp.” Back at the workshop he found a beaming Kohlrautz, who had convinced the camp commander it was essential to keep Wiesenthal alive to paint a poster that would feature a swastika and the words “We Thank Our Führer”.
On October 2, 1943, according to Wiesenthal, Kohlrautz warned him that the camp and its prisoners were shortly to be liquidated. The German gave him and a friend passes to visit a stationery shop in town, accompanied by a Ukrainian guard. They managed to escape out the back while the Ukrainian waited at the front.
Yet again he had seemingly cheated death in a miraculous fashion. But we only have his word for it. According to Wiesenthal, Kohlrautz was killed in the battle for Berlin in April 1945. He also told a biographer, however, that Kohlrautz was killed on the Russian front in 1944. And in an affidavit made in August 1954 about his wartime persecutions, he neglects to include the story at all. In both this document and in his testimony to the Americans in May 1945, he mentions Kohlrautz without saying the German saved his life.
From this point in Wiesenthal’s war it is impossible to establish a reliable train of events. With at least four wildly different accounts of his activities between October 1943 and the middle of 1944 — including his alleged role as a partisan officer — serious questions must be raised. Some, such as Bruno Kreisky, the former Austrian chancellor, repeatedly accused Wiesenthal in the 1970s and the 1980s of collaborating with the Gestapo. Kreisky’s claims were supported by unsubstantiated evidence from the Polish and Soviet governments. Wiesenthal took him to court and won.
Whatever the truth, by November 1944 Wiesenthal was in Gross-Rosen, a camp near Wroclaw. He told Hella Pick, his biographer, that he was forced to work barefoot in the camp quarry and soon learnt that the team of 100 prisoners assigned to the work kommando shrank by one each day. After a few days he felt sure his turn was about to come. “My executioner was behind me,” he recalled, “poised to smash my head with a rock. I turned around and the man, surprised, dropped his stone. It crushed my toe. I screamed.”
Wiesenthal’s quick reactions and yell apparently saved his life because there was some form of inspection that day — he thought it may have been by the Red Cross — and so he was stretchered away to the first-aid station. His toe was cut off without anaesthesia while two men held him still. The following day, Wiesenthal said, he was in agony. “The doctor came back and saw that I had a septic blister on the sole of my foot. So they cut it open and the gangrene spurted all over the room.”
Yet again, one of Wiesenthal’s “miracles” is open to doubt. First, the story appears in no other memoir or statement. Secondly, if the Red Cross really was inspecting Gross-Rosen that day, then the SS would have temporarily halted any executions. As it was, the Red Cross was not allowed access to concentration camps at that time. Thirdly, the medical consequences seem entirely implausible.
Soon afterwards, according to Wiesenthal’s account, he managed to walk 170 miles west to Chemnitz after Gross-Rosen was evacuated. Walking on a gangrenous foot with a recently amputated toe would have been hellish. Instead of a shoe, he had the sleeve of an old coat wrapped around his foot with some wire. For a walking stick he had a broomstick. Of the 6,000 prisoners who marched out, only 4,800 arrived in Chemnitz. With his infected foot, Wiesenthal was lucky to be among them.
From Chemnitz, the prisoners ended up at Mauthausen camp near Linz in Austria. Wiesenthal arrived there on the frozen night of February 15, 1945. In The Murderers Among Us, he tells how he and a fellow prisoner, Prince Radziwill, linked arms to make the last four miles uphill to the camp. The effort was too great and they collapsed in the snow. An SS man fired a shot that landed between them. As the two men did not get up, they were left for dead in the sub-zero temperature. When lorries arrived to collect those who had died on the march, the unconscious Wiesenthal and Radziwill were so frozen that they were thrown onto a pile of corpses. At the crematorium, however, the prisoners unloading them realised they were alive. They were given a cold shower to thaw out and Wiesenthal was taken to Block VI, the “death block” for the mortally ill.
In 1961, when Wiesenthal was interviewed for the Yad Vashem archive by the Israeli journalist Haim Maas about his war years, Wiesenthal mentioned that the infection from his foot had now turned blue-green and had spread right up to his knee. He lay in the death block for three months until the end of the war. Too weak to get out of bed, he claimed he survived — incredibly — on 200 calories a day, along with the occasional piece of bread or sausage smuggled to him by a friendly Pole.
Mauthausen was liberated on May 5, 1945. Despite weighing just 100lb, Wiesenthal struggled outside to greet the American tanks. “I don’t know how I managed to get up and walk,” he recalled. If he was able to walk, his severely infected leg must have been cured during the previous three months by either amputation or antibiotics. We know the former did not take place, and the latter was emphatically not a common treatment for ailing Jews in Nazi concentration camps. Once again, it appears as though a miracle had taken place.
The rapidity of Wiesenthal’s recovery is so astonishing that it is doubtful whether he was as ill as he claimed. Just 20 days after the liberation, he wrote to the US camp commander asking whether he could be involved in assisting the US authorities investigating war crimes. Claiming to have been in 13 concentration camps — he had in fact been in no more than six — Wiesenthal supplied a list of 91 names of those who he felt were responsible for “incalculable sufferings”.
According to most accounts, Wiesenthal asked if he could join the American war crimes investigators, but they refused, telling him he was not well enough. After he had gained some weight, he returned and was assigned to a captain with whom Wiesenthal claimed to have captured his first “scalp”, a snivelling SS guard called Schmidt. “There were many others in the weeks that followed,” Wiesenthal later wrote. “You didn’t have to go far. You almost stumbled over them.”
A curriculum vitae Wiesenthal completed after the war does not mention his work for the Americans but lists his occupation as the vice-chairman of the Jewish Central Committee for the US zone, based in Linz. Its task was to draw up lists of survivors that other survivors could consult in their hunt for relatives.
For at least a year after the war, Wiesenthal’s other task was to lobby hard for his fellow Jews; he became president of the Paris-based International Concentration Camp Organisation. He also forged contacts with the Brichah, which smuggled Jews out of Europe to Palestine.
It was not until February 1947 that he formed the organisation that would make him famous, the Jewish Historical Documentation Centre in Linz. Its aim was to collate information on the final solution with a view to securing the indictments of war criminals. Wiesenthal claimed to have started it because of an anti-Semitic remark made by an American officer, which made him realise that the allies would never hunt down the Nazis to the extent that was required.
Sadly, he was to be proved right. He and his band of 30 volunteers travelled around the displaced persons’ camps, collecting evidence on the atrocities from former concentration camp inmates. In all, Wiesenthal’s team compiled 3,289 questionnaires, which is a far more impressive feat than anything the allies achieved.
Wiesenthal died in 2005 at the age of 96 and was buried in Israel. The tributes and eulogies were many and fulsome and at the time it would have been churlish to have detracted from the many positive aspects of the role he played. He was at heart a showman and when he found a role as the world’s head Nazi hunter, he played it well. As with so many popular performances, it was impossible for the critics to tell the public that the Great Wiesenthal Show was little more than an illusion. Ultimately, it was an illusion mounted for a good cause.
