Quotulatiousness

March 26, 2026

From conservative, traditionalist Wilhelmine Germany to the unbridled excess of the Weimar Republic

Filed under: Germany, History, Media — Tags: , , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

Celina discusses the wrenching social changes Germany went through as the First World War ended, the Kaiser abdicated, and the Versailles terms were imposed on a still-young nation that didn’t think it had been defeated on the battlefield (it had been, decisively, but the truth was not revealed or understood on the home front):

To understand the death of a civilisation, one must first walk through its ruins. The scene is Berlin, sometime in the mid-1920s, beneath the blinding, electric glare of neon and the suffocating, narcotic haze of the Berliner Luft, an atmosphere that locals gleefully described as an amphetamine-like air that made hearts race, pupils dilate, and morals evaporate until dawn.1 In the shadowed, labyrinthine alleys of a shattered empire, the streets of the capital have been entirely surrendered to a bacchanalia of unprecedented depravity. Prostitutes in various stages of undress crowd the cobblestones. They are openly aggressive, their ranks swollen by pregnant mothers, desperate war widows, and adolescents, all selling their flesh for the price of a meal.2 On every street corner, hawkers peddle cocaine, morphine, and opium to passersby, while newsstands prominently display nudist magazines dedicated exclusively to the exhibition of children.3

Push past the heavy, smoke-stained velvet curtains of the subterranean cabarets, and the full, suffocating scope of the abyss reveals itself. Here, glittering shows parade acres of sweaty, perfumed flesh to the applause of an audience intoxicated by a potent mixture of ecstasy, terror, and moral decay. Cross-dressing men perform grotesque pantomimes of traditional womanhood, while tuxedo-clad women mock the remnants of patriarchal authority, puffing cigars and sneering at the ghosts of their fathers.

Cabaret

For the modern, liberal apologists of the era, this explosion of libertinism is often retroactively celebrated as a vibrant, avant-garde renaissance, a brief, shining moment of progressive emancipation before the darkness of fascism fell. It is romanticised in our modern cinema and theatre as a glorious rebellion against the stuffy confines of tradition. But to the ordinary, rooted citizens of the German nation, the truth was far darker and far more evident.

The normalisation of perversion was not an expression of human flourishing, it was an aggressive, deliberate assault on the family, faith, nation, and the natural order itself. It was the deliberate dismantling of the moral architecture that had sustained European civilisation for a millennium. This was not liberation. This was civilisational suicide and the German people knew it.

Left: Valeska Gert, Dance in Orange, Munich (1918). Right: Olga Desmond performing the ‘Sword Dance’ (1908). Photo by Otto Skowranek.

The Shattered Fatherland: Versailles and the Death of Order

The tragedy of the Weimar Republic cannot be understood without first grasping the significant psychological and spiritual trauma that birthed it. Before 1914, Wilhelmine Germany was a society defined by structure, piety, and an organic connection to history. It was a nation grounded in Christian sexual ethics, where the family was revered as the inviolable bedrock of the state, and where duty, honour, and natural law governed public life.4 Men were expected to be providers and protectors; women were the venerated guardians of the hearth and the moral educators of the next generation.5

The cataclysm of the First World War shattered this world completely. The defeat of the German Empire brought not only physical devastation, millions of young men fed to the meat grinder of the trenches, but an unprecedented spiritual crisis. The humiliating terms of the Treaty of Versailles, specifically the “War Guilt Clause” and the crippling imposition of 130 billion marks in war reparations, stripped the nation of its dignity and its sovereignty.6 The collapse of the monarchy left a gaping void where the Fatherland had once stood, and the pervasive Dolchstoßlegende, the widely held belief that the military was stabbed in the back by domestic traitors, socialists, and cultural subversives festered in the national consciousness.7

  1. https://www.salon.com/2000/11/22/weimar/
  2. Ibid
  3. Ibid
  4. https://verso.uidaho.edu/view/pdfCoverPage?instCode=01ALLIANCE_UID&filePid=13308274540001851&download=true
  5. Ibid
  6. https://theoldshelter.com/weimar-republic-and-the-rise-of-anti-semitism/
  7. https://verso.uidaho.edu/view/pdfCoverPage?instCode=01ALLIANCE_UID&filePid=13308274540001851&download=true

An alternative reading of the American Revolution

Filed under: Britain, Government, History, Politics, USA — Tags: , , , , , , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

As the majority of my current readers are Americans (or Chinese folks using VPNs to pretend to be Americans), the following could be interpreted as clickbait. Just sayin’.

Upper Canadian Cavalier suggests that the events leading up to the Anglo-Colonial unpleasantness of 1776 onwards have been subject to a preferred reading that tidies up all the inconvenient details and sweeps them under the rug of a revolution against “royal tyranny” (even though HRM King George III was much more liberal than he’s ever given credit for, and a revolution against “an elected Parliament” doesn’t have the right ring to it):

Declaration of Independence by John Turnbull (1756-1843), showing the Committee of Five (Adams, Livingston, Sherman, Jefferson, and Franklin) presenting their draft of the Declaration of Independence to the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia on 28 June, 1776.
Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons.

The American founding narrative is a document produced by a litigation class to justify actions already taken. Its authors were not philosophers who became rebels. They were rebels who hired philosophers.

