Douglas Mercer
October 22 2023
When it comes to Aryan genius there is always Shakespeare and Newton, or Newton and Shakespeare; there are others of course but in the end always the two: Shakespeare and Newton. The latter invented calculus on the hoof only as a tool to come up with his grand universal laws; the former, seeing that no one seemed to be using it, decided to take the English language out on a test drive to see what it had under the hood. Quite a lot it turns out, thanks to him. Both were born inconspicuously in the English countryside, among the numerous rural hamlets and villages. As is typical of him of Shakespeare’s birth we know nothing; they say that when he was born Newton was so small he could fit in a quart jug. But in other respects they were born in the very heart and hearth of Anglo-Saxondom; in the womb of the Germanic peoples. Springing full blown from Albion’s seed they were its fullest flower. When they were done the world (our world, the White world) would never be the same.
In their conceptions the medieval world lived in a kind of toy or model universe. Bounded in time by the idea of the recent origin of the world they thought the stars were small pin pricks in a dome through which God’s light came. By 1600 this version was crumbling so fast that the future divine John Donne lamented that “all is in pieces, all coherence gone.” He said that the sun and earth and planets were lost when men sought so many new ones. But as always Shakespeare had the nervous holy man beat, no such angst about the vast new vistas opening up preyed on his mind. Indeed with a rather insouciant aplomb he takes the old words “infinite” and “space” and casually placed one directly after the other: infinite space.
Did you catch that?—he said infinite space. And once you’ve heard the words infinite space it can’t be long before you begin thinking about infinite space. But typical Shakespeare even as he gives us this gift he pulls the rug from beneath us to send us reeling; for he uses the term not to denote the wide-open interstellar expanses of the vastly large but of the microscopic. It’s that he could be bound in a nutshell and count himself king of infinite space—that is he is talking about inner space which is infinite too. So in the course of a few words he has infinite space contemplating infinite space, the two being the perfect mirrors of one another. As is said, things were never to be the same. And it’s safe to say that only an Aryan genius could have done it.
The image of a man in a nutshell is typical Shakespeare too—always not just the hyperbolic but the hyperbolic on an industrial scale, outsized, magnified, and outrageously amplified. With him one does not just have bloody hands but not the entire ocean could ever wash them clean—in fact the hands will make the ocean teeming with red. To perform this feat of prestidigitation he takes a noun and makes it a verb: incarnadine. He does the same by using shark to mean prey: to shark on.
Out of the air or out of his back pocket he casually conjures up as luck would have it, break the ice, pound of flesh, flesh and blood, be all and end all, dead as a doornail, to have someone in stitches, faint-hearted, leapfrog, livelong day, mind’s eye, neither here nor there, blinking idiot, mum’s the word, bated breath, the world is your oyster, foregone conclusion, pitched battle, heartsick, wild goose chase, hot blooded, knitting your brows, not sleeping a wink, it’s Greek to me, in my heart of hearts, too much of a good thing, neither rhyme nor reason, the long and the short of it, eating one out of house and home, vanishing into thin air, and wear your heart on your sleeve.
As the old tale goes a man who had seen Hamlet for the first time was asked how he liked it and he said: it was good—but there were too many quotes. In addition to this astonishing capacity for tireless and unlimited invention, of being a one-man language factory, the Stratford lad continually lent an eerie elasticity to the English language, making it perfectly plastic and perfectly free, free from strictures and shibboleths, unencumbered by cant or crabbed expression. By the time that England ruled the waves the language he created was ready to be flung to the far edges of the earth and soon through infinite space.
The language itself was his gift to us; they say that time worships language and all by whom it lives; if so it worships him most, the one who purified the dialect of our tribe, through his dazzling tutelage we have learned to speak Shakespeare; and every time we use it, whether lapidary or expansive, with florid purple prose or pithy and terse, whether plain expository or elliptically mystical it’s the debt discharged. Both Germanic and Latin and due to its outrageous assimilative properties more copious than any other, English is something only the Aryan genius could have dreamt up. And only an Aryan from the heart of England did.
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When they were flying through space to the moon one of the astronauts quipped that now Isaac Newton was piloting the ship and for good reason. It was Newton who turned a mass of painstaking observation and extrapolated universal laws. At face value it is not obvious that there should be such laws; but there they are. Kevin Strom posits that despite Christian protestations in the beginning was not the word, in the beginning was math, physics, genetics—the real language of the gods. If so then Sir Isaac Newton is hierophant and high priest, the man who brought the real inscribed tablets down from the mountain, having mapped infinite space.
Late in his life with undue modesty he said that if he had seen farther than other men it was because he stood on the shoulders of giants—Kepler, Galileo, Descartes. By the age of 27 he had written his analysis of the infinite series in manuscript and though few had even heard of him he had become the leading mathematician in Europe. It was then that he invented the calculus, took a brief tour de force through optics, withdrew into isolation, and came up with those deathless laws—inertia, force, action/reaction.
They were simple in their elegance and elegant in their simplicity and, what was better, they were true. European man had plucked the mathematical regularities out of the seeming chaos of phenomena, the first step to becoming master of it. When the long history of the universe becoming conscious of itself with man as the catalyst is written this achievement will be seen as ground zero, the nodal point. No longer was man in darkness, no longer blundering along ignorant of the laws at work in the world.
This was no longer a toy universe, in the sky were not pin pricks, but man’s horizons had opened up onto infinite space. When he was done, in his old age, he said that he had been little more than a boy polishing a pebble on a beach looking out to the vast sea unknown before him. And when he was done, and armed with the knowledge he had bequeathed to them, his fellow Aryans stood looking out at the unknown ocean fully ready to take the plunge and set sail. That is, the European peoples were ready to embark on their storied career through all space and all time, and count themselves the kings of both.