© Guy Walters 2009
Extracted from Hunting Evil by Guy Walters, to be published by Transworld on July 30 at £18.99. Copies can be ordered for £17.09, including postage, from The Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0845 271 2135
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Forces occultes (Occult Forces - subtitled The mysteries of Freemasonry unveiled for the first time on the screen) is a French film of 1943, notable as the last film to be directed by Paul Riche (the pseudonym of Jean Mamy).
The film recounts the life of a young député who joins the Freemasons in order to relaunch his career. He thus learns of how the Freemasons are conspiring with the Jews to encourage France into a war against Germany.
The film was commissioned in 1942 by the Propaganda Abteilung, a delegation of Nazi Germany's propaganda ministry within occupied France by the ex-mason Mamy. It virulently denounces Freemasonry, parliamentarianism and Jews as part of Vichy's propaganda drive against them and seeks to prove a fake Jewish-Masonic plot. On France's liberation its writer Jean Marquès-Rivière, its producer Robert Muzard and its direction Jean Mamy were purged for collaboration with the enemy. On 25 November 1945, Muzard was condemned to 3 years in prison and Marquès-Rivière was condemned in his absence (he had gone into self-imposed exile) to death and degradation. Mamy had also been a journalist on L'Appel under Pierre Constantini (leader of the Ligue française d’épuration, d’entraide sociale et de collaboration européenne) and on the collaborationist journal Au pilori, and was thus condemned to death and exectued at the fortress of Montrouge on 29 March 1949.
St John's College, Cambridge
21 – 22 September 2009
2009 marks the quatercentenary of the death of the great Elizabethan polymath, John Dee (1527–1609). This international and interdisciplinary conference will commemorate the occasion by bringing together scholars and students from a range of fields, including intellectual and cultural history, history of science and mathematics, literature, and history of the book, to consider the extraordinary range of Dee's interests and enterprises. The conference is hosted by Dee's old Cambridge college, St John's, and provides a unique opportunity to examine some of Dee's own books in the Old Library. Speakers include Stephen Clucas (Birkbeck, University of London), Nicholas Clulee (Frostburg State University), Glyn Parry (Victoria University of Wellington) and Stephen Pumfrey (Lancaster University).
The conference will be preceded by a half day colloquium on 'Western Esoteric Traditions in the Renaissance' at Anglia Ruskin University, as part of a programme of Cambridge-based events celebrating the intellectual legacy of the Renaissance.
The John Dee Quatercentenary Conference is hosted by St John's College, Cambridge, and supported by the Department of History and Philosophy of Science (University of Cambridge), the Bibliographical Society, the British Society for the History of Science and the Society for Renaissance Studies.
Anglia Ruskin Colloquium
Download the conference poster
Scholars are trying to restore the reputation of the last English royal wizard, Dr John Dee, over claims dating back 400 years that he was involved in sorcery.
By Andrew Hough
Published: 1:09PM BST 21 Sep 2009
Dee is regarded as one of the period's leading scholars, who cast horoscopes for Queen Mary and her Spanish husband, Philip, and suggested the most auspicious date for the coronation of Elizabeth I.
But he was also said to use crystal balls to communicate with angels and collaborated with a conman who assured him the angels had suggested a spot of wife-swapping.
Now a group of international scholars gathered in Cambridge has tried to restore his reputation, four centuries on.
Jenny Rampling, who organised the weekend two-day conference at Dee's old college, St John’s - where he became an undergraduate aged 15 - to celebrate him as a forgotten hero of English intellectual life.
It was at college where he suffered the first of many accusations of sorcery after a spectacularly successful stage effect for a production of Aristophanes's Pax, according to The Guardian.
"There was never a single blockbuster discovery with Dee as with Galileo or Newton, because his interests spread so wide," she told the paper.
"So if you're looking for a founding father of modern science, he's probably not the man.
"But if you're looking for one of the most original thinkers of his day, in touch with all the major intellectuals of Europe, consulted by princes, right at the cutting edge of mathematical theory, author of the preface of the first English edition of Euclid, owner of the greatest private library in England and one of the best in Europe, that's Dee.”
She added: “But even by the 17th century that part of his reputation was overshadowed by the stories of sorcery and conjuring.”
He is credited with coining the phrase "the British empire" and advising on some of the great Tudor voyages of exploration, including the search for the North-west Passage through the Arctic and is said to have inspired Shakespeare's Prospero in The Tempest, and Ben Jonson's The Alchemist.
He also proposed the reform of the Julian calendar to bring it into line with the astronomical year two centuries before it was implemented in England while he also presented Mary with a detailed plan for the first national library.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Holy Grail of the Unconscious
By SARA CORBETT
This is a story about a nearly 100-year-old book, bound in red leather, which has spent the last quarter century secreted away in a bank vault in Switzerland. The book is big and heavy and its spine is etched with gold letters that say “Liber Novus,” which is Latin for “New Book.” Its pages are made from thick cream-colored parchment and filled with paintings of otherworldly creatures and handwritten dialogues with gods and devils. If you didn’t know the book’s vintage, you might confuse it for a lost medieval tome.
And yet between the book’s heavy covers, a very modern story unfolds. It goes as follows: Man skids into midlife and loses his soul. Man goes looking for soul. After a lot of instructive hardship and adventure — taking place entirely in his head — he finds it again.
Some people feel that nobody should read the book, and some feel that everybody should read it. The truth is, nobody really knows. Most of what has been said about the book — what it is, what it means — is the product of guesswork, because from the time it was begun in 1914 in a smallish town in Switzerland, it seems that only about two dozen people have managed to read or even have much of a look at it.
Of those who did see it, at least one person, an educated Englishwoman who was allowed to read some of the book in the 1920s, thought it held infinite wisdom — “There are people in my country who would read it from cover to cover without stopping to breathe scarcely,” she wrote — while another, a well-known literary type who glimpsed it shortly after, deemed it both fascinating and worrisome, concluding that it was the work of a psychotic.
So for the better part of the past century, despite the fact that it is thought to be the pivotal work of one of the era’s great thinkers, the book has existed mostly just as a rumor, cosseted behind the skeins of its own legend — revered and puzzled over only from a great distance.
THIS COULD SOUND, I realize, like the start of a spy novel or a Hollywood bank caper, but it is rather a story about genius and madness, as well as possession and obsession, with one object — this old, unusual book — skating among those things. Also, there are a lot of Jungians involved, a species of thinkers who subscribe to the theories of Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist and author of the big red leather book. And Jungians, almost by definition, tend to get enthused anytime something previously hidden reveals itself, when whatever’s been underground finally makes it to the surface.
What happened next to Carl Jung has become, among Jungians and other scholars, the topic of enduring legend and controversy. It has been characterized variously as a creative illness, a descent into the underworld, a bout with insanity, a narcissistic self-deification, a transcendence, a midlife breakdown and an inner disturbance mirroring the upheaval of World War I. Whatever the case, in 1913, Jung, who was then 38, got lost in the soup of his own psyche. He was haunted by troubling visions and heard inner voices. Grappling with the horror of some of what he saw, he worried in moments that he was, in his own words, “menaced by a psychosis” or “doing a schizophrenia.”
