One of the best books I've read over the years is Might Is Right by Ragnar Redbeard (who might have been Jack London). This book is pretty harsh and the sheeple should (and rightly do) stay far, far away from it. But it speaks to some, the Wolves Among the Sheep, and it's message is crystal clear and cannot be denied.
It seems whenever I let myself believe that life is all warm and fuzzy, reality steps in and smacks me in the face. Wake up! You know better!
So I'm re-visiting the book and will occasionally share some of it with you. For the weak, you better go elsewhere. For the strong, off we go...
THE VICTOR GETS THE GOLD
Virtue is rewarded in this world, remember. Natural law makes no false judgments. Its decisions are true and just, even when dreadful. The victor gets the gold and the land every time. He, also, gets the fairest maidens, the glory tributes. And — why should it be otherwise? Why should the delights of life go to failures and cowards? Why should the spoils of battle belong to the unwarlike? That would be insanity, utterly unnatural and immoral.
ALL ELSE IS ERROR
The natural world is a world of war; the natural man is a warrior; the natural law is tooth and claw. All else is error. A condition of combat everywhere exists. We are born into perpetual conflict. It is our inheritance, even as it was the heritage of previous generations. This ‘condition of combat’ may be disguised with the holy phrases of St. Francis, or the soft deceitful doctrines of a Kropotkin or Tolstoi, but it cannot be eventually evaded by any human being or any tribe of human beings. It is there and it stays there, and each man (whether he will or not) has to reckon with it. It rules all things; it governs all things; it reigns over all things and it decides all who imagine policemanized populations, internationally regulated tranquility, and State organized industrialism so joyful, blessed and divine.
Behold the crucifix, what does it symbolize? Pallid incompetence hanging on a tree.
Lo, I hear the fighters coming
Over hill and dale and plain.
With battle cry of ages
In a Rebel world again.
Who’d forge their swords to plow-shares.
Shall sweat in bitter yokes.
The free-born race and fearless
Must deal out battle strokes.
In the wars of the Great Cæsar, and Grim Hannibal, in the times of Belzchazzar, the Pharaohs and all; the days of Rienzi and Roland the Bold; all banners were waving for women and gold.
It is might against might, remember, by land and sea, man against man, money against money, brains against brains, and — everything to the winner.