Pervert’s Progress: Child Sexualization and the Path of Hope

By Joseph Weigel

Why is it that we aren’t supposed to be able to know what a man or woman is today and why are children being deceived about these basic categories? Pervert’s Progress answers these and a host of other questions. This book traces the intellectual roots of Queer Theory from Marx to more recent figures like Herbert Marcuse and Michelle Foucault and the development of sex education is explored all the way back to Alfred Kinsey and his pedophilic experiments. Finally, the occult origins and orientation of Social-Emotional Learning (SEL) are examined. But it doesn’t end in despair. By drawing from some of the most foundation works of the West, including those of both Athens and Jerusalem, a path of hope is provided.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798385017058

Joseph Weigel

Joseph Weigel is the author of The Critical State of Education: How Classical Education Can Defeat Critical Marxism and is the host of the “Men with Chests” podcast.

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 Joseph Weigel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Unless otherwise indicated, scripture quotations are taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, and 1971 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1703-4 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1704-1 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1705-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024901205

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/19/2024

In memory

of Judith Reisman (1935–2021).

The child scampered off into the bushes and was lost to sight.

Exquisite little creature! said the Director, looking after her. Then, turning to his students, What I’m going to tell you now, he said, "may sound incredible. But then, when you’re not accustomed to history, most facts about the past do sound incredible."

He let out the amazing truth. For a very long period before the time of Our Ford, and even for some generations afterwards, erotic play between children had been regarded as abnormal (there was a roar of laughter); and not only abnormal, actually immoral (no!): and had therefore been rigorously suppressed.

A look of astonished incredulity appeared on the faces of his listeners. Poor little kids not allowed to amuse themselves? They could not believe it.

—Brave New World (chapter 3) by Aldous Huxley

Contents

Preface

I: The Dream

Pervert’s Progress

II: The Interpretation

Stream One: Sex and Socialism

The Progressive’s Nationalistic Democratic Socialism

Marx, Engels, and Freud

The Old and New Left

The Postmodern Pool of Seduction

Stream Two: Sexologists, Sex Education, and Eugenics

Planned Perfection

Kinsey and His Minions

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

The Queer Serpentine River

Shmear the Queer

SEL and the World-State

Mussolini’s Corporatism Returns

III: Hope

Pillars of the West

The Great Oaks

The Sorcerer’s Wissenschaft

Epilogue

Appendices

A: Socialism and Democracy by Woodrow Wilson

B: What is stakeholder capitalism? by Klaus Schwab

Preface

I had not intended to write this book, but as I wrote my section on comprehensive sex education in The Critical State of Education, I did a little digging. As I dug, I smelled a foul stench arising and a heavy heat coming along with it. You’ve probably never heard of the Sex Information and Education Council of the United States (SIECUS); few have. This organization was the cause of that sick heat I uncovered, and I realized I had no choice but to share what I had found, lest the little children suffer what awaits them should our efforts to stop sex education and the broader social-emotional learning (SEL) agenda be fruitless. I begin this book with an allegorical tale. Allegory seemed to me to be the perfect literary genre for what I wanted to do. The reader will understand this by the end of the book. I then explain the allegorical dream and show how the dream has taken place in our real world. Finally, I conclude with hope, providing the answer by which we can avoid the doom headed for us. I encourage you to reread the allegory once you’ve completed the book. This book can be read on its own, but the reader will certainly obtain a more complete picture by reading The Critical State of Education before or after Pervert’s Progress.

Part I

THE DREAM

GettyImages-186019678.jpg

Pervert’s Progress

So he sent the word to slay

And slew the little childer.

—Fifteenth-century carol and epigraph to The Abolition of Man

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream.* I dreamed, and behold, I saw a spring arising from the earth. The spring came from a faraway land called Germaustric. In this spring, as it bubbled from the ground, there appeared three faces. The first face looked as though it received nary a wash, and the words came out backward when it spoke. It had its hands upon its face, scratching at its sores. As I looked, I saw that its hands were flipped. For it had the right hand in place of the left, and the left in place of the right so that it had to scratch itself with the back of its hand in a most awkward and cumbersome fashion. The second face looked to be attached to the first, or perhaps the first was attached to the second. For the spring was coming from a most turgid cave, and the forest in which I found myself was nearing dusk. The second was a face of wealthy birth, and it had a look of greed in its eyes, as though nothing would satisfy. The third face arose beneath the first two. It had a cigar in its mouth, and it looked to be deep in thought. These thoughts didn’t fancy noble aspirations, not from their look; they dwelled on a young dame and some lascivious behavior. I would not have known this if the face had not spoken.

I’m Sigismund, it said, and I can free you to a life of infinite pleasure. And then it struck me that the first two faces were seeking my attention.

Carl, said the first, and then I perceived that he was trying to tell me something, though I couldn’t make it out. For he seemed to have his vowels confused for his consonants and his consonants confused for his vowels.