He later would compare this period of his life — this “confrontation with the unconscious,” as he called it — to a mescaline experiment. He described his visions as coming in an “incessant stream.” He likened them to rocks falling on his head, to thunderstorms, to molten lava. “I often had to cling to the table,” he recalled, “so as not to fall apart.”
Had he been a psychiatric patient, Jung might well have been told he had a nervous disorder and encouraged to ignore the circus going on in his head. But as a psychiatrist, and one with a decidedly maverick streak, he tried instead to tear down the wall between his rational self and his psyche. For about six years, Jung worked to prevent his conscious mind from blocking out what his unconscious mind wanted to show him. Between appointments with patients, after dinner with his wife and children, whenever there was a spare hour or two, Jung sat in a book-lined office on the second floor of his home and actually induced hallucinations — what he called “active imaginations.” “In order to grasp the fantasies which were stirring in me ‘underground,’ ” Jung wrote later in his book “Memories, Dreams, Reflections,” “I knew that I had to let myself plummet down into them.” He found himself in a liminal place, as full of creative abundance as it was of potential ruin, believing it to be the same borderlands traveled by both lunatics and great artists.
Jung recorded it all. First taking notes in a series of small, black journals, he then expounded upon and analyzed his fantasies, writing in a regal, prophetic tone in the big red-leather book. The book detailed an unabashedly psychedelic voyage through his own mind, a vaguely Homeric progression of encounters with strange people taking place in a curious, shifting dreamscape. Writing in German, he filled 205 oversize pages with elaborate calligraphy and with richly hued, staggeringly detailed paintings.
What he wrote did not belong to his previous canon of dispassionate, academic essays on psychiatry. Nor was it a straightforward diary. It did not mention his wife, or his children, or his colleagues, nor for that matter did it use any psychiatric language at all. Instead, the book was a kind of phantasmagoric morality play, driven by Jung’s own wish not just to chart a course out of the mangrove swamp of his inner world but also to take some of its riches with him. It was this last part — the idea that a person might move beneficially between the poles of the rational and irrational, the light and the dark, the conscious and the unconscious — that provided the germ for his later work and for what analytical psychology would become.
The book tells the story of Jung trying to face down his own demons as they emerged from the shadows. The results are humiliating, sometimes unsavory. In it, Jung travels the land of the dead, falls in love with a woman he later realizes is his sister, gets squeezed by a giant serpent and, in one terrifying moment, eats the liver of a little child. (“I swallow with desperate efforts — it is impossible — once again and once again — I almost faint — it is done.”) At one point, even the devil criticizes Jung as hateful.
He worked on his red book — and he called it just that, the Red Book — on and off for about 16 years, long after his personal crisis had passed, but he never managed to finish it. He actively fretted over it, wondering whether to have it published and face ridicule from his scientifically oriented peers or to put it in a drawer and forget it. Regarding the significance of what the book contained, however, Jung was unequivocal. “All my works, all my creative activity,” he would recall later, “has come from those initial fantasies and dreams.”
Jung evidently kept the Red Book locked in a cupboard in his house in the Zurich suburb of Küsnacht. When he died in 1961, he left no specific instructions about what to do with it. His son, Franz, an architect and the third of Jung’s five children, took over running the house and chose to leave the book, with its strange musings and elaborate paintings, where it was. Later, in 1984, the family transferred it to the bank, where since then it has fulminated as both an asset and a liability.
Anytime someone did ask to see the Red Book, family members said, without hesitation and sometimes without decorum, no. The book was private, they asserted, an intensely personal work. In 1989, an American analyst named Stephen Martin, who was then the editor of a Jungian journal and now directs a Jungian nonprofit foundation, visited Jung’s son (his other four children were daughters) and inquired about the Red Book. The question was met with a vehemence that surprised him. “Franz Jung, an otherwise genial and gracious man, reacted sharply, nearly with anger,” Martin later wrote in his foundation’s newsletter, saying “in no uncertain terms” that Martin could not “see the Red Book, nor could he ever imagine that it would be published.”
And yet, Carl Jung’s secret Red Book — scanned, translated and footnoted — will be in stores early next month, published by W. W. Norton and billed as the “most influential unpublished work in the history of psychology.” Surely it is a victory for someone, but it is too early yet to say for whom.
Even as some of his peers in the Jungian world are cautious about regarding Carl Jung as a sage — a history of anti-Semitic remarks and his sometimes patriarchal views of women have caused some to distance themselves — Martin is unapologetically reverential. He keeps Jung’s 20 volumes of collected works on a shelf at home. He rereads “Memories, Dreams, Reflections” at least twice a year. Many years ago, when one of his daughters interviewed him as part of a school project and asked what his religion was, Martin, a nonobservant Jew, answered, “Oh, honey, I’m a Jungian.”
Shamdasani first approached the family with a proposal to edit and eventually publish the Red Book in 1997, which turned out to be an opportune moment. Franz Jung, a vehement opponent of exposing Jung’s private side, had recently died, and the family was reeling from the publication of two controversial and widely discussed books by an American psychologist named Richard Noll, who proposed that Jung was a philandering, self-appointed prophet of a sun-worshiping Aryan cult and that several of his central ideas were either plagiarized or based upon falsified research.
While the attacks by Noll might have normally propelled the family to more vociferously guard the Red Book, Shamdasani showed up with the right bargaining chips — two partial typed draft manuscripts (without illustrations) of the Red Book he had dug up elsewhere. One was sitting on a bookshelf in a house in southern Switzerland, at the home of the elderly daughter of a woman who once worked as a transcriptionist and translator for Jung. The second he found at Yale University’s Beinecke Library, in an uncataloged box of papers belonging to a well-known German publisher. The fact that there were partial copies of the Red Book signified two things — one, that Jung had distributed it to at least a few friends, presumably soliciting feedback for publication; and two, that the book, so long considered private and inaccessible, was in fact findable. The specter of Richard Noll and anybody else who, they feared, might want to taint Jung by quoting selectively from the book loomed large. With or without the family’s blessing, the Red Book — or at least parts of it — would likely become public at some point soon, “probably,” Shamdasani wrote ominously in a report to the family, “in sensationalistic form.”
“It is the nuclear reactor for all his works,” Shamdasani said, noting that Jung’s more well-known concepts — including his belief that humanity shares a pool of ancient wisdom that he called the collective unconscious and the thought that personalities have both male and female components (animus and anima) — have their roots in the Red Book. Creating the book also led Jung to reformulate how he worked with clients, as evidenced by an entry Shamdasani found in a self-published book written by a former client, in which she recalls Jung’s advice for processing what went on in the deeper and sometimes frightening parts of her mind.
