Titans are in Town

by Tomislav Sunic

  Tomislav Sunic

  Titans are in Town

  A Novella and Accompanying Essays

  Preface by Kevin MacDonald

  Arktos

  London 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Arktos Media Ltd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means (whether electronic or mechanical), including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United Kingdom.

  ISBN

  978-1-912079-95-7 (Ebook)

  978-1-912079-51-3 (Softcover)

  Editor

  Jonathan Wales

  Cover and Layout

  Tor Westman

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  Preface

  Tom Sunic takes a very long view of Western history and culture. It is a view that is much informed by Greek mythology, and he finds parallels between the modern world and the world view of our Indo-European ancestors that found its expression in that mythology. As he notes in “What to Read” (Chapter II) a key theme is chaos versus order. There is a certain pessimism, a pessimism which in the contemporary West is represented by the racial and social decadence depicted in his novella The Titans Are in Town. There is an eternal struggle against chaos and disorder that must be continually fought, with the end always in doubt, survival always under threat, catastrophe always looming.

  The keys to understanding TTAIT can be found in other chapters, particularly Chapter VII, which contains Dr. Sunic’s translation of passages from Friedrich Georg Jünger’s The Titans and the Coming of the Titanic Age. The Titans are the guardians of order. They are not Gods, and indeed they are matched one-to-one with Gods, for example, Zeus to Cronus, kings of the Gods and Titans respectively. Having been defeated by the Gods, the suffering of the Titans is immense: “The suffering of the Titans, after their downfall, reveals itself in all its force. The vanquished Titan represents one of the greatest images of suffering. Toppled, thrown down under into the ravines beneath the Earth, sentenced to passivity, the Titan knows only how to carry, how to heave, and how to struggle with the burden — similar to the burden borne by the Caryatids.”

  While the Gods are self-sufficient and substantially separated from human suffering, human life with its pain and sorrow exists within the Titanic order. This order is cyclic, returning again and again. The Titans thus have no destiny but to repeat the recurring, eternal struggle against chaos, eternally struggling to regain power over the Gods who defeated them. The Titan represents the essence of Western man’s quest for greatness. Jünger further commented:

  The Titanic trait occurs everywhere and can be described in many ways. Titanic is a man who relies completely upon himself and has boundless confidence in his own powers. This confidence absolves him, but at the same time it isolates him in a Promethean fashion. It gives him a feeling of independence, albeit not devoid of arrogance, violence, and defiance. Titanic is a quest for unfettered freedom and independence. However, wherever this quest is to be seen there appears a regulatory factor, a mechanically operating necessity that emerges as a correction to such a quest.

  Dr. Sunic describes the fundamental traits of Titans in Chapter IX (“Tragedy and Myth in Modern Europe”) as the essence of the West, pointing to the pesky Titan Prometheus, always trying to surpass himself with his boundless intellectual curiosity. Prometheus unbound is the prime symbol of the White man’s irresistible drive toward the unknown, toward the truth, irrespective of the name he carries in ancient sagas, modern novels, or political treatises. The English and the German poets of the early nineteenth century, the so-called Romanticists, frequently invoked the Greek Gods and especially the Titan Prometheus.

  The Titanic spirit is fundamentally tragic. It keeps on battling even though the odds against winning are impossibly steep. It is a spirit that is desperately needed in the West today:

  The tragic person knows that the cosmic odds are never in his favor. Yet he continues to fight although he knows that he is doomed. In a way we can use this tragic rule in our own fight. Our chances of success in turning back the liberal end times are slim, yet we must continue to fight. Our struggle, as of now a cultural one, gives us at least some chance of success and a slim opportunity that the odds may turn to our advantage.

  The Titans are thus a metaphor for our struggles now as the West is being invaded by peoples and cultures completely biologically and culturally foreign from the Western spirit. Like the Titans, we must soldier on, knowing the battle is never won and knowing that the odds against us are overwhelming.

  The Titans were defeated, but they could not be annihilated. They are immortal just like Gods. They could not be brainwashed into political correctness. They wait for their times. And the times will soon come when the Titans will be back in town.

  This brings us to Dr. Sunic’s novella The Titans are in Town. Ultimately, for Sunic the cause of looming catastrophe comes down to Europeans themselves. A major theme of TTAIT is that Whites are willing to sell out their own people. They are jealous and envious of the success of other Whites, as also discussed in “A White Character Survey: Envy in Politics and Literature” (Chapter V) and hence unwilling to cooperate with other Whites in the long, hard struggle for survival. Thus in considering Donald Trump, many Whites are put off by his extraordinary success — his wealth, his beautiful family, celebrity status — and fail to see that Trump could indeed by a hero for his people, a leader who could turn back the tide of contemporary racial and social chaos.

