Europe Regained

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.

-King Lear

About ten years ago, when my mother was still alive, she sent me the obituary of the man who had been my Little League manager. He was the type of man who would make a good subject for the old Reader’s Digest feature called “My Most Unforgettable Character.” Mr. Gulf was the only manager who didn’t have children on a team. His kids were all grown, but he stayed on as a volunteer umpire and a manager. When he died at 88, he had only been retired from Little League baseball for six years. Mr. Gulf was a tall, barrel-chested man with a gravel voice, but he was very patient with his charges and seemed to have grasped the fact, unlike some of the other adults involved with the Little League, that Little League baseball was supposed to help boys become men, in the ‘Battle of Waterloo and the playing fields of Eton’ sense. The Little League was not designed, in Mr. Gulf’s eyes, to help grown men become little boys again. To many of the parents and other managers Mr. Gulf was a figure of ridicule because he regularly sat on the edge of the dugout and spouted sport clichés. But he wasn’t comical to us, because Mr. Gulf actually believed in the clichés and his belief made us believe.

One of Mr. Gulf’s favorite axioms, which he delivered to every boy before he stepped up to the plate, was, “Son, you’ve got to believe that you can hit that ball. If you don’t believe in yourself, you’ll never get a hit.” A cliché? Not to Mr. Gulf and not to us. More often than not, we did hit the ball because Mr. Gulf made us believe we could hit. And it seems to me that the problem with the modern European man is that he no longer believes in himself. I don’t mean this in the blasphemous sense, in that a man should believe only in himself and in nothing outside himself; I mean it as an extension of Mr. Gulf’s ‘Battle of Waterloo and the playing fields of Eton’ metaphysic. The European used to believe that his culture was superior to every other culture, and that superiority, which came to him by the grace of God, entailed certain responsibilities, chiefly the responsibility of defending his race and his people against the onslaught of lesser breeds who were outside the law and did not know or respect the God of charity and mercy. Strength, vigilance, and unflinching loyalty to white culture was thought to be necessary because the European considered his race as the Christ-bearing race.

The modern European, to the extent that he has any strength, vigilance, or loyalty, expends it all in attacking the white race and the religion that was championed by the white race. There is no escaping that fact. Halfway house Christians will claim that they are just removing the bad European cultural baggage from Christianity and restoring the Christian faith to its original purity, but it is not difficult to see the disingenuousness of their claim. Every single “improvement” on the European-centered Christianity is in line with liberalism; not the gospel of Jesus Christ, the God of the antique Europeans. The new spirit of inclusion is not an improvement; it is a dethronement of Christ. The new cult of Negro worship is not an advance; it is a blasphemous capitulation to the lowest form of paganism. And where in Scripture did Christ say that it was permissible to make Him subordinate to the democratic process?

The new Christianity is not Christianity. Those who equate Christianity with an organized, philosophical system or a social club will follow the new anti-Christian Christianity to its logical conclusion, which is hell. But the Europeans who yearn for a God of charity and mercy above the nature gods will still seek the Son of God. The problem facing the drug-soaked, sex-crazed, nihilistic European, who still feels a void in his soul, is that the Christ he sees before his eyes is a liberal Christ. He needs to seek out the same hovel that Lear took refuge in. And there, in the hovel of spiritual desolation, he will see the Christ, not the Christ of the liberals, but The Christ, The Son of the Living God.

In one post I wrote, titled “The Gingerbread House,” I mentioned that the United States and the western European countries used the seductive form of the egalitarian heresy. They covered the books about the European past with monkey-vomit and told the lost souls of modernity that they were welcome to read that filth if they could stand the stench. By and large the confused modern turned from a past covered with monkey vomit. But some pilgrims were so desperate or possibly so cynical that they had to see the monkey vomit books for themselves. I was such an individual. And in those books whose covers were sprayed with the liberal monkey vomit of scorn, derision, and accusations of racism and infantilism, there was a compelling image of a God whom the European people used to worship. He was not the God of the modern, organized churches; He was not the God of the philosophers or the Negro-worshippers; He was Jesus of Nazareth, the Man of Sorrows, who took flesh and dwelt among us. This the antique European believed.