“I should advise you to put it all down as beautifully as you can — in some beautifully bound book,” Jung instructed. “It will seem as if you were making the visions banal — but then you need to do that — then you are freed from the power of them. . . . Then when these things are in some precious book you can go to the book & turn over the pages & for you it will be your church — your cathedral — the silent places of your spirit where you will find renewal. If anyone tells you that it is morbid or neurotic and you listen to them — then you will lose your soul — for in that book is your soul.”
And finally, there sunbathing under the lights, sat Carl Jung’s Red Book, splayed open to Page 37. One side of the open page showed an intricate mosaic painting of a giant holding an ax, surrounded by winged serpents and crocodiles. The other side was filled with a cramped German calligraphy that seemed at once controlled and also, just given the number of words on the page, created the impression of something written feverishly, cathartically. Above the book a 10,200-pixel scanner suspended on a dolly clicked and whirred, capturing the book one-tenth of a millimeter at a time and uploading the images into a computer.
The Red Book had an undeniable beauty. Its colors seemed almost to pulse, its writing almost to crawl. Shamdasani’s relief was palpable, as was Hoerni’s anxiety. Everyone in the room seemed frozen in a kind of awe, especially Stephen Martin, who stood about eight feet away from the book but then finally, after a few minutes, began to inch closer to it. When the art director called for a break, Martin leaned in, tilting his head to read some of the German on the page. Whether he understood it or not, he didn’t say. He only looked up and smiled.
ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH the Red Book — after he has traversed a desert, scrambled up mountains, carried God on his back, committed murder, visited hell; and after he has had long and inconclusive talks with his guru, Philemon, a man with bullhorns and a long beard who flaps around on kingfisher wings — Jung is feeling understandably tired and insane. This is when his soul, a female figure who surfaces periodically throughout the book, shows up again. She tells him not to fear madness but to accept it, even to tap into it as a source of creativity. “If you want to find paths, you should also not spurn madness, since it makes up such a great part of your nature.”
The Red Book is not an easy journey — it wasn’t for Jung, it wasn’t for his family, nor for Shamdasani, and neither will it be for readers. The book is bombastic, baroque and like so much else about Carl Jung, a willful oddity, synched with an antediluvian and mystical reality. The text is dense, often poetic, always strange. The art is arresting and also strange. Even today, its publication feels risky, like an exposure. But then again, it is possible Jung intended it as such. In 1959, after having left the book more or less untouched for 30 or so years, he penned a brief epilogue, acknowledging the central dilemma in considering the book’s fate. “To the superficial observer,” he wrote, “it will appear like madness.” Yet the very fact he wrote an epilogue seems to indicate that he trusted his words would someday find the right audience.
Shamdasani figures that the Red Book’s contents will ignite both Jung’s fans and his critics. Already there are Jungians planning conferences and lectures devoted to the Red Book, something that Shamdasani finds amusing. Recalling that it took him years to feel as if he understood anything about the book, he’s curious to know what people will be saying about it just months after it is published. As far as he is concerned, once the book sees daylight, it will become a major and unignorable piece of Jung’s history, the gateway into Carl Jung’s most inner of inner experiences. “Once it’s published, there will be a ‘before’ and ‘after’ in Jungian scholarship,” he told me, adding, “it will wipe out all the biographies, just for starters.” What about the rest of us, the people who aren’t Jungians, I wondered. Was there something in the Red Book for us? “Absolutely, there is a human story here,” Shamdasani said. “The basic message he’s sending is ‘Value your inner life.’ ”
After it was scanned, the book went back to its bank-vault home, but it will move again — this time to New York, accompanied by a number of Jung’s descendents. For the next few months it will be on display at the Rubin Museum of Art. Ulrich Hoerni told me this summer that he assumed the book would generate “criticism and gossip,” but by bringing it out they were potentially rescuing future generations of Jungs from some of the struggles of the past. If another generation inherited the Red Book, he said, “the question would again have to be asked, ‘What do we do with it?’ ”
Read the whole article here:
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Vintage press photograph depicting the story of Mattie Turley, a 15-yr old Arizona ranch girl, who claimed that a Ouija board her to "Kill Your Father!"
Here's a transcript from the period:
“Mother asked the Ouija board to decide between father and her cowboy friend. As usual the board moved around at first without meaning. Suddenly it spelled out I was to kill father. It was terrible. I shook all over.
Mother asked the Ouija if shooting would be successful and it said that it would; she asked if he would die outright and it said no. We asked what should be used and it said with shotgun. We asked if we would have the ranch and it said yes.
We asked about the law, and it said not to fear the law, that everything would turn out all right. We asked how much the insurance would be and it said $5,000.
I tried to kill him next day but I couldn't. I lost my nerve. A few days later though, I followed father to the corral. I raised the gun, took careful aim between his shoulders and then I lost my nerve again. But I thought of dear mother and what all this would mean to her and I couldn’t fail. My hand was trembling awfully though.
I raised the gun and fired.”
Friday, September 18, 2009
What started out as a collection of essays hived off into several other book projects all of which alternated over time as the focus of my attention, getting a little done on all of them and a lot done on none of them, the end result being that none of them seem likely to be finished in a timely manner.
This process has come full circle with my decision to consolidate material from all of the projects back into one collection of essays on a broad range of topics, which is already enough to put out as a slim volume of 100+ pages or so.
I don't want to put out a slim volume of 100+ pages, so I'm putting it to the grindstone to finish several longer articles, of similar size and scope as some of the previously unpublished articles that appeared in Essays in Satanism, to bring the project to a more respectable quantity and quality of material.
So I'm hoping to have everything together for release sometime within the next few months.
.....for those of you who are interested.
Thank You for your support and for the interest you have shown in my previous book ESSAYS IN SATANISM.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
September 14th, 2009 By Penthouse Magazine
A look inside the real Church of Satan—where sin is a sacrament and all manner of sexual activity is sanctified.
By Bob Johnson
Illustration by Coop
Naked nuns, a feast of wine and meats, and a giant, cockshaped water dispenser set the stage as black-clad celebrants begin a litany canonizing rogues, debauchers, whore mongers, and straight-up libertines. This is how the world’s most notorious religion parties. Deep within the cold, damp caves of West Wycombe, England, the Church of Satan gathered on April 30, 2008 (Walpurgisnacht, a pagan holiday) in an invitation only conclave to honor the church’s inspirational forebearers—members of the seventeenth-century Hellfire Club, a secret society devoted to the goddess Venus, the pleasures of the flesh, and, some say, Satan himself.
Decked out in finery from top hats to flowing gowns, the church members appeared to be dressed up for the opera rather than a Satanic ritual designed to evoke the spirits of Sir
Francis Dashwood, the Hellfire Club’s founder, and his brotherhood of black-hearted devils, which included the fourth Earl of Sandwich and, allegedly, Benjamin Franklin. But once inside the actual caves of the original Hellfire orgies, a ritual and lavish feast virtually stopped time as the guests were transported back to a place where the sins of the flesh were embraced as sacraments.