  It is a pathological case of individualism gone wild where so many Whites cannot see their collective interests, only their own sense of self-importance, and therefore do not cooperate with those who can further their interests. The result has been a long and exceedingly bloody series of conflicts between Whites, beginning with Greek city states and Roman aristocratic families, to the horrors of the twentieth century, and now to constant propaganda throughout the West on the evils of Vladimir Putin’s Russia. The common denominator has been a willingness to go to war against other Whites, typically framed as a moral imperative, rather than seeing other historically White nations as ultimately populated by genetic cousins who are now, in the twenty-first century endangered by the rising non-White multitudes pressing at their gates. “The unfolding chaos in the West, however, cannot be blamed on the incoming armies of Muslims or any other group of non-European migrants. Those who started the chaos and those who are now stoking it are decadent White elites who keep importing non-European migrants.” These elites cloak themselves with self-satisfied moral preening and virtue signaling, competing with each other to appear as moral paragons, while the costs of the non-White invasion are borne by Whites down the social ladder who are unable to move away from the onslaught and whose economic prospects have been devastated by the onslaught.

  TTAIT depicts a depressingly grim world with obvious parallels to the disastrous history of the twentieth century. The Titans were defeated in 1945, but they still survive in a twilight world of violence and corruption, still under attack by the Saturns who, in their former guise of “Bolshoi,” defeated them originally at Stalingrad. They are led by Held (“hero” in German) who battles to secure Town for the Titans against overwhelming and unending attack. After the defeat of 1945, the people of the West were fed the lie of a utopian end times of liberal progress and multiracial embrace. It was a lie made more attractive to humans by all the modern blandishments — the ready availability of drugs, sex, and rock’n’roll, to be enjoyed in the same places where the killing fields of the Saturns had been covered over and largely forgotten. These lies and te
mptations were embraced by many humans despite their inevitable ending in the destruction of themselves and their culture, but Held and his allies resolutely battle on, against all odds.

  Held is under no illusion about those he is trying to save from the Saturns, and that few people capable of the Titanic mentality remain in Town. He is well aware of their many wars against each other — the long history of bloody cousin wars from the Peloponnesian wars to the Chaos of 1914–1918. Held remembers the battles against the Turkish Sultans who captured and made his racial compatriots into eunuchs. Now the descendants of the Sultans are Turkish Saturns or they are the not-White wogs who are battling on the side of the Saturns, attempting what they failed to accomplish at the Gates of Vienna. And then there are the mischlings of mixed race, with no sense of being part of Town, a lower life form given to nothing more than breeding and biding its time. The wogs and the mischlings change their appearance to look like the people of Town, but they are not of Town. And many of Town’s people disguise themselves as Saturns, traitorously going over to the enemies of their people, just as we see many White people today becoming Antifas and other soldiers of the multicultural utopian future of linear progress. These turncoats are seduced by the constant Saturn-dominated media messages describing this utopian future as a moral imperative and by the desire to ingratiate themselves to the powerful Saturns.

  The utopian dream was made all the more believable by the brief, 50-year lull after the Chaos of 1939–1945 when the Wild West, as it is termed in TTAIT, produced the California-dream in an area not too distant from Town, a dream inevitably shattered by the encroaching wogs, mischlings, and Saturns. And because the wogs and mischlings are unable to create anything like a livable culture, they inevitably depend for their survival on the people whose lands they have invaded with the help of the Saturns. But their hatred for the Titans runs deep: “Held knew … that when the mischling Time comes, they would not hesitate to chop off his head and eat his raw dead meat.”

  Held states his fundamental world view:

  The opposite side of the notion of the end time is historical optimism and the belief in Progress, a word and a notion that by now has turned into a secular religion in the Wild West, but luckily with fewer and fewer followers even amidst its erstwhile architects and their dreaded Saturn progeny. The belief in Progress, to be sure, has had the upper hand and a strong voice over the last 200 hundred years and especially since 1945. Usually the advocates of Progress appear wrapped up in the Bolshoi garb, or carry a liberal, or even a Christian veneer, and can be therefore labeled, somewhat pejoratively, as world improvers. Those, by contrast, and here I include myself, who are skeptical of Progress, can be named Titans of the tragic or cultural pessimists; men who are aware of the cyclical nature of time and civilizations, knowing that after each sunny day comes a rainy day.

  And no matter how bad things seem, nothing in history is inevitable. The future is undetermined. The Titans can win their battle against the forces intent on destroying them, at least temporarily. The battle is eternal. It is never won, and it is never lost.

  This novella and the accompanying essays are an incredibly important achievement. Having read them, I feel that I have come to have a deeper understanding of what it means to be of the West in a psychological sense and to see that sense as going back to the furthest reaches of our Indo-European past. It is a spirit that we desperately need to recapture if we are going to take back our world from the contemporary Saturns, wogs, and mischlings.

  KEVIN MACDONALD

  November 2016

  Part I

  The Titans are in Town

  Chapter I: Chaos on the Doorstep

  Oh, how terrible is the time that passes us by without leaving any noise! A twist of one’s head and one is forty; a thrust of a foreign head and one is sixty. Never did he think about getting old and decrepit; nor did he think about his premature death. Youth has a blasphemous trait; they dream about the status quo, about an eternally frozen time in a make-believe history. By the time one starts to think retrospectively, signs of old age appear. For a beautiful woman, no shock, no anguish is as big as a first glimpse in the mirror of her accumulated age. No make-up, no mascara can ever replace the bygone times. Posturing in front of the morning mirror, like Alice in Wonderland is a vain pastime, which turns ugly in the timeless no-man’s Townland. By the time the first crow’s feet appeared on Held’s face, a deadly downhill battle had already begun.