This is not a fringe position. It is not the invention of bitter foreigners or tenured radicals looking to dismantle something they never understood. It is the conclusion you reach when you put down the mythology and pick up the actual historical record, the ledgers, the court documents, the correspondence that was never meant to be read by posterity, the testimony of people who were there and whose version of events was systematically buried because they were on the losing side. The American Revolution is the most comprehensively mythologized event in the history of the English-speaking world, and the mythologizing began before the gunpowder had cleared.

Start with the money, because it almost always starts with the money. The Navigation Acts, which colonial propagandists framed as instruments of imperial oppression, were a trade regulatory system that had been in place for over a century and under which the colonies had grown from scattered coastal settlements into some of the most prosperous communities in the Atlantic world. The specific enforcement measures that triggered the revolutionary crisis came after the Seven Years War, a conflict in which Britain spent the modern equivalent of billions of pounds defending the American colonies against French and indigenous pressure across an entire continent. When the war ended in 1763, the British national debt had nearly doubled. Parliament looked at the colonies, looked at the bill, and suggested with what strikes any disinterested observer as elementary reasonableness that the people who had benefited most from the war might contribute something toward its cost.

The Stamp Act of 1765 taxed legal documents, newspapers, and pamphlets at rates that were substantially lower than what ordinary subjects in Britain were already paying. The Townshend Acts taxed glass, paint, paper, and tea, luxury goods, not necessities. At their peak, the total tax burden on the American colonies amounted to roughly one shilling per person per year. The average British subject at home was paying twenty-six shillings. The colonial merchant class, which had grown fat on a century of salutary neglect and profitable smuggling, responded to this modest request for contribution with riots, the formation of extralegal enforcement committees, the physical destruction of property, and the systematic intimidation of anyone who disagreed. They called this liberty.

John Hancock, whose signature on the Declaration of Independence is so oversized that his name became a synonym for a signature, was the wealthiest smuggler in colonial America. His fortune was built on molasses, wine, and dry goods moved outside the official imperial trade system at substantial profit. In 1768, British customs officials seized his sloop Liberty on evidence of wine smuggling. The seizure triggered a riot. The customs commissioners were driven from Boston under threat of violence and had to take refuge on a Royal Navy vessel in the harbor. Hancock was prosecuted and represented by John Adams, who got the charges dropped on procedural grounds. The same John Adams who would later write the Massachusetts Constitution. The same John Adams who, when asked to describe his greatest service to his country, cited his defense of the British soldiers at the Boston Massacre trial. These relationships are not incidental. They are the operating structure of the revolutionary movement.

The Boston Massacre has been taught to American schoolchildren for two hundred and fifty years as evidence of British brutality. Here is what actually happened. On the evening of March 5, 1770, a small detachment of British soldiers posted outside the Custom House was surrounded by a crowd estimated at several hundred people, who pelted them with ice, rocks, oyster shells, and pieces of coal, struck them with clubs and sticks, and screamed at them to fire, daring them repeatedly to shoot. Private Hugh Montgomery was knocked to the ground by a club blow. When he recovered he fired. The other soldiers, believing an order had been given, fired as well. Five people died. It was a tragedy. What happened next is the part that gets edited out of the curriculum. John Adams, cousin of the great agitator Samuel Adams, agreed to defend the soldiers and did so brilliantly. Six of the eight soldiers were acquitted outright. The remaining two were convicted of manslaughter rather than murder and were released after being branded on the thumb, the standard punishment. The jury found that the crowd had been the aggressor. Adams later wrote that the case was one of the best pieces of service he ever rendered his country, by which he meant he had established a legal record that contradicted the propaganda his cousin was already distributing. The propaganda survived. The verdict did not make it into the textbooks.

Samuel Adams, the moral conscience of the Revolution, the man who could manufacture outrage from raw air, had a financial history that his hagiographers handle with extraordinary delicacy. He had inherited his father’s malting business and run it into insolvency. He had then served as a tax collector for the town of Boston and accumulated a personal shortfall of several thousand pounds, money he had collected and failed to remit, that the town had been attempting to recover from him through legal action for years. He was an active defendant in debt proceedings during the very period when he was organizing the Sons of Liberty and writing pamphlets about the tyranny of arbitrary taxation. The Revolution did not merely advance Samuel Adams’s political philosophy. It made his financial problems disappear. When you understand this, his extraordinary energy in the cause of independence begins to look less like principle and more like survival.

QotD: “Instead of the unsinkable battleship we have the unsinkable Military Expert …”

Filed under: Britain, History, Military, Quotations, WW2 — Tags: , , , — Nicholas @ 01:00

One way of feeling infallible is not to keep a diary. Looking back through the diary I kept in 1940 and 1941 I find that I was usually wrong when it was possible to be wrong. Yet I was not so wrong as the Military Experts. Experts of various schools were telling us in 1939 that the Maginot Line was impregnable, and that the Russo-German Pact had put an end to Hitler’s eastwards expansion; in early 1940 they were telling us that the days of tank warfare were over; in mid 1940 they were telling us that the Germans would invade Britain forthwith; in mid 1941 that the Red army would fold up in six weeks; in December 1941, that Japan would collapse after ninety days; in July 1942, that Egypt was lost and so on, more or less indefinitely.

Where now are the men who told us those things? Still on the job, drawing fat salaries. Instead of the unsinkable battleship we have the unsinkable Military Expert …

George Orwell, “As I Please”, Tribune, 1943-12-17.

