The Evening Mists of Europe

My lips smile no more, my heart loses its lightness;
No dream of the future my spirit can cheer.
I only can brood on the past and its brightness
The dear ones I long for again gather here.
From ev’ry dark nook they press forward to meet me;
I lift up my eyes to the broad leafy dome,
And others are there, looking downward to greet me
The ash grove, the ash grove, again is my home.

– Welsh Hymn


In an old Huckleberry Hound cartoon, a potato rises up from a huge potato field and addresses his fellow potatoes: “Potatoes, arise! No more will we stand for being boiled, mashed and French-fried. We shall attack and win, win, win!” But the potatoes just sit there. The heroic potato is then forced to go it alone and eventually is defeated by the bumbling Huckleberry Hound. 

I suppose we can forgive the potatoes, because – after all – they were just potatoes. But what are we to say of the white grazers who seem to resemble potatoes, except for the fact that potatoes don’t watch football games and NASCAR on television? Why don’t the grazers have any more concern for their people than the potatoes had for their fellow potatoes? Is the white race simply a cowardly race? I don’t think we can say that is true if we look at the white man’s history. In the distant past there is Alfred and Wallace and in the not-too-distant past there is Havelock and Lee. Those men were the best of the breed, but they were not isolated spores: they represented a whole host of men who fought courageously for kith and kin. And our modern age is not without white men who will fight. They will fight for democracy, for the negro, and for capitalism, but they will not fight for their people, which makes them cowards in the traditional sense of the word, so we must ask why a race of men who were not cowards in the past have become cowards. 

The neopagans tell us that white people have become cowards because of Christianity, that Christianity makes men passive and indifferent to the slaughter of their own people. When you point out to the neopagans that Europeans ruled the world during their Christian era and they hardly seemed passive or indifferent to the plight of their own people, the neopagan will inform you that the European people were not Christian during the Christian era (480 – 1914). The late Samuel Francis was a proponent of that revisionist history. He claimed that the Christianity practiced by the Europeans was an invention of their own. The real Christianity was the modern Christianity of the liberals and the modern evangelical and Roman Catholic churches. That’s a balancing act that won’t balance. How can you claim respect for your people if you believe they were deceived by a lie and they perpetuated that lie for approximately 1,430 years? If a man tells me that the passionate love of my life is a lie, I certainly won’t consider that man my friend. And the passionate love of the antique Europeans was Jesus Christ. The liberals, the modern church men, and the neopagans are all committed to a future without the Christ of the antique Europeans. We feel as Shakespeare felt:

“They that do change old love for new – Pray gods they change for worse.”

The liberal trumps the modern church men and the neopagan because he has a passionate faith: he believes in the divinity of the negro, the semi-divinity of the other colored races, and the evil of the white man. The church men have a derivative faith. They ape the liberals’ faith in the negro by throwing the Europeans of the past, and the South African and Rhodesian whites of the present, into the racist fire, but a faith that is wholly based on “what will make the liberals like me?” is not a passionate faith. And just as Chaucer’s monk believed in “hard riding’ so does the neopagan believe in “hard thinking.” He won’t inspire the grazers to stand up and fight by invoking their European ancestors: oh no, he will teach them to be clear-thinking rationalists, men who are too smart to fall for the liberals’ gibberish or the poetical Christian gibberish of the antique Europeans. But that hasn’t worked. The grazers remain cowards. Why? Because courage stems from passion. When you love passionately, you will fight for that which you love. The grazer doesn’t believe passionately in liberalism, neopaganism, or the modern Christ-less Christianity. He is a man without a spiritual country, a man in search of a spiritual backbone, which he can only find at his racial hearth fire, which currently lies abandoned and untended in the demonized past of the antique Christian Europeans. What if the grazer wandered away from his simulated home of the Redskins, Packers, Giants, (fill in the blank), and because of some vague, spiritual restlessness went back to the haunts of his European youth? Maybe, like Pip, he would find the love of his youth:

Nevertheless, I knew, while I said those words, that I secretly intended to revisit the site of the old house that evening, alone, for her sake. Yes, even so. For Estella’s sake.

…There was no house now, no brewery, no building whatever left, but the wall of the old garden. The cleared space had been enclosed with a rough fence, and looking over it, I saw that some of the old ivy had struck root anew, and was growing green on low quiet mounds of ruin. A gate in the fence standing ajar, I pushed it open, and went in.

A cold silvery mist had veiled the afternoon, and the moon was not yet up to scatter it. But, the stars were shining beyond the mist, and the moon was coming, and the evening was not dark. I could trace out where every part of the old house had been, and where the brewery had been, and where the gates, and where the casks. I had done so, and was looking along the desolate garden walk, when I beheld a solitary figure in it.

The figure showed itself aware of me, as I advanced. It had been moving towards me, but it stood still. As I drew nearer, I saw it to be the figure of a woman. As I drew nearer yet, it was about to turn away, when it stopped, and let me come up with it. Then, it faltered, as if much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out,—”Estella!”

…I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her. 

No dream of the future, whether one of a multi-racial Babylon, a multi-religious church-centered world, or a world ruled by white intelligence, can compare with old Europe. If once the grazer pauses there for a moment and lets the mists of Christian Europe envelope him, he will become a man again, and the day of the cowardly European will end. 

