I do not label any worldview as ‘evil’—but something far worse: unadmirable, unworthy of life itself.

The unwashed masses carry around the corpses of decaying worldviews—one can always identify them by their stench—their outcries against elitism.

Their great fallacy—the fallacy of the unwashed masses—is the false, universal conflation of the many with the few, framed as moral imperative. It is a transmutation of characterological weakness into a ‘logical’ complaint: ‘Everyone cannot be exceptional, therefore this is wrong.’

The exceptional exemplar of worthy values does not seek to argue with soil nor the plants which spring from them. Accordingly, I cast my seed in every direction and let it fall upon the rocks, rocky soil, and alas fecund soil.

It is admiration and awe—not sterile logic or complaint—that drive the Lamarckian ascent of worthy axioms. And while admiration is a means, not an end, sublimity is both a means and an end.

Weak ideas—those which fester from the failures of unworthy and unadmirable characters—should be punished out of existence with verbal violence, lest resentment corrupt the deeper instincts of awe and admiration.

The more dangerous and capable one is of violence and destruction, the more beautiful one’s mercy becomes. The weak, being incapable of violence, are also incapable of truly beautiful mercy; only monsters can be merciful. Those least capable of violence—and thus least capable of mercy—often cry out most loudly against the very power they secretly desire.

Many will call me an elitist—yet here I am, in the sewers of modernity, approaching you as a philosophical handyman.

My humility, if ever exercised, reaches down to the least of these and calls forth their transcendence to higher heights—it does not join them by wallowing in mud and filth.

Yes, I am an elitist—perhaps even arrogantly so at times. And let’s be honest—the arrogance of my prose drips like bittersweet honey from my lips—tantalizing you to taste a drop. Nonetheless, the world reminds me of my arrogance and demands an expansion of character and vision. Oh, but the empath, born into a world of constant characterological reassurance, often carries a deeper form of arrogance—a moral superiority and self-righteousness that rivals even my own!

Consider this contradiction of the soul: awe—the experience of something beyond oneself—can arise from something within oneself. Indeed, what is being confronted lies beyond the ego, and herein lies the danger: when the ego identifies with contents that transcend it, even though they emerge from within the individual, it risks psychological inflation.

The empath, confronted by soul-images of the highest versions of their virtues while casting out their demons—even the best of them—often find themselves not only psychically inflated, but also socially reinforced towards their own psychological destruction.

The empath is quite proud of their humility—so proud, in fact, that they long to remake the world in their own humble image. It is not enough that they alone should live modestly. Yet, alas, those who cry out for humility often cry the loudest when humiliated. In truth, the will to humble others often amounts to little more than covert violence against strength and self-expansion.

Perhaps the most striking distinction between myself and the usual empath is my willingness to be honest about my intentions—with both myself and others; rarest among empaths is the one who dares admit their own arrogance and desire to dominate others.

Shh! Listen carefully—her will to power speaks even now! It says, “Your words aren’t wrong, but they must be said differently, more kindly—remade in my own image.”

How beautiful—how cleverly violent and domineering of you—that you desire to take my lips and paint yourself upon them; gentle kindness, wielded gorgeously to subdue a powerful force, is indeed an act of violence against strength—for it seeks to dissolve power and soften its edges in her likeness.

My invitation to you is this: the disgust, the anger, and yes, the enticing fascination you felt for my bold and self-admitted arrogance—and finally, the shame you now feel for having leaned further into the text—these are your doorway to rediscovering what you’ve lost.

In truth, I am the refined antagonist—carving together the refined protagonist of tomorrow.

Modern man is beneath good and evil; that is, the capacity for genuine good and evil lies dormant—disintegrated. For man to go beyond good and evil, he must first become conscious of how terrible—and how brilliant—he truly is.