Update, 27 March: Welcome, Instapundit readers! Have a look around at some of my other posts you may find of interest. I send out a daily summary of posts here through my Substack – https://substack.com/@nicholasrusson that you can subscribe to if you’d like to be informed of new posts in the future.

March 25, 2026

Montaigne, a Substacker avant la lettre

Filed under: Books, France, History, Media — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

On Substack (of course), Ted Gioia makes the case that Michel Eyquem, Seigneur de Montaigne (or “Montaigne” to unwashed moderns) was the historical progenitor of all essayists to follow:

Michel de Montaigne may be the most influential essayist in history — even Shakespeare borrowed from his work (taking some passages almost verbatim). But if Montaigne were alive today, this famous essayist might be mistaken for just another slacker living in his parents’ basement.

Okay, let’s be fair. He actually lived in the family castle. But it still was slacking. At age 38, he didn’t have a job — and preferred reading books. Leave me alone, was his message to the world.

The Montaigne family castle (Photo by Henry Salomé)

But even a castle was too noisy for him — or maybe it was just his wife from an arranged marriage that made him feel that way. In any event, Montaigne eventually decided that he needed total isolation, almost like a monk in a hermitage. So he moved into the tower on the family estate. He called it his citadel.

Here he surrounded himself with books, and announced his intention to devote the rest of his life to reading and philosophizing “in calm and freedom from all cares”.

Montaigne’s tower (Photo by Henry Salomé)

But at age 47, Montaigne had a change of heart. He returned to the world, ready to embark on travels and public service. But before leaving for Italy, he had one last goal he needed to fulfill closer to home — and it would have a decisive impact on Western culture.

During his years in the tower, Montaigne wrote 94 essays, and compiled them in two book-length manuscripts. These he now delivered to a printer in Bordeaux, and paid to have them published. A short while later, he traveled to Paris and proudly gave a copy to King Henry III

In his mind, he was serving as his own patron, drawing on the family wealth to cover the expenses of his debut as an author. But today, of course, we would call this self-publishing — a term that is often (unfairly) used to demean the value and legitimacy of these rule-breaking efforts by do-it-yourself writers.

Call it what you will, Montaigne’s achievement cannot be denied. He not only invented the modern essay — setting the stage for Bacon, Emerson, and so many others. But he also helped shape the human sciences and legitimize the personal memoir. That’s because his essays covered many topics but really had only one subject—namely Montaigne himself, with all his quirks and opinions and hot takes.

His essays marked a milestone in the history of individualism. So, of course it makes sense that they were self-published. That’s what individualists do. They are happy to work outside the system.

I could even imagine our slacker Montaigne publishing these essays on Substack today. You might say that he anticipated the Substack style of writing. His balancing of memoir and analysis, subjective and objective, observation and generalization is very much aligned with what I see on this platform every day.

March 24, 2026

“Matt Goodwin’s Suicide of a Nation is a very bad book”

Filed under: Books, Britain, Media, Politics — Tags: , , , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

In The Critic, Ben Sexsmith reviews a new book by Matt Goodwin, Suicide of a Nation: Immigration, Islam, Identity:

Here is an exceptionally easy argument to make:

  1. Mass migration is ensuring that the historical majority in Britain is becoming a minority.
  2. This is the result of policies that have been pursued regardless of popular opinion.
  3. This has had many kinds of destructive consequences.

The first claim is so obviously true that one might as well deny the greenness of the grass. The second is proven by decades of broken promises (see Anthony Bowles’s article “Immigration and Consent” for more). The third requires argumentation, but I think that it is clear if one considers hideous incidences of terrorism, grooming gangs and violent censoriousness, as well as broader trends of economic dependency and electoral sectarianism.

Again, this is not a difficult argument to make. So why is it made so badly?

Matt Goodwin’s Suicide of a Nation is a very bad book. It reads like the book of a political operator extending his CV. The left-wing commentator Andy Twelves caused a stir on social media by pointing out various factual mistakes and what appear to be non-existent quotes. Twelves speculates that these “quotes” are the result of AI hallucinations, which is plausible, if not proven, in the light of the fact that two of Mr Goodwin’s sparse footnotes contain source information from ChatGPT.

Inasmuch as Suicide of a Nation makes a form of the argument sketched out the beginning of this article, there is truth to it. But it contains a fundamental problem — it assumes that this argument is so true that there is no requirement to make it well.

“Slop” is an overused term but it feels painfully appropriate for a book that is spoon fed to its audience. Goodwin, who had a long academic career before becoming a successful commentator, is not a man who lacks intelligence. But he writes as if he thinks his audience lacks it. “I did not write this book for the ruling class”, writes Goodwin, “I wrote it for the forgotten majority”. Alas, he seems to think that the average member of the “forgotten majority” has the reading level of a dimwitted 12-year-old. As well as being stylistically simple, the book is full of annoying paternal asides. “In the pages ahead I shall walk you through what is happening to the country …” “In the next chapter we will begin our journey …” Thank you, Mr Goodwin. Can we stop for ice cream?

