Not a Nation
"America today is not a nation as we in Europe understand the term; it is a collection of diverse, and often warring ethnic communities just occupying the same territory." -- John Tyndall
Everywhere I go I see the "Support our Troops" signs. Is it possible that anyone of white European ancestry believes that the culturally and sexually diverse army of corporate America is fighting for him? Yes, there are some deluded creatures with eviscerated hearts and addled brains that do believe it. They are men who have truly learned to love "Big Brother."
Our country is not a traditional nation. We are an 'idea' nation, which by definition is not a real nation. We were founded on a nebulous idea of liberty. But liberty from what? Well, that would have depended on whom you asked. Some, like Madison and Jefferson, wanted liberty from traditionally interpreted Christianity, while others wanted the liberty to practice their own type of Christianity, and others still simply wanted the liberty to do whatever they pleased. Since one cannot become a pure idea in one generation, Americans have a history of heroic achievements and chivalric deeds. But all such heroic achievements and chivalric deeds sprang from our European roots and our connection to the British nation. As we gradually disconnected from our European roots and became enamoured of the prostitute called the 'American Idea,' we lost touch with the loyalties and passions that make a particular people a nation instead of a blasphemous idea.
A nation has one race, one faith, and one culture. The great war of the 1860s in this country was the last attempt of my folk, the white folk, to become a European nation on the American continent. And now? The immigration rates since 1965 tell the story. White folk do not believe in either a racial or a religious view of nation. But the barbarian hordes do believe in a racial concept of nation. So we will eventually be a nation, but not a Christian nation and not a white nation. We will be a barbarian nation. Yeats described it quite well:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned:
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.