May the Lord, who here on earth suffered aforetime on the cross for the sins of men, be a friend unto me; He has redeemed us and has given us life, a heavenly home.
–The Dream of the Rood
Our hearts are small and so are our affections – we cannot mourn deeply for all humanity. Only Christ can and does mourn deeply for us all. Outside my small circle of family and friends, I have mourned for those whom I felt drawn to because they in some small way, and in some cases in a large way, have supported His reign of charity here on earth. Hence I mourned for the singer Glen Campbell, who in later life became a Christian and sang many great hymns in honor of our Lord and Savior. And I mourned for Samuel Francis, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, and Andrew Lytle, because they were Europeans of the old stock. (I know Samuel Francis was not wholly in the Christian camp, but he was not hostile to Christianity as so many of the neo-pagans are.)
The people we mourn for when they pass who are outside our small circle of friends and family, define us as a people. The incredible outpouring of sympathy and ‘love’ for the basketball star Kobe Bryant by white people is a very sad commentary on the spiritual state of the European people. Obviously, you don’t dance on the grave of your enemy, but to mourn the passing of a man who opposed His reign of charity and supported the liberals’ reign of Satan is the act of a people who have nothing left inside of them that compels them to love what is true, noble, and beautiful, namely Jesus Christ and the people who followed in His train. That void in their souls has been filled with the love of all that is ignoble, false, and morally reprehensible – the gods of Liberaldom.
Men must have a religion; it is a great tragedy that our people, who once were the Christ-bearers, have now made it their raison d’etre to elevate the sacred negro to the pinnacle of their new pantheon of gods. Do they really love the negroes? No, they don’t. Love cannot be an abstraction, it must be rooted in our love of Christ. Outside of that reality, there is no love, there is only intellectual posturing. Who is served when a black athlete is elevated to the status of a beloved god? Are white people served? No, because they debase themselves and lose the vision of Him who saves. Are the individual black athletes who are worshipped being served? No, they are not, because they too need the God who saves; they cannot, by virtue of being black, save themselves or white people from sin and death. When will all this end? When will the European people return to their God and reject the false gods of Liberaldom? Satan gives us his answer to that question. Like the Raven in Poe’s poem, he sits above the chamber door of the European people and says, “Nevermore.” Is Satan’s word the last word?
Poe’s dark vision is infinitely superior to the non-vision of the modern Europeans who worship nature and nature’s gods, the noble savages of color. Poe faces life without the Redeemer, and he despairs, because he knows that without His love all those we loved on this earth are lost to us forever.
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there,—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
By that Heaven that bends above us—By that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Why is Poe’s vision of despair superior to the modern Europeans’ vision of celestial liberalism? Because Poe’s vision faces the tragedy of death. From the depths of despair we can find the Redeemer. We can, in the depths of our soul, find the God who is the “grave where buried love doth live.” But if we embrace superficiality, the superficiality of a naturalized vision of death, which tells us that man is a piece of vegetable matter who returns to nature, then we will indeed be lost. Satan’s “Nevermore” will remain enshrined on our chamber door, and we will just yawn and continue to worship at the altars provided for us by our liberal overlords, the purveyors of a superficial faith in this world only.
In a speech at one of the Democratic Party presidential conventions several elections ago, Senator Bill Bradley said that the essence of America was that the American people refused to accept the tragedy of life. Americans believed, Bradley claimed, that tragedy could be overcome by democracy. Is that so? Can the ultimate tragedy, the tragedy of death, be overcome by legislation? No, of course such a tragedy cannot be overcome by legislation, but liberals of all stripes, white Americans and white Europeans, believe that they can build a world that is devoid of tragedy. How can such a belief be reconciled with the fact that we must die? Blissful happiness on this earth can’t be reconciled with a soul that yearns for immortality. But the two irreconcilables, utopia and death, can be reconciled if we cease to look on man as a creature worthy of redemption and eternal life. If man is simply a by-product of nature, then it is no tragedy if he returns to the nothingness from which he came. In liberalism, the only tragedy is the tragedy of racism, sexism, and a lack of faith in the liberals’ utopia. When the last opponents of the liberals and the liberals’ nature gods are eliminated, there will be no more tragedy, no more pain and suffering, there will only be natural creatures bent in reverence and homage to nature and nature’s gods.