I am Engelic, the second face said, and it spoke of wives as property and the virtue of some celestial empire of free love.

As I watched this spring, it began to fill the cave. Once the cave filled, it flowed out upon the earth, forming a steady stream heading westward. And as it cut through the forest, it killed every green thing it touched. It continued westward, arriving at the land of Americania. As it entered that land, I saw that there was another stream also coming from the land of Germaustric. This stream was older, and it had progressed farther than the stream I had watched form from a bubbling spring. As I looked back at the origin of the older stream, I saw that it was flowing out from beneath what looked to be some sort of capital building of a powerful state. Above the doorframe to the entrance was posted a sign with words I didn’t fully comprehend. "You Must Gnow to Enter," it read. I then watched as the stream I first encountered in my dream came to mix waters with the older stream. It was then that I saw in the now unified stream a cloak holding a pen.

The cloak had the name Cal pinned to its breast pocket, and the pen was furiously scribbling about sex and revolution. As the cloak floated, I caught a glimpse of the tag within its collar, and I made out two letters—G.G. What this meant, I could only surmise, was the identity animating the cloak. Whilst I watched the cloak, I heard what sounded like a faint whisper coming through the trees. It came from whence I had traveled, off to the east. It called itself Will Helm, and it spoke words akin to those written by the pen, but it was merely a whisper and soon faded from my ear. Then, much to my surprise, the cloak and the pen vanished in a most unsuspected manner. For the pen had only used half of its ink, and the cloak evidently had much more to write. The stream, which had been rising, now began to lose some of its volume, and I thought it might dry up when my focus was drawn to another spring rising not far from the stream I had followed.

This spring took on the form of a castle of ivory, and on its watchtowers, I saw its banners hanging down. The banners proclaimed the name of he who was within the keep; King Kins it was, and the coat of arms sewed upon the banner had not a chivalrous knight holding a sword for battle but some lab-coated man, and what he held was of a most lewd nature. From within the castle’s walls, I could hear the faint screams of children; and, muffled as they were, they put a lump in my chest, for they were most unpleasant to the ear. The door to the castle opened, and I saw a man holding a heavy set of keys. Upon his lab coat was pinned Warden Roy, and he was entering the different rooms where I heard the children wailing. I couldn’t see the king, but I gathered that he was sick, for a nurse was continuously coming and going from the biggest room within the keep. This went on for some time, and then she stopped. Some commotion followed. A big ceremony was held, and the castle was put under the stewardship of one of the king’s most loyal members of the court. Sir Henry Hard he was, and now he bequeathed the title of steward of the Castle of Kins.

The castle stood tall, and a stream now came forth from its base. As it flowed, I saw a man with whom I was familiar. He had entered the castle in a most bashful manner back when the king still drew breath, but now he emerged steering a boat and driving the stream forward with a look of lust in his eyes. As the boat went along, I saw that the vessel was named Play, for it was written in red on the starboard side. Also coming downstream was Warden Roy, still dressed in his laboratory garb, holding a clipboard tight in his arm. The clipboard was chock-full of items to do, and the warden appeared eager to check them off his list. This stream flowed parallel to the first stream, but rather than killing all it touched, as had done the first, it instead wilted all that was verdant along its banks.

And then in my dream, I became cognizant of the first stream once more, for it had taken on a new strength and vigor that it had not before. This vitality was emanating from a man who had appeared in the stream. He called himself Herbert of the line of Hegel. He spoke as one who had come from the land of Germaustric, where the stream had its font, and when he wrote, he used his left hand. If he had a right hand at all is unbeknownst to me, for it was shielded from my eyes. Everything he wrote negated something prior, and his prose was such that the water around him began to whirl until a massive maelstrom formed. This whirlpool sucked everything near into its vortex, and it flowed fast ahead in a violent manner. I looked ahead and spotted a pool off in the distance. The stream was rushing straight for it, and I began to wonder what would happen when the two waters mingled when I was adverted back to the second stream. For I had stepped into a tributary that was heading toward stream number two.

I looked to see from whence this tributary had derived, and I saw off in the distance a factory. The factory was some leagues away, as it lay farther off than the castle. There was sterile water flowing from its drains. It was built of cold steel, and I saw a woman inside. Her vestments were white and clean. The nursing cross was upon her cap. On her coat was stitched Manger; this was undoubtedly her name, and she was sitting in front of a steel table, which was lit by a bright lamp. She was constructing something that I couldn’t make out at first. It wasn’t part of a car or a plane, though this was the right era for them; rather, as I looked closer, I perceived that she was building a double helix, fitting in place the cross members that ran perpendicular to the two helixes. She constructed many of these double helixes. I noticed that each time she began her work on one, she planned her course of production, for they were not all alike and required someone with real ingenuity. I then looked downstream to watch the tributary meet the second stream, when I heard a faint call coming from the king’s grave in the castle. Go forth and do my bidding, the voice heralded. As the sound waves traveled, they went in the direction of the tributary, where a woman who was floating in the tributary—the Grande Dame she was called—harkened to them. She now put to work on digging a channel that would allow the tributary to run alongside the stream and feed in and out of it, while she floated along the vein of the tributary that was to dump directly into the stream. As she merged her waters with the stream, another tributary of smaller size also joined, coming from the opposite side of the stream.