The book is terribly derivative, with a title that reflects Pat Buchanan’s Suicide of a Superpower and a subtitle — “Immigration, Islam, Identity” — that all but repeats that of Douglas Murray’s The Strange Death of Europe — “Immigration, Identity, Islam”. It is written in the humourless and colourless rhetorical style of AI. I’m not saying it was AI-generated. (Indeed, a brief assessment using AI checkers suggests that it was not.) I’m just saying that it might as well have been.

Baking the Original Apple Pie from Medieval England

Filed under: Britain, Food, History — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 02:00

Tasting History with Max Miller
Published 16 Sept 2025

Hot water crust pie filled with mashed apples and pears with raisins, figs, and spices

City/Region: England
Time Period: c. 1390

This is the first recorded recipe for apple pie, written in England around 1390 in The Forme of Cury. As many historical recipes are, this one is bare bones and leaves a lot of room for interpretation. The “good spices” in the recipe could mean basically any combination of spices you like. I think this is probably referring to a popular medieval spice mixture called poudre douce, whose exact contents varied from cook to cook. Popular spices included cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, black pepper, long pepper, cardamom, ginger, galangal, and cloves, so feel free to experiment and make up your own.

Whichever spices you use will affect how familiar or exotic the pie tastes, and I really enjoyed the version I made. It’s not too sweet with most of the sweetness coming from the fruit, and I found the spices to be really strong but really pleasant. Unlike modern apple pies, the filling is more of a compote texture, but it holds together nicely. It’s a perfect recipe to try for the fall.

    For to make Tartys in Applis.
    Tak gode Applys and gode Spycis and Figys and reysons and Perys and wan they are wel ybrayed coloured with Safron well and do yt in a cofyn and yt forth to bake wel.
    — The Forme of Cury c. 1390

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QotD: Citizens of a polis

Filed under: Europe, Greece, History, Quotations — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 01:00

A polis is most importantly made up of the citizens, the politai (singular polites (πολίτης), plural politai (πολῖται)); indeed, Aristotle says this too in his Politics (Arist. Pol. 1274b): “for the state [polis] is an assembly of citizens [politai].” Now we are used to the idea that most people in a country are citizens of it, but the idea of the politai is much narrower. In its fundamental meaning a polites is a person engaged in the running of the polis; it is an idea defined by political participation. The politai were adult, citizen men; women, children, the enslaved and free non-citizens were all excluded from this group. A bit of demographic math might suggest that a modest polis with 2000 inhabitants might thus have just 300-400 politai.

Not everyone born in a polis was a member of the politai. Women could be of citizen status (and thus able to bear citizen children in poleis where that was required), but they could not be citizens at all. Being the male child of citizen parents was generally the core requirement of citizenship and in a democratic polis that was generally enough, but oligarchic poleis typically imposed wealth qualifications for political participation so not everyone born to citizens might themselves be a polites if they ended up too poor to meet the requirements. The terms astos and aste (ἀστός and ἀστή), “townsman” and “townswoman” respectively, might be used to make this distinction between the politai and people who were “merely” natives of the polis but barred for whatever reason from political participation. These distinctions become a lot more meaningful when you realize the point Aristotle is making defining the polis this way: if the polis is a community of politai then the residents of a polis (the physical space) who are not citizens are not members of the polis (not merely, we might imagine, non-participatory members).

Now the politai themselves also existed in subdivisions. We’ve mentioned division into demes or neighborhoods; while notionally geographic, demes could become hereditary (and indeed did become so in Athens). In Sparta and some poleis on Crete, citizens were divided into mess groups (syssitia or andreia). But by far the most common and important such division was into “tribes” or phylai (φυλαί, sing. φυλή), inherited kinship groups that often formed the largest subdivision of the politai of a polis, with even very small poleis having attested divisions into phylai in some cases (e.g. Delos as noted by M.H. Hansen in “Civic Subdivisions” in the Inventory). The politai might also be subdivided by other groupings like phratria (brotherhoods) and indeed a polis might have multiple such groupings, either neatly nested (as in Athens’ demes sorted into thirty trittyes sorted into ten phylai to make up the citizen body) or they might confusingly cross-cut each other.

There’s another key distinction between the politai – or at least men who might be politai – which isn’t a legal distinction but nevertheless matters for understanding how the Greeks imagined civic governance: the distinction between the few (hoi oligoi) and the many (hoi polloi). The few were the economic elite of the politai – the wealthy landowners – and the dominant group in oligarchies. A few terms might signify this group: “the few” (οἱ ὀλίγοι – hoi oligoi) or “the best” (οἱ ἄριστοι – hoi aristoi), or “the rich” (οἱ πλούσιοι – hoi plousioi) and can also be part of the meaning of the appellation “beautiful and good” (καλὸς κἀγαθός = καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός – kalos kagathos) which translates more idiomatically to something like “gentleman” with an implication of both good conduct (especially in war) and high status. At its broadest reach, the few might consist of those politai with enough wealth to serve as hoplites, though it seems in most cases this group is understood much more narrowly and might be defined by heredity in addition to wealth in some cases.

In contrast to the few were, of course, the many. Once again a few terms might signify this group: “the many” (οἱ πολλοί – hoi polloi or οἱ πλῆθος – hoi plethos) or “the poor” (οἱ ἀποροῖ – hoi aporoi) or the people (δῆμος – demos), the last of which gives us the word democracy – rule by the demos. At its narrowest extent, these are all of the people too poor to serve as hoplites but who would otherwise be politai; in fact in a democracy they are politai, but in closed oligarchies they may not be. More broadly the concept of the demos can encompass all of the politai, both wealthy and poor, especially in a democratic context. Nevertheless the Greeks often understand these two groups as oppositional and non-overlapping: the politai composed of “the few”, with money and high status lineages and “the many”, without that, but with far greater raw numbers.