  Town had its own story to tell, which in all instances resembled the story of other towns Held once knew in the Wild West, or in the Abendland, or whatever the name of it was once upon a time. His story was so unusual that when narrated by his progeny two hundred years after, nobody believed it. It was a moment bound by new time and new space, making all Townspeople consider themselves the center of the universe. But Town’s tale was just a short detour on a speck of the Earth with many other similar tales all over the Earth. Now it was Town’s turn to derail the well-trodden path, with Held being a man in charge. What was his charge?

  Of course, Held and his likes all once thought that bygone times yielded only tales of killings and sufferings. Those millions of world improvers who had once peddled bizarre myths forcing him and millions of other Helds to believe that only the bad guys could thrive in the dustbin of history, and that they would never ever make a Titanic comeback in Town. Strange words like “Nazis,” “fascists” and “democrats” had emerged amidst the world populace and occupied a good chunk of Held’s life span. Soon they were to become shut-up words associated with the utmost evil, causing Titanic rivers of blood that would smoothly legitimize the Saturn Lie forever.

  The memories of First Chaos, known only as World War I still thrived in third gear of pre-Titanic times. When the postwar lull abruptly ended, it furnished hope for Saturn improvers that some patching up of humans could be possible under the eternal aegis of the religion of Progress. When the Second World Chaos began and then abruptly ended, it dawned on some, but not on many, that this time around time had lost its purpose, that history had inexplicably broken loose of its well-trodden path. Millions of new lies swamped again the land masses known as America and Europe, reassuring all of their citizens that they were soon going to end up in a static multiracial embrace. After a brief surreal Transatlantic Lull, came again a time of no hope, followed soon by a gigantic illusion. The tremor that had hit the Wild West with the breakup of artificial states in the 1990s, was soon followed by a financial meltdown during the late 2000’s and then by the surge of the Age of Anxiety, followed anew by the indescribable anguish of those who had not yet come across a suitable word in world dictionaries. A new people’s migration started with millions of wogs and mischlings swarming into Europe. Names like “transparency,” “totalitarianism,” “human rights,” and the forever modern word “democracy,” were put on display, becoming part of a force-fed diet of the Saturn ruling class. It was curious to observe how intelligent and educated people toed the line of their new self-deception.

  Then it began to dawn on Held that the Big Lie doctored up by the Saturns was just a new religion, which, even when discarded, future times would replace with another set of lies, rebaptized, of course, into self-evident facts. What is the purpose then to discard the Lie if the new Saturn class will soon craft a new one — possibly even deadlier than the one it discarded? Is it possible to imagine now, or tomorrow in some new Titanic times, or later on, hundreds of eons from now, chaos on the doorstep of even greater cosmic proportions? When both sides fight for their versions of truth, truth becomes meaningless. Alas, when history derails from its trodden path, unimaginable scenes become horribly imaginable. Heroes turn into cowards; soldiers yearn to become runaways; friends become archenemies. An old cowboy in dire straits once sang the tune in the Wild West that “in the West even a hero gets a bullet in his chest.” What, therefore, does will to power for the glorious resurrection of Town and each of its residents mean, if each town and each of
its residents carry the seeds of its own unwilling destruction?

  Those were some of the thoughts crossing the minds of Held and Heroine whose co-lamentators in Town have been thinning out lately. Simply put, co-lamentators were dying by the score. Those cowards had left Town’s premises long ago. Town was now increasingly becoming a ghost town devoid of people. Even cats, dogs and other living creatures were becoming scant. Oh, how painful was it for Held to shrug off solitude all by himself! Killing Saturns has been Held’s pastime over the last past years, but killing time was inadvertently complicated in the light of the increasingly depopulated and static Town. Might it be that his stream of consciousness had already preempted his habitual stream of thought? Could it be that his alter ego was already walking the nearby slope of menacing death, right there over at the nearby hill? Oh, where were those beautiful moments of romantic solitude, somewhere on the invisible Marble Cliffs, mandated by his ex-commander Ernst in order to seal off his blissful eternity? No marble cliffs were now available other than the nearby mountains formed by the Townspeople from Sisyphean stones. This must have been long ago.

  In fact this was when it all had happened after his big comeback from the Wild West — times when death and dying had some purpose, some mystique and some metaphysical value. This time, however, time seemed to be closing in on him with no purpose left. There was no more hope for exit; there were no more Titans left. Gods were no longer needed because they had departed the Earth long time ago and hence were becoming superfluous for worship by Townspeople. And even if some hope were ever to be resurrected in Town, it would not make sense to Held. Held knew deadly well that in times of a short life span it was an iron law of the tragic, and that nearby towns, still untainted by Saturn horror, let alone by the glitz from cities across the Ocean, were also slated for their turn of Chaos. Just some years ago, on the very same day before he was born the Saturns had defeated his Titans in the town of Stalingrad, only to be dislodged themselves by new Saturnine deities fifty years later and awaiting now the same fate in their own provincial Townships.