The antique European also believed in his eternal moment. He believed that what he did on this earth made a difference, because his blood was connected to a loving Savior who had forged a connection to His people more mystical and mysterious than the most devout devotee of the ancient mystery religions could conceive, and more intrinsically humane than any philosopher or moral theologian could possibly imagine. The liberal has convinced the European that he has no eternal moment, that there is no link between mortal man and a loving God. We are all, we Europeans of the old stock, in Hamlet’s position. We are born to set it right. We will not be played upon by liberals who are determined to pluck out our mystery by denying our blood connection to the living God:

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. ‘Tis as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most excellent music. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. ‘Sblood, do you think that I am easier to be play’d on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

There is a world in those words, “Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.”

Just as Claudius sought to impose his world, based on adultery and fratricide, on Hamlet, so do the liberals seek to impose their world of Negro worship, infanticide, and Christ-less Christianity on the European. The grazers have accepted the legitimacy of the liberals’ world, but we few, we Europeans, will not accept their world. In our blood, which we have not forsaken, we have seen another and better world than Liberaldom.

The majority of the French people at the time of the French Revolution did not support the radicals who murdered the King, but the majority of French people had become grazers. They were indifferent to the ancient ideal of “I serve the King and the King serves Christ.” And no doubt the indifference of Louis XIV and Louis XV, not Louis XVI, to that ideal did much to breed the indifference. A small minority with conviction will always triumph over a majority of indolent grazers. This is why the polls constantly fool the conservatives. They take a poll among the grazers and find out that a majority favor older traditional values. “Behold!” the conservative exclaims, “We are turning the corner.” But the grazer is indifferent traditional. He would prefer his neighbor to be white, but he isn’t going to get upset if he is a Somalian; he doesn’t like the idea of homosexual marriage, but he isn’t going to lose any sleep over it so long as the network keeps showing football games. And on and on it goes. Has the white man really become such a creature of indolence that he can be played upon so easily by the liberals? Yes, he has become such a creature.

Virtually all white Europeans are liberals by what they acquiesce to. But liberalism still has only a minority of adherents who have given their hearts and souls to liberalism. If a European Hamlet emerges, he who has that within which passeth show, who is willing to attack liberalism, he will find that the walls of Liberaldom are not as impregnable as the liberals want us to believe. They are vulnerable to a passion for His Europe that is greater than their passion for Satan’s mind-forged walls of Liberaldom.

One of the many admirable aspects of Hamlet’s counter revolution was his complete unconcern as to whether the people, the grazers, were for or against him. He knew what his duty was and he did what his high calling demanded of him. We don’t know if any of the grazers will follow in our train if we attack Liberaldom, but by the same token we will never know if we don’t attack Liberaldom without any expectation of help from the grazers. There might be genuine heroes among the ranks of the grazers who are just in need of a heroic example. If the last Europeans do not act as Europeans they will truly be the last Europeans.

Last week I took my youngest children to an amusement park to enjoy the last rose of summer. While they were enjoying themselves on the rides, I ordered our hamburgers at the food stand. Ordering food at the same time were some liberal ‘care providers’ (liberals can always be identified) for a large group of retarded young adults and older adults. As the retarded people sat waiting for their food, they started yelling the f-word at each other. The care providers didn’t ask them to stop; in fact they seemed quite amused. I went up to the care providers and told them I wanted them to tell their charges to stop screaming the f-word as my children would soon be coming to eat their lunch at a nearby table. The care providers told me what was obvious, that their charges were retarded. Then they went on to explain that we all had to understand that retarded people had to be treated differently than other people; “we must make allowances” etc. But who teaches retarded people to yell the f-word across a crowded room? The liberal care providers do, by their smiling acquiescence. It is just as uncompassionate to allow retarded adults to wallow in moral filth as it is to allow them to sit in soiled diapers. I never remember retarded people screaming obscenities when I was growing up. They take their cue from their leaders.

The white grazers that I see every day remind me of those retarded people. They take their cue from the liberals and say and do horrendous things. But what if some Europeans would emerge and present a different example for the grazers to follow? Would miracles occur? We don’t know. But we do know that truth needs to be embodied in a person. He taught us that. The hero, not the solecism or the platitude, is the European bridge to His Kingdom come. +