This smaller tributary met with the Grande Dame as it flowed over the stream’s bank. In its waters came a small vessel, steered by the captain, Kirk was his name, and he was aided by his first mate and pupil, Professor Samewood. They spoke to the Grande Dame, who had a queenlike presence. They said that they too had heard the king’s call, and they offered their services to her in her quest to do the king’s bidding. As these two tributaries met the second stream, the water rose noticeably and so turned up the earth beneath them that the water took on an especially SIECkly look. The stream continued forward, cutting a straight line through the forest, and it now obtained a size that was much greater than it had been when it first emerged from the bowels of the castle. Its force was further abetted by the tributary that had brought the Grande Dame, for it continued to give water to the stream and receive water from it in return. With the second stream plotting ahead forcefully, I now redirected my attention to the first stream to see what would happen when it met with the pool for which it was headed.

As I walked closer to the pool, I perceived that it was pleasing to swim in, for it looked clear and cool, and I could see that it had a sandy bottom. Bridging across the pool was an old stone arch held up by a stone pillar on each side. The pillars looked to be old and weathered, and the pool seemed to be deconstructing them at the base. The pool had a voice, and it spoke in the language of love, and though I knew not what it said, I was so taken in by its mellifluous tongue that I put a foot into the pool. But as I did, I felt a strong undertow pulling me toward the deeper waters in the middle of the pool. By a stroke of serendipity, I had entered the pool next to a tree and was able to grasp a branch as I was being pulled under. It was not without difficulty that I escaped the current; a young youth who had not obtained his manly strength would have surely been pulled in. I then examined the pool to see where this current led, but there was no outlet around the perimeter of the pool to be found. Wherever it led, it was somewhere underground, to a place I dared not enter. In exploring the pool, I came to a tributary that fed into it. It looked to be coming from the land of Germaustric. It had a voice that was like that of a madman, as though the voice had just come from a dark cave to proclaim some wild notion, an idea that foretold of mankind’s ominous future.

I was now filled with great terror to see what would occur when the first stream finally reached the pool, for it was still heading directly toward it and gaining steam. I stepped back from the pool, desirous that I be not sucked into the pool’s vortex should the water quickly rise above its shores as the stream converged. I watched, and as the stream and the man with one arm entered the pool, I noticed that the man wasn’t pulled underneath. Rather, his whirlpool mixed with the undertow to create such turbulence that the water began to bubble upward and was soon a forceful geyser blasting water up into the air. When the water came down, it formed into a stream stronger than the one that had entered the pool. I no longer saw the one-armed man in this stronger stream, though I did still hear that foreign voice from the pool. In the stream, I heard new voices arise. They spoke in English, and some of what they said was so abnormal that it sent my head reeling, while other words they said were full of such foul predation that I dare not utter here. As I watched this stream, I saw that it was now heading toward the second stream. The two streams had now achieved such great force on their own that I was sure a raging river would form from their confluence.

I continued to watch, and the streams did converge as the first came crashing into the second. The river that came forth was even greater than I could have imagined. Its speed was now like that of a cheetah, and its size like a bear. I looked ahead, whither it was flowing. It was headed for the land of Pedincestan and looked to be swelling to such a size that I feared it might cover the globe. In the rising water, I saw swarms of snakes swimming in their slithering style. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what would happen should the river reach its destination, when I felt something bounce off the top of my head. When it had settled upon the ground to rest, I picked it up to see what it was. What I found was an acorn of good size that appeared quite healthy and full of life. I looked up and saw that it had come from a great oak that grew not far from the river and that had J.R. carved into its trunk. I looked back behind me from whence I had come, and behold, there were a few great oaks scattered throughout the forest as far back as my eyes could see. I turned back around, looking in the direction the river was flowing, and saw that the oaks were becoming denser. It then struck me that the tree that saved me from the Pool of Seduction had been one of the great oaks, and the letters C.S. were carved into its sturdy trunk. These oaks, though they stood close to the waters, had deep roots. The tap roots of many of these trees pulled their nourishment not from the tributaries, the streams, the pool, or the river within my dream but from the living water that lies below the bedrock.

Then in my dream, I looked on ahead in anticipation of what might happen when the river reached Pedincestan, and I saw that the great oaks were increasing in number to such a degree that it appeared they might be able to divert the river before it arrived at that innocent land. I was loath to watch any longer when suddenly I awoke from my dream.

*The first sentence of this allegory comes from Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. From there I tell my own story.

II

THE INTERPRETATION

GettyImages-186019678.jpg

Stream