Myngath - Some Recollections of a Wyrdful and Extremist Life by David Myatt (2013).pdf

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May 2013 Edition
Myngath
Some Recollections of a Wyrdful and Extremist Life
by David Myatt
°°°
Contents
Part One
Apologia
Early Years
Ecce Ego Contra
Facies Abyssi
Part Two
Sensus Internus
Pathei-Mathos
The Numinous Way/Philosophy of Pathei-Mathos
Appendix 1 - Pathei-Mathos – Genesis of My Unknowing
Appendix 2 - The Development of the Numinous Way
Appendix 3 - Ethos of Extremism
°°°
Part One
Apologia
This work is a concise recalling - as an aural recollection to a friend,
recorded and then transcribed - of some events in my wyrdful and sometimes
quite eventful life. A concise recalling of some events (with much left
unwritten), because it is the essence of this particular life, recalled, that in
my fallible view is or rather may be instructive, and I have tried to present
this essence in a truthful way and thus be honest about my failings, my
mistakes, my past activities, and my feelings at the time.
As a friend who read a draft of Myngath commented, "It is a strange work
because the supra-personal adventures gradually give way to very personal
encounters..."
Which in many ways sums up my life - a hubriatic quest, by an arrogant
selfish opinionated violent young man, which led to involvement with various
extremisms and certain dubious activities; then, via πάθει μάθος, to a certain
critical self-understanding often, or mostly, deriving from personal
relationships; then to a rejection of all extremism; and finally to the
development of a rather mystical philosophy - the philosophy of pathei-
mathos - based on empathy and personal virtues such as compassion and
humility.
A somewhat strange life, therefore; although, as I wrote in
Pathei-Mathos,
Genesis of My Unknowing:
"There are no excuses for my extremist past, for the suffering I
caused to loved ones, to family, to friends, to those many more,
those far more, 'unknown others' who were or who became the
'enemies' posited by some extremist ideology. No excuses because
the extremism, the intolerance, the hatred, the violence, the
inhumanity, the prejudice were mine; my responsibility, born from
and expressive of my character; and because the discovery of, the
learning of, the need to live, to regain, my humanity arose because
of and from others and not because of me.
Thus what exposed my hubris - what for me broke down that
certitude-of-knowing which extremism breeds and re-presents -
was not something I did; not something I achieved; not something
related to my character, my nature, at all. Instead, it was a gift
offered to me by others..."
DWM
2010
°°°
Early Years
Africa
My earliest - and some of my fondest - memories are of colonial Africa in the
1950s, where I, as a quite young child, spent many happy years. There are
memories of travelling, with my father, in a car - with running boards and
coach doors - along an upward road in the Great Rift Valley, and which road
seemed to drop precipitously on one side, and which steep slopes held many
a crashed vehicle, recent, and otherwise. There are memories of travelling to
a European-only resort - by Lake Naivasha, I seem to recall - where there
was a path down to the lake strewn with beautiful flowering plants, and
where one could spent many happy hours while, in the clubhouse, elderly (to
me) memsaabs would down their G&T's.
There are memories of playing in a shallow river near our dwelling in East
Africa - no one around for miles - and of a family picnic by another, quite
distant and deeper, far wider, river on whose bank was a wooden sign with
the inscription
Beware of the Crocodile.
There are memories of going AWOL
and walking - with the younger of my two sisters - miles and miles along a
road, into the bush, and which road I had been told was off-limits to
Europeans. We stopped once, as the Sun descended on that travelling day, to
drink from our canteen of water and open the tin of beans I carried which we
ate, cold (being even then of a practical outdoor nature, I had ensured I had
a can opener). I seem to recall the Police - a European officer and his Askari -
found us as dark fell, and I could not understand what all the fuss was about.
Since everybody said we should not go there, I simply had to go and see what
was there - which turned out to be just a road from somewhere to
somewhere else.
There are memories of climbing trees - and falling from one and breaking my
left arm. My younger sister - a companion on many such outdoor exploits -
for some reason knew what to do, and made a sling from my shirt. Memories
of - inadvertently I must add in my defence - smashing the glass counter of
an Asian owned shop in the nearest village, whose owner demanded my
father pay for the damage, which, of course, he did. I just had, you see, to try
and juggle with some of the brass weights the shopkeeper used for his
balancing scales. There is a memory of walking through some trees not far
from my favourite stream and instinctively, with the panga I often carried
while outdoors, chopping the head off a Cobra which, startled, reared up in
front of me.
My interests were the interests I found by being outdoors. There was a
colony of safari ants, for instance, that I chanced upon one day while out
wandering, and I would spend hours watching them as their wide columns
moved and marched across the reddish ground. Then there were the
Chameleons I once, for some reason, long forgotten, wanted to find, and did,
bringing one home to keep as a pet, which I did until I lost interest.
Once - for perhaps a year, or possibly more - I was packed off to some
Catholic prep school, about which I remember very little except falling asleep
a few times in lessons, and wandering off, into the grounds, when something
interested me, or when I wanted to climb some tree. I do remember having a
rather large magnifying glass and spending what seemed like many happy
hours peering at things, outside. Perhaps I should have been in class - for I
have vague recollections of being shouted at, by some adults, who seemed
somewhat angry, and being somewhat bemused by all the fuss, as I recall on
one occasion receiving six strokes of the cane for - something. Perhaps it was
because - once, when the Sun reached in through a classroom window - I
accidentally set fire to some papers on my desk using my magnifying glass.
But, for whatever reason, I was soon and gladly returned to my parents
(perhaps I got expelled), and life for me continued as before, mostly
outdoors, mostly day-dreaming, and quite often exploring.
Far East
Africa faded into the Far East - as the decade of the fifties faded to a few
years past a new one - and to life in what was then a rural area, not far from
a lovely sandy beach by the South China Sea, and a service-taxi ride from the
still then rather ramshackle and quixotic city of Singapore with its riverside
cluttered with row upon row of Junks, and many of its streets festooned with
stalls.
For some reason I soon had to go to school, every day, and by Gharry. At first,
I loathed it - bumph to read, sitting at some desk, sometimes in the
air-conditioned main building, and sometimes in the much better open-air
Attaps in the grounds. Then - and quite why I do not now recall - I began to
enjoy it. Perhaps it was the running track, where I loved to run, barefoot in
the tropical heat; perhaps it was the young, gorgeous, blonde, English
teacher who would often sit on one of the desks at the front, her legs
crossed, and read to us some story, some poem, or some part of some classic
novel. Whatever it was, I began to look forward to that school where by the
end of the term, I was "second in the class", and top in several subjects,
including (if my ageing memory is correct) English and Maths. I developed
an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge, and began to read voraciously -
especially about Physics, Astronomy, and History. In addition, I learnt ancient
Greek, and Sanskrit, and studied formal logic.
It was as if I had suddenly, quite unexpectedly, acquired a new way of seeing
the world around me; as if some unseen force, some wyrd, some
δαίμω�½,
had
shaken me and awoken within me certain dormant faculties. Or perhaps it
was just the lovely tropical weather, the quixotic surroundings.
Whatever, through and with these faculties, with the knowledge I imbibed

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