As we’ll see, it is that distinction – between “the few” and “the many” which the Greeks used to define the different forms of polis government, what they called a politeia (πολιτεία), which we might translate as “constitution” with the caveat that these are not written constitutions. And that’s where we’ll go next: now that we have our subdivisions, we’ll discuss next week the different ways they are organized and governed.

Bret Devereaux, “Collections: How to Polis, 101: Component Parts”, A Collection of Unmitigated Pedantry, 2023-03-10.

March 23, 2026

The REAL History of Worcestershire Sauce (and a few others …)

Filed under: Britain, Food, History — Tags: , , — Nicholas @ 02:00

Tweedy Misc
Published 20 Nov 2025

A look into the history of Worcestershire Sauce, and some other related sauces and condiments originating in the 18th and 19th centuries.

In doing so I try to understand whether Lea and Perrins created something brand new in their Worcestershire Sauce of the 1830s, or whether it was more an evolution of other similar styles of sauce which already existed at that time like Harvey’s Sauce, and Reading Sauce … and in turn do both of those owe something to an even earlier condiment — Quin’s Sauce …?

I also debunk an oft retold (particularly here in YouTube) story about Baron Sandys returning from a post as the Governor of Bengal being the inspiration for Lea and Perrins’ Worcestershire Sauce — it’s almost certainly not true.

0:00 Introduction
0:55 What is Worcestershire Sauce?
1:22 Ingredients and Recipes
3:01 History of Worcestershire Sauce
6:33 Food in Georgian England
7:51 Hare Soup!
8:22 Harvey’s Sauce
11:00 Reading Sauce
13:21 Quin’s Sauce
14:49 Yorkshire Relish
16:04 Henderson’s Relish
17:02 Conclusion

He also posted an addendum to this video.

March 22, 2026

How To Indoctrinate the Children – Death of Democracy 08 – Q4 1934

Filed under: Germany, History — Tags: , , , , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

World War Two and Spartacus Olsson
Published 21 Mar 2026

In this episode of Death of Democracy, we examine Germany in the final quarter of 1934, as Adolf Hitler tightens his grip on power after Hindenburg’s death and prepares the Reich for the next stage of Nazi rule. Behind a façade of order, the regime accelerates secret rearmament, deepens propaganda and youth indoctrination, pushes Jews further out of public life, and turns universities, schools, and culture into instruments of ideological control.

This documentary explores Nazi Germany in late 1934 through the looming Saar plebiscite, the growth of the Hitler myth, rising public frustration with local Nazi officials, and the regime’s deeper preparation for dictatorship, expansion, and war. If you are interested in Hitler, Nazi propaganda, rearmament, antisemitism, the Saar vote, and the collapse of democracy in Germany, this episode provides the critical context.
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“In 1800, most people worked the land. By 1900, most didn’t. … That’s a psychological earthquake”

Filed under: Education, Europe, Health, History, USA — Tags: , , — Nicholas @ 03:00

On the social media site formerly known as Twitter, L. Wayne Mathison points out just how vast the disruption of normal, traditional lives over less than a century has torn most of us from our historical moorings:

Image generated with AI

The Great Collision: When Reality Stopped Making Sense

For most of human history, life wasn’t confusing. It was hard, yes. Brutal, often. But simple.

You were born into a pattern. You followed it. You died in it.

Then the 20th century showed up like a wrecking ball.

What people call “progress” was really a mass psychological dislocation. We didn’t just move from farms to cities. We lost the structure that told us who we were.

We solved survival. Then immediately created a meaning crisis.

That’s the trade nobody advertises.

1. The Shock: When Life Broke Its Own Pattern

People think industrialization was about better tools. It wasn’t. It was about ripping people out of identity.

In 1800, most people worked the land. By 1900, most didn’t. That’s not a statistic. That’s a psychological earthquake.

Tradition vanished faster than people could adapt. So the state stepped in and did what states always do. Standardize. Educate. Normalize.

Mass schooling didn’t just teach reading. It replaced lost culture with manufactured culture.

Useful? Yes.

Neutral? Not even close.

You don’t remove a thousand-year identity system and expect people to just “figure it out”.

They don’t. They drift.

2. The Lie We Tell Ourselves: “People Want the Truth”

No, they don’t. They want to feel right.

Semmelweis proved it. Doctors were killing women by not washing their hands. When he showed them, they didn’t thank him. They rejected him. Destroyed him.

Why?

Because truth wasn’t the problem. Identity was.

If the facts say “you’re causing harm”, and your identity says “I’m a healer”, most people will reject the facts. Not update the identity.

That’s the Is vs Ought gap in plain terms:

The world is what it is
You believe what should be
When they collide, you protect the belief

Not truth. Belief.

That’s not stupidity. That’s self-preservation.

3. The Split: Are You a Person or a Machine?

Here’s the quiet tension nobody resolves.

You experience yourself as a decision-maker. You choose. You judge. You act.

But science describes you as chemistry and electrical signals.

Both are true. And they don’t fit together cleanly.