Religious gatherings that are steeped in history and elaborate prep aration, with handmade ritual accessories and music designed to stimulate the congregants, may conjure thoughts of the Catholic Church’s High Masses more than Satanists. But misconceptions abound about the Church of Satan, founded by Anton Szandor LaVey in 1966. More than 40 years later, today’s real Church of Satan is alive and well across the entire world. After LaVey’s death in 1997, his longtime companion Magistra Blanche Barton, High Priest ess and mother of his only son, Satan Xerxes Carnacki LaVey, led the church until 2001, when the church’s current leader, High Priest and Magus Peter H. Gilmore, was appointed.
He lives in a cozy Manhat tan railroad apartment, void of any outside light as the only win dows are blocked by a ceremonial Satanic altar. It’s a bit eerie, hung with some original Gilmore artwork and full of rare books, ritual items, state-of-the-art computer gear, and archival Church of Satan materials, but not as foreboding as one would expect. It’s also heavily stocked with Godzilla collectibles and features an ever-present big, black Chow dog named Bella.
The setting fits the dashing, avuncular devil, who is extremely articulate and to the point when it comes to preaching the gospel of Satan and the history of his church. But let’s get one thing straight: Members of founder LaVey’s Church of Satan do not believe in or worship an anthropomorphic devil or evil demons. In fact, they don’t embrace anything spiritual at all. The religion is based on earthly pleasure and Darwinian survival of the fittest. Gilmore makes it clear that the criticism of the church, especially the ideas most people have about modern Satanism —which may have come from notorious criminal cases of murder or sexual abuse—are totally unfounded, insulting, and often contrary to the truth. Even numerous FBI reports debunk rumors of criminal Satanic activity. Gilmore says the “S” word automatically petrifies people who, in most cases, are ignorant about Satanism. The truth is, members of the church span the world and are successful artists, musicians, entrepreneurs, sculptors, writers, law enforcement professionals, and even PTA members.
But many Satanists aren’t that squeaky clean. In The Satanic Scriptures (Scapegoat Publishing), a long-awaited follow-up book to LaVey’s The Satanic Bible, Gilmore lays out the marching orders for Satanism in the twenty-first century. Along with its core doctrines of social stratification, survival of the fittest, and exercising the power of one’s will (with magic), sex and all of its temptations play a major role in the church, to the delight of its members and prospective initiates. But Gilmore refutes that most people become members because of sexual freedom, viewing their religion’s stance on sex simply as a natural part of their makeup. He maintains that Satanists take “sex in stride” as naturally as eating or being creative. Of course, voluptuous nude women acting as altars during ceremonies is a benefit not found in any other organized religion.
“Satanism is based on human nature, affirming the inborn character of the carnal types of humans,” Gilmore says. “Prior to the founding of the Church of Satan, there was no form of religion that ad dressed this portion of our species. Carnal people have no need to seek acceptance from some higher power, whether it be a deity or a dictator. We aren’t spiritual at all, and see all mysticism as childish superstition. We who embrace our fleshly nature revel in the joys of the body and the mind. Fine food, exemplary sex, excellent literature, exciting music—we are gourmets in the buffet that is life. We don’t deny ourselves pleasures, but we also don’t overdo them. The primary point is to indulge in what pleases us, but not to allow such pursuits to become compulsions that control us. Satanists are not addicts, are not sex maniacs, are not gluttons—we find balance in healthful pursuit of all that we enjoy. It is all about getting the most out of our lives. Carnal people don’t just pursue happiness—they have it.”
It appears that a good deal of this Satanic happiness stems from a conscious denial of feeling guilt about pleasure, and a sense of worldly confidence. Members of the church identify themselves as “the alien elite,” a congregation with no physical church and virtually no binding rules except to please yourself and not harm anyone else (unless they harm you). It has survived the past four decades because of this belief and exemplary actions of its leaders, who are, frankly, smart. They aren’t “occultniks,” but rather achievers in the world. To become a member, a person must at the very least show that he or she grasps the philosophy and is sane. And no one gets promoted in the hierarchy of the church (the ascending ranks are warlock/witch, priest/priestess, magister/magistra, and maga/magus) unless they prove that they’ve accomplished something worthwhile in their chosen field. Being an artist is okay, being able to sell your work is better, and being a household name should be the goal. There’s no room for an egalitarian “everyone’s equal” mental i ty in this church. Some people are just okay, while others are superior, Satanists believe. It’s tough but real, and the members like it that way.
This no-bullshit, no-poseur posture is what sets real Satanists apart from myriad other occult groups and individuals who follow the “left-hand path.” Their magic and rituals are often selfdesigned to strengthen their will and are practical means to becoming superior human beings. By embracing the “S” word, they frighten most people, but when you dig deep, they walk the walk and aren’t that scary at all. The church may be made up primarily of upstanding citizens, but what often initially seduces prospective members is that it’s the only church on the planet that recognizes and celebrates man’s carnal nature and indulgence as the true reason for existence, openly defying what’s seen as the hypocrisy of other organized faiths.
A high-ranking Satanic couple, Magister Robert Lang and Magistra Dee, embrace this carnality. They live in a large house in rural Canada that’s topped with a witch weather vane and features a below-ground ritual chamber whose flagstone floor is soon to be fitted with a giant four foot Germanic rune, a power symbol that stimulates Lang’s penchant for the BDSM fetishes he enjoys. He’s the de facto Church of Satan Beau Brummell, often dres sed to the nines 1940s style, a re fined look that’s popular with many members. He had his first ECI—Erotic Crystallization Inertia, an epiphany during which one first discovers a fetish —from erotic bondage photos in, yes, Penthouse magazine.
The couple is open and guilt-free regarding sexuality, and it’s obvious that they think about it a lot. “Where [German sexologist] Dr. Iwan Bloch defined sexology from a literary, medical, and scholarly aspect, the Church of Satan brought those thoughts to life,” says Magistra Dee. “We not only deem it okay to have sexual fetishes, but see them as a natural part of the human animal. We understand that suppressing these aspects of ourselves can be more damaging than accepting them and putting them into play in a safe, healthy environment.”
High Priest Gilmore’s take on fetishes is that they help to elevate lovemaking beyond just simple “vanilla” encounters. He says, “Common are shoe and foot fetishes, but other forms of clothing can be the focal point, as can bodily or other smells, foods, certain erotic toys, or really just about anything that one could make a part of sex play. Naturally, Satanism embraces the discovery of our fetishes and their use toward enhancing eroticism. They are what make us unique individuals, and our philoso phy is always based on individual individualist thinking, whether it be in the kitchen, ritual chamber, or bedroom.”
When asked if ritual plays into their sexual habits, Dee explains that ritual brings a practical awareness to a need or problem: “Let’s say Robert has not been as sexually attentive as I would prefer. I set aside time to perform a sexual-need ritual involving meditation on the situation, masturbation…and a set conclusion of how I want the problem resolved. When the ritual is over, I have made myself intently aware, thought of solutions, and created a positive outlook instead of drudging around bitching about it. Needless to say, the nights will get hotter than expected—even in the dead of winter!”