You cannot change the reality of the existence of Jesus Christ as true God and true man by denying His existence. But you can change the lives of the men and women of Europe by altering their vision of the one true God. The European people’s belief in Christ crucified, Christ risen, has been destroyed by a philosophical blending process. Christ went from the status of the one true God above the natural world to that of a God who was the sum of the parts of the natural world. Then He was demoted to the status of a lesser God among the nature gods. That is why it is now possible for white Europeans to intellectually affirm their faith in Jesus Christ while giving their hearts to the greater gods, the noble savages of color. “What I can, I give Him, give Him my heart,” has become, “What I can, I give them (the gods of color), give them my heart.” But of course the heart must be dehumanized in order to become attuned to the gods of color. The cauterized heart, the heart that is a slave to superficiality of liberalism, is the building block for Satan’s kingdom of hell on earth.
If we place the ‘Dream of the Rood’ Europeans, who are my people, up against the modern Europeans, we can see why modern Europe has been plunged into darkness while old Europe contained the Light that shineth in darkness. The ‘Dream of the Rood’ people followed St. Paul’s injunction to circumcise their hearts: “Now with zeal we must search our breasts shrewdly, the vices within, with the eyes of the heart. With the other eyes, the jewels of the head, we cannot at all see through the spirit of the thought, whether good or evil dwells beneath, so that it may be pleasing unto God at the dread time.” The theologians who believed that the wisdom of men was wiser than the folly of God cauterized the hearts of the European people so that their minds could be more receptive to God. But God comes to human hearts, hearts that have been circumcised; He cannot enter the heart that has been sealed by the surgeons of liberalism. The cauterized heart cannot see — it has lost its depth, and as a consequence it only sees the abstract superficialities of the godded men of reason. When the godded men say the negro is sacred and must be worshipped, the white grazers, the men and women whose hearts are dead, say, “Amen, blessed be the sacred negro.”
Liberal-conservatives in the 1960s started referring to their mad-dog liberal cousins as ‘bleeding heart’ liberals. Nothing could be further from the truth. The essence of liberalism is represented by the heart that does not bleed. The liberals have taken the circumcised heart that is open to Christ and His people and closed it in order to infuse all mankind with their inhuman ideology of a perfect world of inhuman vegetables. The heart that truly loves responds to Christ’s divine love by loving Him in and through other human hearts of flesh. The liberal heart, which no longer bleeds because its blood has congealed, only responds to abstract theories of life because it is governed by the superficialities of the men of ideology. The false sentimentality of the hallmark greeting cards is all that the liberal world can provide for the white grazers. When they mourn, they mourn for whomever the liberal Jacobins tell them is worthy. And when they rejoice, they rejoice for whatever cause or holiday the liberals deem worthy to celebrate. The absence of a genuine inner life, a life of the spirit, is the distinguishing mark of the modern Europeans; they have no genuine feelings that they can call their own, their sorrow and their joy is second-hand.
Poe, like the author of the Dream of the Rood, faces the black despair of death. But unlike the author of the Dream of the Rood, Poe does not see past death to the Beatific Vision. What prevented Poe from seeing that the God whom he professed was the “God we both adore” could turn the defeat of death into victory? I would suggest it was the non-poetical side of Poe’s nature that prevented him from seeing through the eye to the Savior rather than with the eye to a vision of hell. Poe was a mathematical genius as well as a poetical genius. And the weakness of his poetry is that it was too mathematical. If existence is nothing but math, as the Raven above the chamber door tells us, then we must embrace the superficiality of the ‘cauterized heart’ culture of the modern Europeans or else we must commit suicide. Those are the two alternatives open to us in modern Europe. It is my contention, and it is a contention that did not originate with me, that there is a third alternative. There is the Dream of the Rood that our European progenitors adhered to just as Posthumus Leonatus, the hero of Shakespeare’s Cymbeline adheres to the heavenly dream that he sees with the inner eye of the circumcised heart:
‘Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.
The constant mathematical refrain of “Nevermore” did not originate with Poe. It originated with Shakespeare. King Lear, in the face of the death of his beloved daughter Cordelia, says:
And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!
Pray you, undo this button. Thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there!
But at the end of King Lear, unlike at the end of “The Raven,” we do not despair, because in Shakespeare’s King Lear we get an overwhelming sense of a spiritual presence, a divinely human person who died on a cross, who has redeemed us from sin and death. It was not a misreading of Lear when Ernest Hemingway said that whenever he wanted to be cheered up, he read King Lear. We come to the beatific vision through the cross of Christ. If we recapture a true tragic sense of life, we will come to believe in the God-Man who is “the grave where buried love doth live.” That is the European vision, the vision of the people who circumcised their hearts and let the dear Christ enter in. +