The old world said: you are a moral agent.

The modern world says: you are a biological system.

So which one is responsible when something goes wrong?

If you lean too far into “machine”, responsibility disappears.

If you lean too far into “agent”, you ignore constraints.

Most people bounce between the two depending on what excuses them fastest.

4. The Dangerous Shortcut: Let Someone Else Decide

Freedom sounds nice until it demands something from you.

Dostoevsky nailed this. People don’t just want freedom. They want relief from it.

So they trade it. Quietly.

Security, comfort, certainty. Those become the new gods.

And then comes the predictable move. Someone steps in and says:

“I’ll decide what’s good for everyone.”

History has a word for those people. It’s not flattering.

Once you remove any higher standard, the only thing left is preference backed by power.

That’s when things get ugly fast.

5. When “Good Intentions” Go Off the Rails

This is where it usually collapses.

When there’s no fixed standard, people start building their own. Then enforcing it.

George Bernard Shaw is a perfect example. Smart. Influential. Completely untethered.

Once you decide some people are “in the way”, the logic gets dark very quickly.

Not because people are monsters.

Because they think they’re right.

That’s always the justification.

Final Reframe: You Don’t Get Meaning for Free

Here’s the uncomfortable truth.

The old systems that gave people meaning are gone or weakened. They’re not coming back in their original form.

So now you’re left with a choice most people avoid:

Drift and absorb whatever narrative is loudest
Or build your own framework and take responsibility for it

There is no neutral ground.

You’re either shaping your values, or inheriting someone else’s without noticing.

Most people think they’re thinking.

They’re not. They’re echoing.

Simple Stoic Move

Strip it down.

Ask one question:

“What do I actually control here?”

Then act there. Only there.

Everything else is noise.

And right now, there’s a lot of noise.

[NR] – minor formatting added.

March 21, 2026

The second naval battle of Narvik

Filed under: Britain, Germany, History, Military, WW2 — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 05:00

On his Substack, James Holland recounts the events of April, 1940 when British and German ships fought savagely for the port of Narvik in the north of Norway. The first battle had resulted in the loss of several destroyers on each side and the deaths of the commanders as well. A couple of days later, the Royal Navy sent in a more powerful force to eliminate the surviving ships of the Kriegsmarine and secure the port for landing allied troops:

Narvik harbour after the first battle, April 1940.

The next few days were marked by caution and ponderousness by both sides. Now commanding the German flotilla was Kapitän Erich Bey. His remaining ships were trapped unless he moved them swiftly. This meant refuelling as soon as possible from the surviving oiler, making the damaged ships seaworthy, then using bad weather, darkness and supporting U-boats to sneak out past the British in the Vestfjord beyond the Ofotfjord. Although the ships were all refuelled and engines repaired, he then suffered a further calamity when the Zenke damaged her propellers manouevring around the wrecks in Narvik harbour, and the Köllner also caused debilitating damage while refuelling and made herself unseaworthy. Difficult though it was to manoeuvre in the narrow confines of Narvik, these were entirely avoidable and self-inflicted own goals. The British, meanwhile, reeling from the rapid German advances through southern Norway and uncertain what plan to now pursue, dithered from a lack of clear, unified and determined decision-making, so that it was not until the morning of 13th April that they returned, this time with four larger tribal-class destroyers, five further destroyers and the mighty battleship, HMS Warspite, all under the command of Admiral Whitworth.

Kapitän Bey had known the Royal Navy were coming, partly because German cryptanalysts had deciphered British naval codes, but also because it was blindingly obvious they would do. He tried to deploy his ships as well as he might but knew in his heart the situation was hopeless. The crippled Köllner was towed to Taarstadt, an inlet beyond Ballangen, where it was to lie in wait, unseen, for the arrival of the British then fire her torpedoes and guns and hope for the best. She had only reached the inlet at Djupvik, some 20 miles west from Narvik, when she was spotted by the Warspite‘s Swordfish floatplane late in the morning of 13th April. As the leading British ships, Bedouin and Eskimo, turned the headland, their guns and torpedoes were trained and ready. Köllner‘s bow was ripped off by the first torpedo and the rest of her sunk soon after. That was three of the ten now at the bottom of the fjord. The remaining seven had barely begun moving before the rest of the British force were bearing down upon them through the mist, frost and snow. First, though, ten Swordfish, flown from the aircraft carrier, HMS Furious, swooped down. Their orders were to dive-bomb the German ships, a role for which they were not suited; Swordfish, slow, ungainly biplanes, were designed to fly in low and drop torpedoes, a role to which they were, in fact, very well suited. As dive-bombers, however, they hit nothing but lost two of their own in an entirely fruitless attack.

It was also completely unnecessary as Whitworth’s force had the matter firmly in hand. The German destroyers, still nursing the damage of four days earlier, swiftly fired all their remaining ammunition and were now effectively sitting ducks. Bey ordered them into the narrow Rombaksfjord, east and to the north of Narvik, where they were hotly pursued by Eskimo, Bedouin and even Warspite. Here the fjord narrowed to a few hundred yards before widening to half a mile but with the high mountain sides looming over this gloomily dark and slender channel, there was nowhere for the surviving German destroyers to go. The Künne was dispatched by Bedouin, and although the Georg Thiele fired one last torpedo that blew off the bow of Eskimo, her captain then ran her aground like the Hardy, while the surviving three, the Zenke, Von Armin and Lüdemann, steamed to the head of the fjord where they, too, deliberately ran themselves aground. The crews all then made good their escape into the mountains to join the Gebirgsjäger [mountain troops] that had disembarked five days earlier and who were still holding a shallow bridgehead around Narvik.