Sex, fetishes, and Satanism have commingled since the church’s founding. Lang points out that while most people and movements in the sixties and seventies were simply knocking on the doors for the free love of heterosexuals, the Church of Satan was kicking down the doors and breaking new boundaries in sexual acceptance and religious toler ance on all levels. “We were the first organizational church to accept homo sexual men and women into our priesthood,” Lang says. “We were per forming gay marriages long before the hoopla of today. We were congratulating folks for their fetishes internationally and in public view rather than condemning these people. We broke down the barriers for a whole host of alternative religions to crawl out from under the thumbscrews of Christianity. We opened the flood gates to a new era where people could shake off those shackles of Puritanism.”
And any Puritan would surely be turning over in his grave if he knew of this Satanic couple nestled in a tastefully done Addams Family–like mansion in a traditional rural English village with thatched cottages, apple orchards, and church bells. Priest Steven and Priestess Fifi Roberts label themselves “happy, fearless sinners with healthy sexual appetites, with a preference for dark aesthetics and a deep interest in magic.” Naturally, Satanism was their only choice when it came to religion. “Before we met, we were both nonspiritual pragmatists who just hadn’t dis covered that the title ‘Satanist’ de fined our viewpoint perfectly,” says Steven. “We certainly couldn’t relate to any of the mainstream religions that say, ‘Be ignorant, penniless, celibate, and guilty, and you’ll be rewarded when you are dead.’ The so-called New Age alternatives are similarly dreadful: superstitious balderdash that both hypnotizes ugly, hairy, mediocre women into believing that they are ‘goddesses’ and further emasculates the type of ineffectual, unemployable, feeble-minded men who couldn’t get laid in the first place.”
The lusty couple (he is a professional movie-music composer and she is a talented artist, both drop dead gorgeous) met at a full moon party—a Witch’s Sabbath. During the feasting and drinking, Steven gave Fifi an “innocent” foot massage that led to a night of passion. Eight months later they were married. “I am convinced that feet are a woman’s most important erogenous zone. All the women I know love having their feet massaged,” Steven says. Fifi agrees and says with a wink that the couple is happily monogamous.
Bryan Moore and Heather Saenz, a San Diego couple with careers in toy design and the medical field, are staunchly family-oriented and active in the local PTA. They would be the central characters in an “American Satanist” movie, were it ever created. The stunning brunette and her dapper man, typically dressed in a 1940s-style bespoke suit and wide brimmed fedora, don’t broadcast their guiltless lifestyle. While they don’t normally invite fellow Satanists into their sex lives out of respect for individual relationships, they are open to third members—young women impressed with their Satanic standing and intrigued by its dark, fetishistic world. And any would-be initiate would not be disappointed. Moore says they both perform rituals and use scenarios and fetishes that range from the sensual to downright rough, “enjoying their sexual potential to the fullest.”
Moore says, “While we both feel that our personal sexuality is not defined by Satanism, Satanism can indeed enhance it. And we happily oblige those young women whenever possible. Very rarely do we maintain relationships with them afterward, as emotions can become volatile, and they have a habit of falling in love with one of us.”
Coupled or not, sex and Satanism still share the same bed. Stephanie Crabe, a Manhattan designer and photographer, would be pegged as more of a sexy retro chick on the streets of New York than a hard-core Satanic witch. Disarming as this Satanic priestess’s vintage appearance may be, her diabolic wiles can’t be underestimated.
Crabe is articulate about pragmatic Satanic sexual philosophy, noting that it’s the only dogma that doesn’t espouse “a bunch of higher-power nonsense and fairy-tale concepts about God.” As she puts it, “More and more people understand that most of what is depicted about Satanism by the media and other religious groups is BS. People are seeing that the very obvious trappings of the philosophy are for fun and that underneath it is something extremely powerful that holds water and totally makes sense.” This New Yorker openly uses her “magical powers” of seduction to get what she wants: “If I’m perfumed and appealing, I can expect some doors to be held open, some packages carried out to my car, and some bar tabs paid in full! It makes me sad to think of how so many women screwed up some of the good things about being a woman during the sixties and seventies.”
In October 2007, Crabe published her first book of photographs, Motel Bizarre! (Scapegoat Publishing), a series depicting sexy and unusual situations that take place in anonymous motel rooms. “I see these motel rooms as very Satanic little ritual chambers where people go just to enact whatever (often sloppy) instincts or desires they have. I cele brate the sleazy, sexy, and weird in my book; it’s full of odd characters, humor, and thrills!” Crabe explains.
Having an affinity for a particular time and place, no matter how odd or out of date, and creating this environment is also a Satanic basic that can disturb secular civilians. Crabe accomplishes this “time travel” through her photography and appearance, as does her man, Magister Christopher Mealie. To see the couple together, you’d think you stepped into a Raymond Chandler private-eye novel. Mealie, also an author, created a retro-pinup-photography book entitled SexCats (Goliath Books), chock-full of stark, amateurish nudes. He says he finds the cross between glamour, sensuality, and tragedy in his pictures a reflection of an integral part of Satanism.
Crabe and Mealie aren’t the only church members to use Satanic sexual energy to achieve more than personal pleasure. Because members are so aligned with the power of sex, they have no qualms about using it to build their careers, consciously wielding it as the catalyst for success in the business world. This fits their emphasis on real-world achievement. And taking the devil’s name provides a rock-star marketing hook that allows a number of its members to earn a damn(ed) good living.
One of the flock’s better-known professionals, a fine artist, illustrator, and photographer known simply as “Coop,” is famous for his signature devil-girl illustrations and paintings. Coop is a prime example of one of the church’s elite who has successfully taken the LaVey ethos to the max, marrying carnality to his creations. His volup tuous, iconic devil girl (who some believe was inspired by his beautiful, business-savvy wife, Ruth) graces numerous products, from T-shirts to hot-rod paraphernalia, and is the cornerstone of a highly successful cottage industry (CoopStuff.com). “Ruth fits the bill. I think I conjured her up with the art instead of the other way around,” Coop says.
Coop grew up in Oklahoma in the shadow of Oral Roberts University, and doesn’t flaunt the fact that he’s a Satanist. Nor does he deny it. He says that he feels he never consciously chose Satanism, but that Satanism chose him after he visited LaVey at his infamous San Francisco Black House, which has been leveled and replaced since LaVey’s death. He says LaVey helped him crystallize his thoughts, especially his creativity.
The church philosophy has also helped him understand the power of ritual. Although some members perform formal rituals—the kind with altars, candles, gongs, and sometimes nude celebrants—Coop’s idea of ritual, although in line with Satanic thought, runs counter to what most think of as magic. “All of my creative acts have become ritualized over the years—magic is all about the creation of something from nothing, and that is a pretty good description of making art, too,” Coop says. “I have a dedicated ritual space: my studio. I have many specific steps and routines that I use to create, and at the end of the process, I have conjured up a piece of art from mundane materials like canvas and paint.”
