A Tale of Two Towers

Of all the men who have ever taken pen in hand to put on paper what their heart felt, Shakespeare stands above them all. But he, even he, felt completely unequal to the task. In many of his sonnets he expresses frustration over his inability to adequately express his heart’s deepest sentiments. I think all the other truly great artists of the West, men such as Michelangelo and Handel, must have felt as Shakespeare felt – that what they wrote, painted, or composed was a mere stammering compared to the vision that was in their hearts. How could it be otherwise for fallen man? His heart sees the eternal light for one blessed moment, and then the things of this world darken that light and he sees through a glass darkly. And we lesser men, who are not Shakespeare, Michelangelo, or Handel, still have a vision of the light, and we still, like the great artists, try to stammer out our heart’s vision.

Every human personality has a vision in his heart that is inspired by his God. Our vision as a people is contained within our race, because our race makes us a people with a local habitation and a name rather than an airy nothing or a formless universal that can be abstracted out of existence. The European people responded to Christ’s charity, and as a result His divinely human heart humanized their hearts. From the moment He came to their hearth fires, the European people’s stammerings reflected, collectively, the image of God. If we approach the European people in the spirit of a doctor who is just looking for disease, we will find nothing but disease in the European people. But if we look at their culture “feelingly” and not with the spirit of a dissector, we will see the face of God in the collective stammerings of their hearts.

We cannot reach out to His divinely human heart if we don’t have human hearts. “Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord.” If we don’t plumb the depths, if we forsake the tragedy of life for a Thomistic-Buddhistic escape into the land of the abstracted intellect, we will never transcend the tragedy of existence by fighting through the ever-moaning battle in the mist, as our Lord did. Instead we will be forever seeking to escape existence rather than conquer it through His Holy Cross. Having forsaken the Cross, we will never know the glory of the resurrection.

The shadow of death hung over the European people until they saw “a great light.” Those people, those hearts who saw Christ through a glass darkly, were and are the Church of Christ. The false Aslans are the men of religion who have sought to make a church out of their man-made, mind-forged systems. At this point in the European peoples’ history the light seems all but extinguished and the shadows of death loom large. What else can we call the European nations that have become havens for the heathen faiths and the dark-skinned devils, other than the charnel houses of death? The liberals worship darkness and not the light. For this reason they have systematically attacked the people who saw a great light and infused that vision into their culture.

Will we ever again see the animation in the eyes of a European that stems from the light of a Christ-centered heart? Yes, we will, but first we will suffer as Job and King Lear suffered. Is that tragic? Yes, it is. But at least at the end of that tragic drama, the drama of the Europeans’ struggle against liberalism, there is light instead of darkness.

What vision of God do we see in the collective face of the people of color? We see the face of Satan. Yet the liberals want to blend with and worship those people. It’s no coincidence that the first atheist government within the heart of Christendom, the French Jacobin government, countenanced the massacre of whites in Haiti. The liberals’ utopia will always be built on blood, the blood of the white man. And the Christian utopians, the men who have forsaken the God of their ascending race for the great, gnostic god of the universal mind, often exceed their secular liberal brethren in their zealous hatred of the white race. In fact the hatred of the white Christ-bearing race has now become the secular liberals’ and the churchmen’s sign of election.

This fear of being racist has paralyzed the European people. And it is not just the Western European people. I have heard the ‘We are not racist’ affirmation from stalwart eastern Europeans who courageously oppose Islam, but then quake before the racist label. I place the blame for this outrage on the un-Christian Christian clergy. The better Europeans will oppose their liberal governments, albeit they will only oppose them democratically, but they will not oppose their church. They need to look past the church organizations who collectively represent the false Aslan, to the true church — the antique Europeans of provincial, racist Europe, whose stammerings from the heart bear witness to the living God.

Many years ago I saw the Scott Monument in Edinburgh. I suppose there are many monuments and sculptures more aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but the monument was a piece of moral beauty such as I had never seen before. It was such a moving tribute to one of Christian Europe’s greatest poets. Each carved niche of the monument contained one of the characters in Scott’s works or one of Scotland’s poets. It seemed to me then, and even more so now, that the monument captured the spirit of Scott. By placing the characters from his novels and other beloved Scottish poets in the niches of the monument, the man who made the monument was paying tribute to the stammerings of Scott’s great heart. The inner man, the vision that is in a man’s heart, is all in all. For me Walter Scott and the other great European poets such as Shakespeare pull back that veil, just for a moment, which separates this world from the next. And they bring us to that other world by way of the human heart. They reject intellectual systems and cosmic-mysticism for the one sure mysticism that St. Paul enjoins us to practice – the charity connected to His divine charity. I have no doubt that the Brits will soon tear down the Scott Monument, but haven’t the British people already done something worse than tear down a monument? They, like all the people of modern Europe, have forsaken the antique Europeans’ vision of the heart, as articulated and exemplified by Sir Walter Scott.

I frequently hear liberals and liberal conservatives saying that the Europeans must be diverse because the essence of a democratic society is diversity. Everyone, regardless of race, color, or creed must be welcome in nations that respect their democratic institutions and traditions. But we should not respect our democratic institutions and traditions, because they are not of Europe, they are not part of the European peoples’ heart. If you have a cancer in your body, you don’t strive to keep the cancer alive in your body because it is now part of your body’s history. You acknowledge that it’s there, but you strive to purge it from your body. The Moslems and the colored hordes are now part of the European people’s history, but that does not mean they must be preserved and protected (let alone worshipped) as if they are our people. They should be purged from the European nations because they are a cancerous non-Christian disease that will kill every last vestige of the light that shineth in darkness.

Let us not get lost in the theories of the secular and Christian utopians. Despite all the liberals’ raptures about the wonders of a world purged of white people and dominated by colored people, we see nothing but death, decay, and debauchery in the brave new world of techno-barbarian liberals and their colored barbarian gods. Is this the promised end? The antique Europeans saw beauty on a cross. Where is the moral beauty in the liberals’ brave new world?

George Meikle Kemp, the architect of the Scott Monument, was born in Midlothian, the scene of one of Scott’s greatest novels, and in his early years he was a shepherd on his father’s farm:

I gaze on thee, and one sweet memory tells
Of that strange lad who, all a summer’s day,
Herded his sheep upon the Pentland fells,
And read the mighty minstrel’s border lay:
And who, to echoes of the city bells
Blending with clash of arms and fierce foray,
Beheld thee there upon the hillside lone–
Brandished his crook and froze thee into stone!

-Ebenezer Charlton Black

Black’s ode to the architect who poured out his heart’s stammerings to the Scottish bard he loved captures the essence of Christian Europe. We are the provincial people who love a provincial God born in a manger. So long as we remain faithful to our provincial God, by loving Him in and through our kith and kin, we triumph over death and decay. But if we continue to aid the liberals in their attempt to rebuild the Tower of Babel, we will perish in darkness.

Two monuments, the one built by a loving heart in honor of a provincial poet who speaks to us all because he stayed with the provincial hearth-fire virtues, and the other tower built by blasphemers who sought to destroy the provincial virtues in order to satisfy their desire to become as gods. We shall not follow in their train. We shall place our hearts and our swords at the service of Scott’s provincial Europe. +

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