The second British naval action off Narvik. A diagram of the battle of 13 April 1940.
Imperial War Museum

Amazingly, Eskimo remained afloat, sailing stern-first back out of the fjord and to safety. She was repaired and would fight again, not least against the Bismarck in May 1941. But here in the waters around Narvik, the naval battle was now over, with half the Kriegsmarine‘s destroyer fleet sunk and lost — a disaster from which it could not hope to recover. A golden opportunity to send in decisive numbers of Allied troops to fight and defeat the beleaguered German troops in Narvik was now laid out on a plate. Southern Norway might have already been lost but the north — and, crucially, the iron-ore railway line and port — lay there for the taking — on paper, at any rate. British, French and Polish troops were eventually landed but this was not a part of the world where landing and maintaining supplies was at all straightforward. Britain had only a few basic landing craft at this early stage of the war, there were few beaches and its geographical remoteness and weather made a difficult task even harder. As it happened, by early June, the Allies did have victory there within their grasp, but by then, France was being overrun and facing defeat and the Allies decided the better part of valour was to pull out while they had the chance and consolidate in Britain instead. The Allied expedition to Norway was over.

The ramifications of the naval battle were significant, however. The Kriegsmarine not only lost half their destroyer fleet, but also one of two heavy cruisers, two of six light cruisers and six U-boats, leaving their navy woefully depleted. It also meant their plans for a successful surface fleet marauding in the Atlantic had been left in tatters. The U-boats, withdrawn from the Atlantic for the campaign, hit not a single vessel, largely due to problems with the magnetic ignition pistols on their torpedoes. For the three months they were tied up in the waters around Norway, they were not in the Atlantic, giving Britain a vital free pass as convoys sailed unimpeded. During the critical summer months of 1940, this was to prove a hugely important lifeline. Norway had been clinically subdued by Germany but it would cost Hitler more than half a million troops, all told, as well the costly construction of the Atlantic Wall in the years to come — a series of bunkers, coastal gun batteries and barracks in some of the remotest outposts of Europe and at an untold cost in men, resources and money. Norway would become an albatross around Nazi Germany’s neck, while its value to the Kriegsmarine was negligible.

The grave of Captain Bernard Warburton-Lee, VC, RN, in Narvik.
Photo by James Holland

The Complete Chieftain Tank

Filed under: Britain, History, Military, Weapons — Tags: , , , , , — Nicholas @ 04:00

The Tank Museum
Published 20 Mar 2026

Chieftain. The world’s first main battle tank. An icon of the Cold War, it served the British Army for more than 30 years. Yet, it had something of a Jekyll and Hyde reputation. It was prized for having the best gun in the world but, for the British, it never fired a shot in anger. Loved by gunners. Loathed by mechanics. The Chieftain was often referred to as the best tank in the world as long as it broke down in the right place.

But was the gun truly as good as the stats make it out to be? And was the engine really that bad? It’s time to take a dive into the heart of the Iron Triangle to find out.

00:00 | Introduction
00:36 | Gun
03:44 | Engine
06:19 | Armour
11:07 | Just Deserts
13:53 | A Tragic Hero

In this film, join James Donaldson as he delves into the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of the Chieftain tank. With a great gun, revolutionary armour, and a misunderstood engine, Chieftain’s service with the British ensured the Cold War never turned hot. And hear from Chieftain veterans, Bob and Steve, as they share their experiences with this iconic tank.
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March 20, 2026

The BBC is cheerleading Britain’s “baby bust”

Filed under: Britain, Media — Tags: , , , , — Nicholas @ 03:00

In The Conservative Woman, Dr. Tony Rucinski reports on a recent BBC programme that clearly takes a dim view of parenting:

ON March 13 – the Friday before Mother’s Day – the Centre for Social Justice published Baby Bust, a report projecting that 600,000 British women alive today may miss out on motherhood they actually wanted. Nine in ten young women still hope to become mothers. The ONS confirms the total fertility rate fell to a record low of 1.41 in 2024. The CSJ calculates a “birth gap” of 30 per cent, with 831,000 people turning 50 in 2024 but only 595,000 babies born.

You probably did not hear about it. No identifiable standalone BBC News website article or feature covering the report has appeared. Our national broadcaster had other priorities. Namely a 1,500-word feature headlined “Like a trap you can’t escape: The women who regret being mothers“. It promoted the piece on social media, where it drew hundreds of critical replies. Instead of covering a demographic crisis, the BBC gave prominent space to a piece whose own evidence undermines its thesis – and thus revealed something important about the role it plays in the very crisis it should be reporting.

Its maternal regret article relies on a 2023 study conducted in Poland which estimates some 5 to 14 per cent of parents regret their decision to have children, a review article which synthesises several methodologically incomparable surveys – different countries, different age groups, different question wordings.