Nowadays, Coop is conjuring up art from far less mundane objects—fleshand-blood women, including local porn-star pals Kimberly Kane, Ashley Blue, and plus-size star April Flores. “Most of my models are friends of mine. The fact that they work in porn is just another part of their lives. I do find that I feel more comfortable working with models who do porn. They are usually much more professional and easier to deal with than ‘regular’ models, and rarely object to whatever strange thing I might ask them to do in a photograph. After all, I’m pretty tame, compared to their day jobs.”
In true Satanic fashion, Ruth accepts Coop’s fascination with naked women. A self-professed shoe diva with a fetish for expensive high heels, she also indulges in rubber clothing and some bondage gear. She says that expressing oneself sexually is just one more facet of freedom: “Everyone considers Satanists to be sex maniacs, because we’re all about indulging fantasies and living lives where we answer only to ourselves, but the truth is, we only do what everyone should. If it’s interesting to me, I’m going to try it at least once.”
Sex in business also sells for Lex Frost, a Texas-based church magister and one of the organization’s first Internet entrepreneurs. A member of the church since he was 16, he’s run his businesses—including an online store for Satanic products, Satanic social-networking sites, and a candle company— for nearly ten years.
Frost agrees that the mix of Satanism and sex makes a powerful selling tool, saying, “I like to sponsor goth and burlesque shows and BDSM extravaganzas in which semi-nude performers act out horror-movie antics with a decidedly sexy twist.” Frost also took advantage of the bucks in blasphemy by shooting the “Zombie Lovers Last Supper,” in which he portrayed the Satanic equivalent of Da Vinci’s famous painting. According to Frost, the taboo shoot inspired some of the models to leave together and play after hours.
Satanic capitalism also thrives in, of all places, Fort Wayne, Indiana, commonly referred to as the country’s “City of Churches.” The city is home to Warlock Eric Vernor, aka Corvis Nocturnum, who could be considered a true Satanic renaissance man. The author of Embracing the Darkness: Understanding Dark Subcultures is also an artist, occult-shop proprietor, website owner, and publisher. He was guest speaker at a Purdue University Fort Wayne seminar on world religions. After a front-page article in the Living section of the Journal Gazette newspaper “outed” him and his pagan/activist wife Starr, they became local celebrities, often questioned about Satanism and asked to sign books on the streets.
They consider themselves polyamorous, having had other sexual partners in the underground community, and are active in the BDSM scene. But because they embrace the Satanic elitist attitude, they say they are very picky about who joins them. Like San Diego couple Moore and Saenz, Vernor says that it would be excellent to add to their family another female who is a sub missive and a Satanist, but admits, “It’s hard to get all of that in one person.”
Hard to find, yes, but it’s likely Vernor will find another female, as Satanism has attracted people for 40 years and will continue to attract the sexually curious. As Magister Mealie points out, “Satanists see the world as a carnival, with all of the glitz, showmanship, cons, lust, and earthy tawdriness found on the lot. Up front, there may be a tantalizing beauty mesmerizing the rubes, but in back there’s a geek committing the lowest acts just for a cheap bottle.” And that lust and earthy tawdriness, along with ritual, nude altars, and sex ual permissiveness, will always be a powerful temptation, just as the devil intended. It’s what makes the Church of Satan the most carnal religion on earth.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Stephen and Timothy Quay (born 17 June 1947 in Norristown, Pennsylvania, United States), are American identical twin brothers better known as the Brothers Quay or Quay Brothers. They are influential stop-motion animators.
They reside and work in England where they moved in the late 1960s (after studying illustration in Philadelphia) to study at the Royal College of Art There, they made their first short films, which no longer exist after the only print was irreparably damaged. They spent some time in the Netherlands in the 1970s and then returned to England where they teamed up with another Royal College student, Keith Griffiths, who produced all of their films. The trio formed Koninck Studios in 1980, which is currently based in Southwark, south London.
The Quays' works (1979-present) show a wide range of often esoteric influences, starting with the Polish animators Walerian Borowczyk and Jan Lenica and continuing with the writers Franz Kafka, Bruno Schulz, Robert Walser and Michel de Ghelderode, puppeteers Wladyslaw Starewicz and Richard Teschner and composers Leoš Janáček, Zdeněk Liška and Leszek Jankowski, the last of whom has created many original scores for their work. Czech animator Jan Švankmajer, for whom they named one of their films (The Cabinet of Jan Švankmajer), is also frequently cited as a major influence, but they actually discovered his work relatively late, in 1983, by which time their characteristic style and preoccupations had been fully formed.
Most of their films feature dolls, often partially disassembled, in a dark, moody atmosphere. Perhaps their best known work is Street of Crocodiles, based on the short story of the same name by the Polish author and artist Bruno Schulz. This short film was selected by director and animator Terry Gilliam as one of the ten best animated films of all time, and critic Jonathan Romney included it on his list of the ten best films in any medium (for Sight and Sound's 2002 critics' poll). They have made two feature-length live action films: Institute Benjamenta, or This Dream People Call Human Life and The Piano Tuner Of Earthquakes. They also directed an animated sequence in the film Frida.
With very few exceptions, their films have no meaningful spoken dialogue—most have no spoken content at all, while some, like The Comb (1990) include multilingual background gibberish that is not supposed to be coherently understood. Accordingly, their films are highly reliant on their music scores, many of which have been written especially for them by the Polish composer Leszek Jankowski. In 2000, they contributed a short film to the BBC's Sound On Film series in which they visualised a 20-minute piece by the avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen. Whenever possible, the Quays prefer to work with pre-recorded music, though Gary Tarn's score for The Phantom Museum had to be added afterwards when it proved impossible to licence music by the Czech composer Zdeněk Liška.
They have created music videos for His Name Is Alive ("Are We Still Married", "Can't Go Wrong Without You"), Michael Penn ("Long Way Down (Look What the Cat Drug In)") and 16 Horsepower ("Black Soul Choir"). Some people mistakenly believe that the Quays are responsible for several music videos for Tool, but those videos were created by Fred Stuhr and member Adam Jones, whose work is influenced by the Quays. Although they worked on Peter Gabriel's seminal video "Sledgehammer" (1986) as animators, this was directed by Stephen R. Johnson and the Quays were unhappy with their contribution, believing it to be more imitative of Švankmajer's work than truly distinctive in its own right.
Their work also includes decors for the Theatre and Opera productions of director Richard Jones: Prokofiev's The Love for Three Oranges; Feydeau's "A Flea in Her Ear"; Tchaikovsky's Mazeppa; and Molière's "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.". Their set design for a revival of Ionesco's "The Chairs" was nominated for a Tony Award in 1998.
Before turning to film, they worked as professional illustrators. The first edition of Anthony Burgess' novel "The Clockwork Testament, or Enderby's End", features their drawings before the start of each chapter. Nearly three decades before directly collaborating with Stockhausen, they designed the cover of the book Stockhausen: Conversations with the Composer (ed. Jonathan Cott, Simon & Schuster, 1973).