The hue and cry for the death of the Europeans does not just come from the hardcore liberals and the colored barbarians. It also comes from a new breed of Christian conservatives. They cite the decadence of white culture and preach a Christian renewal via the colored races. There are three fallacies contained in that contemptible philosophy of betrayal. First, your people are your own, for good or ill, and you cannot abandon them for another people.

Secondly, the white grazers, even in their fallen state, are better than the colored barbarians. They maintain a remnant of grace from the Corinthians 13 civilization of old Europe that the colored barbarians have never shown, even at the zenith of their anti-civilizations. Yes, I am prejudiced; I speak from the depths of a prejudiced European heart that loves the European people and hates their enemies. 

Thirdly, the Christian conservatives who want to replace the white grazers with colored people never look at those marvelous colored replacements with an objective eye. They are not noble savages; quite the contrary is the case: they are ignoble savages addicted to theft, murder, and rapine. And why, if they are against white decadence, do the ‘Christian conservatives’ court favor with the most decadent branch of the white race, the white-hating liberals? So, none of the white-hating propaganda will wash. There is no excuse for it, and it behooves every white man to do what he can to send the white-hating liberals, their anti-Christian Christian adjuncts, and the colored barbarians a clear message that any attack on white people will be answered in kind. 

Currently the silence of the white man, in the face of white genocide is deafening. And the silence will remain hanging over the white grazers like a shroud until their passion is aroused. Until that time liberals will keep the grazers grazing with the same gambit the English Jacobins used on their people to keep them from opposing the French Revolution: “Those are bad aristocrats who are being beheaded. You have nothing to worry about unless you take their part.” The dynamic never changes: “Those southern racists, those South African racists, etc., were and are bad people. You have nothing to worry about unless you become like unto them.” But we are like unto them: they are our people. Putting aside the pragmatic reason that contrary to what the liberals say (they will kill all whites whether they renounce South African whites or not), we should rush to the defense of our white brethren because that charity of honor demands that we do so. For how long will the white grazer be content to offer his fellow whites up for sacrifice? Just as long as he grazes in the fields of Liberaldom, isolated from his past, his people, and his God. 

After World War I the conservative European was on the defensive. And by conservative, I mean, in the true sense, the European who wanted to conserve Christian Europe. It was never stated explicitly, but the general feeling among Europeans seemed to be, “It’s best that we leave that Christian stuff, that poetical whimsy, in the nursery, and proceed into the new world of iron and steel with concrete, iron, and steel economies and concrete, iron, and steel philosophies.” The better part that Mary chose, the poetic of the Christ story, was abandoned. The faith that ruled Europe became an incidental. It survived for a time as whimsy, in the novels of Kenneth Grahame and C. S. Lewis and in the movies of Walt Disney, and then faded out of the living memory of white people born in the latter half of the 20th century. What has replaced the poetic of Christian Europe? The poetic of the noble black savage, which the liberals push with a proselytizing spirit that knows no bounds. They will kill all non-adherents to their religion without any compunctious visitings of nature in their hearts, because they have hardened their hearts against the light of the world. And so long as the white grazer is separated from bardic Europe by an iron and steel curtain more formidable than the old Soviet Iron Curtain, he will be unable to resist the liberals, who are filled with passionate intensity, or the colored barbarians. 

When the steel and iron curtain of pragmatism went up and what was considered as non-essential was left behind, the white man lost chivalry, heroism, charity, and vision. Quite a high price to pay for technological mastery of the world. The white man achieved technological superiority, but he lost his soul. The liberal compensated for his loss by consecrating his technology to his new black god whom he loves with his whole heart, mind, and soul. But what of the white grazer? He doesn’t love the noble black savage enough to make him his god, but he needs a god that he can love with a passionate intensity. Can blood sports fill that need? I doubt it. What if a God-man came along who was crucified, died and was buried, but then rose from the dead on the third day? Would that event fill the grazers with the passionate intensity necessary to defend and fight for their own people, the people that bore the God-man on their shoulders when He was just an infant? Yes, it would, but to hear that sacred story, the grazer would have to return to the European nursery where the discarded poetic of Europe lies in a dustbin. Oh, what a falling off was there! 

A friend of mine, a lover of Christian Europe, recently told me that she didn’t see any hope for white people. All she saw around her indicated that the whites would be massacred to the last man, woman, and child with the full consent of the liberals, until they too faced the death they had planned for other ‘bad’ whites. (It is always the bad whites, those racist whites, whom the liberals envision dying.) It’s difficult to offer words of comfort to a Christian European woman. You don’t want to lie: things are that bad and it does seem like the white race is hurtling toward total annihilation. I try to follow Edgar’s advice: “Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.” Despite the fact that the grazers seem as soul-dead as the potatoes in the Huckleberry Hound cartoon, despite the liberals’ complete control of the media, the churches, and the schools, and despite the overwhelming mass of colored barbarians who seek the white man’s blood, I don’t see Christian Europe and her people perishing. My heart is still in that European nursery where all the fairy tales are true, because they are connected to Him, who assures us that nothing eternal dies. The passionate intensity of one heart connected to His Europe can still turn the tide. And I know there is more than one such heart.  God works from the few to the many. Better to be a European, a Christ-bearer, than a rivet in Sandburg’s skyscraper, or a cog in the liberals’ satanic mills.

“Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes?” +

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