The more important point is its arithmetic. If 5 to 14 per cent of parents experience some regret, then 86 to 95 per cent do not. But the BBC devoted a feature-length article to the minority experience and ignored the majority one entirely. The lead case study featured is of a pseudonymous woman, Carmen, who came from a background of violence and dysfunction. But further data unsurprisingly finds the regret rates to be higher among single parents than married ones: 27.3 per cent versus 9.8 per cent. And that adverse childhood experiences, depression, and anxiety were also strongly associated with parental regret.

The BBC’s article however did not mention marriage once. Even the therapists quoted made the case against the BBC’s framing without apparently realising it. They repeatedly stated that regret often reflects “isolation, exhaustion, or lost identity” – failures of support, not failures of motherhood as a vocation.

The far larger and more painful form of regret that the BBC also ignored is the regret of women who wanted children and never had them, the highest figures among those who experienced fertility treatment failure. Or the similar regret found among couples whose fertility treatment did not result in a child. Or that involuntarily childless women’s regret intensifies with age.

The CSJ’s huge figure of 600,000 “missing mothers” just did not fit the narrative the BBC wants to tell.

Nor is this an isolated editorial misjudgment. Between 2023 and 2026, the BBC published a series of prominent features sympathetic to negative experiences of motherhood or to child-free lifestyles, among them: “I felt like a freak because I didn’t want children” (April 2024). “The adults celebrating child-free lives” (February 2023). “True cost of becoming a mum highlighted in new data on pay” (October 2025).

In the same period, not a single piece of the BBC’s coverage of Miriam Cates – the most prominent parliamentary advocate for pro-natalist policy – featured conversion therapy, smartphones and the trans debate, or substantially addressed her work on demographics or declining birth rates.

The Revenge Plot: Orestes’s Foreshadowing in The Odyssey

Filed under: Books, Europe, History — Tags: , , — Nicholas @ 02:00

MoAn Inc.
Published 4 Dec 2025

This video was filmed in July of 2025. I wasn’t going to upload it due to the weird not-really-focused-but-also-kinda-focused-thing my phone camera was clearly going through, but decided I didn’t care that much because the content itself was fine x
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March 19, 2026

QotD: From the fall of the Soviets to the rise of the Wokerati

Filed under: Britain, History, Law, Politics, Quotations, USA — Tags: , , , , , — Nicholas @ 01:00

… for 50 years the Soviet nuclear threat provided […] an Armageddon to fear, and a reason to rally round the state in the free countries of the West. It provided an unexpected bonus, which protected us all though we did not realise it at the time. Since the USSR was the arsenal of repression, political liberty in the Western lands was under special protection as long as the Kremlin was our enemy. Freedom was, supposedly, what we fought and stood for. Governments claiming to be guarding us from Soviet tyranny could not go very far in limiting liberty on their own territory, however much they may have wanted to.

That protection ended when the Berlin Wall fell. In the same extraordinary moment, the collapse of Russian communism liberated revolutionary radicals across the Western world. The ghastly, failed Brezhnev state could not be hung round their necks like a putrid albatross any more. They were no longer considered as potential traitors simply because they were on the left. Eric Hobsbawm, and those like him, could at last join the establishment. Indeed, fortresses of the establishment such as the BBC now welcomed political as well as cultural leftists onto their upper decks.

Antonio Gramsci’s rethinking of the revolution — seize the university, the school, the TV station, the newspaper, the church, the theatre, rather than the barracks, the railway station and the post office — could at last get under way. At that moment, the long march of 1960s leftists through the institutions began to reach its objective, as they moved into the important jobs for the first time. And so one of the main protections of liberty and reason vanished, exactly when it was most needed.

The BBC’s simpering coverage of the Blair regime’s arrival in Downing Street, with its North-Korean-style fake crowd waving Union Jacks they despised, and new dawn atmosphere was not as ridiculous as it looked. May 1997 truly was a regime change. Illiberal utopians really were increasingly in charge, and the Cultural Revolution at last had political muscle.

Then came the new enemy, the shapeless ever-shifting menace of terrorism, against which almost any means were justified. To combat this, we willingly gave up Habeas Corpus and the real presumption of innocence, and allowed ourselves to be treated as if we were newly-convicted prisoners every time we passed through an airport.

Those who think the era of the face-mask will soon be over might like to recall that the irrational precautions of airport “security” (almost wholly futile once the simple precaution of refusing to open the door to the flight deck has been introduced) have not only remained in place since September 2001: they have been intensified. Yet, by and large, they are almost popular. Those who mutter against them, as I sometimes do, face stern lectures from our fellow-citizens implying that we are irresponsible and heedless.

Now a new fear, even more shapeless, invisible, perpetual (and hard to defeat — how can you ever eliminate a virus?) than al-Qaeda or Isis, has arrived in our midst. There is almost no bad action it cannot be used to excuse, including the strangling of an already shaky economy for which those eccentric or lucky enough to still be working will pay for decades. Millions have greeted this new peril as an excuse to abandon a liberty they did not really care much about anyway.

As a nation, we now produce more fear than we can consume locally, hiding in our homes as civil society evaporates. We queue up happily to hand in our freedom and to collect our muzzles and our digital IDs. And those of us who cry out, until we are hoarse, to say that this is a catastrophe, are met with shrugs from the chattering classes, and snarls of “just put on the frigging mask” from the mob. If I hadn’t despaired long ago, I would be despairing now.

Peter Hitchens, “Democracy muzzled”, The Critic, 2020-09-25.

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