Orff's relationship to German fascism and the Nazi Party has been a matter of considerable debate and analysis. His Carmina Burana was hugely popular in Nazi Germany after its premiere in Frankfurt in 1937, receiving numerous performances. But the composition with its unfamiliar rhythms was also denounced with racist taunts. He was one of the few German composers under the Nazi regime who responded to the official call to write new incidental music for A Midsummer Night's Dream after the music of Felix Mendelssohn had been banned — others refused to cooperate in this. Defenders of Orff note that he had already composed music for this play as early as 1917 and 1927, long before this was a favour for the Nazi government. Critics, however, note that writing music for the play in those years, when the Nazis were not in power, is not the same as writing such music in response to a request from the Nazi party, following the party's racist attacks on Mendelssohn because he was a Jew.
Carmina Burana made Orff's name in Nazi cultural circles. After some initial official discomfort about the work's frank sexual innuendos, Orff's cantata was elevated to the status of a signature piece in Nazi circles, where it was treated as an emblem of Third Reich "youth culture". The Nazi newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter, once pointed to Orff's cantata as "the kind of clear, stormy, and yet always disciplined music that our time requires".
Orff was a personal friend of Kurt Huber, one of the founders of the resistance movement Die Weiße Rose (the White Rose), who was condemned to death by the Volksgerichtshof and executed by the Nazis in 1943. Orff by happenstance called at Huber's house on the day after his arrest. Huber's distraught wife begged Orff to use his influence to help her husband, but Orff denied her request. If his friendship with Huber came out, he told her, he would be "ruined". Huber's wife never saw Orff again. Wracked by guilt, Orff would later write a letter to his late friend Huber, imploring him for forgiveness. 
O Fortuna is a medieval Latin Goliardic poem composed early in the thirteenth century, part of the collection known as the Carmina Burana. It is a complaint about fate, and Fortuna, a goddess in Roman mythology, is a personification of luck. In 1935–36 O Fortuna was orchestrated by the German composer Carl Orff for his twenty-four-movement cantata Carmina Burana. It is the most famous movement and opens and closes the cycle. Orff's setting of the poem has become immensely popular and has been performed by countless classical music ensembles as well as popular artists. The composition appears in numerous movies and television commercials and has become a staple in popular culture, setting the mood for dramatic or cataclysmic situations. See Carl Orff's O Fortuna in popular culture.
Latin: O Fortunavelut lunastatu variabilis,semper crescisaut decrescis;vita detestabilisnunc obduratet tunc curatludo mentis aciem,egestatem,potestatemdissolvit ut glaciem.Sors immaniset inanis,rota tu volubilis,status malus,vana salussemper dissolubilis,obumbrataet velatamihi quoque niteris;nunc per ludumdorsum nudumfero tui sceleris.Sors salutiset virtutismichi nunc contraria,est affectuset defectussemper in angaria.Hac in horasine moracorde pulsum tangite;quod per sortemsternit fortem,mecum omnes plangite!
English: O Fortune,just as the moonStands constantly changing,always increasingor decreasing;Detestable lifenow difficultand then easyDeceptive sharp mind;povertypowerit melts them like ice.Fate—monstrousand empty,you whirling wheel,stand malevolent,well-being is vainand always fades to nothing,shadowedand veiledyou plague me too;now through the game,my bare backI bring to your villainy.Fate, in healthand in virtue,is now against medriven onand weighted down,always enslaved.So at this hourwithout delaypluck the vibrating string;since through Fatestrikes down the strong,everyone weep with me!
In 1935–36 O Fortuna was orchestrated by the German composer Carl Orff for his twenty-four-movement cantata Carmina Burana. The composition appears in numerous movies and television commercials and has become a staple in popular culture, setting the mood for dramatic or cataclysmic situations. For instance, it is used to portray the torment of Jim Morrison's drug addiction in the film The Doors.
Sung every year at the matriculation ceremony at the University of Oslo.
Used in Michael Jackson's teaser "Brace Yourself" on Video Greatest Hits - HIStory.
Used in the summer of 2008 as the Milwaukee Brewers came up to bat at Miller Park.
Featured in a Gatorade and Old Spice after-shave commercial.
Featured in a Carlton Draught beer ad called Carlton Draught: Big Ad. 
Played at New England Patriots home games prior to the team exiting the tunnel. It is accompanied by team highlights and more recently, a scene from the film 300.
It is used as bumper music on The Sean Hannity Show on talk radio.
Often used on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno and Late Night with Conan O'Brien when a video or picture of former U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney is shown, suggesting that he is evil, demonic or satanic.
Played as background music when the Evil Puppy is introduced on Late Night with Conan O'Brien.
Used in the soundtracks of the films Excalibur and The General's Daughter.
It has been recently use in the trailer for the film Paul Blart: Mall Cop.
A stirring rendition performed by the Boston Pops Orchestra and conducted by John Williams appeared on the Summon the Heroes album.
A version of "O Fortuna" was used in a trailer for the anime film The End of Evangelion.
It is the music that the Doncaster Rovers enter The Keepmoat Stadium to.
It is performed by a convent of nuns in the episode "Gone Maggie Gone" of The Simpsons
It is played in the beginning and end of Jackass: The Movie
It is played in the movie Cheaper by the Dozen at the end of Dylan's party scene.
A version is played at the beginning of a Pakistani documentary End of Times, The Hidden Truth.
Irish boxer and WBA World Super Bantamweight Champion Bernard Dunne enters the ring to a mix of O Fortuna and the Irish song The Irish Rover.
It is the entrance music of UFC Fighter Nate "The Great" Marquart when he enters the Octagon.
It is played in the British sit-com Only Fools and Horses, whenever Rodney sees his young nephew Damien.
It is played during a video on the Jumbotron before every home Pittsburgh Pirates home game.
It is used as the theme tune for the The X Factor (TV series).
It is used in the "mugging" scene in Detroit Rock City.
A version of it, sung by the Harlem Boys Choir, was used in the Assault on Fort Wagner Scene in "Glory".
Rachel Maddow has had great fun on her show on MSNBC showing "O Fortuna's" uncanny ability to send politicians into paroxysms of cowardice and self-doubt (known as OFII; O Fortuna Induced Insanity) in a parody of commercials from the Republican Party attacking the Democratic Party.
The Howard Stern Show has used a parody of the song in its endless series of fan-submitted baba-booey songs whenever show producer, gary dell a'bate, enters the studio.
Used as the intro to Vital Remains's Dechristianize album.
The Final Fantasy VII song and theme for Safer Sephiroth (later became Sephiroth's main theme) One Winged Angel was derived from and inspired by O Fortuna.
Shortened and used as the background music for Code Lyoko's fourth season's trailer.
Was used as background music during and episode of Survivor while Coach wasstreatching in the water, marking the first time Survivor used a nonoriginal piece of music for the show.
Was featured in the end credits of Attack of the Note II: Schworld War, the sequel to Return of the Note by writer Conor Jansen.